#my brain when i attempt a mundane task ‘okay but what if you were in mortal danger 🫵🏼😂’

[hella1975]

just trying to make hashbrowns at 1am in peace when my earphone decides to make a noise very similar to a MAN HUMMING RIGHT IN MY EAR and lets just say there’s nothing peaceful about this now. of course i am still making the hashbrowns but with the fitful glancing-over-shoulder terror of a prey animal

[jarofstyles]

Flame 6- Pop

Hello please don’t hurt me for the love of god 😀 sorry in advance I will fix it…

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Series masterlist

WC- 2.4k

—-

Harry was pretty sure #1 on the list of best friend rules was not to fall in love with them.

He had failed. Failed massively and horrible and it was overtaking his brain. Watching Y/N as she sat across from him at the coffee shop, he felt his heart hammer in his chest as he observed her. Her back was facing the window, illuminating her from behind and giving her an angelic glow from behind. Her reading glasses kept falling and her annoyed huff made him smile, his own attempt at studying abandoned as he chose instead to sip his coffee, fold the wrapper of his straw as small as he could and stare at Y/N.

It was one of his new favorite pastimes. Watching her closely, observing her doing seemingly mundane tasks and becoming obsessed with the way she made them interesting. He had to admit he had never felt obsessive over a human before, really the opposite. Harry tended to run the other way as soon as he got too close to people because he liked to beat them to the punch. After some shit he had gone through he learned to leave first and didn’t want to see someone else walking away from him. Y/N, though? He was allowing himself to get closer and closer to her. Enough he had opened up his heart.

“Can feel you staring.” She smiled, a phrase all too familiar to her lips now. “What could possibly be so interesting about me studying? Or do I have something on my face?” Her eyes still didn’t leave her paper, though.

“You’re just a pretty girl.” He hummed, taking the coffee to his lips. “You do a cute thing with your nose when you don’t get something. A little scrunch. And then you rub your eyebrow and smooth the hair out of your face. Did you know that?” This was definitely showing his ass as being obsessive but he didn’t mind. Seeing her freeze and duck her head down so he couldn’t see her flustered was a reward.

“You’re a dork. I didn’t know that, no.” Her hand reached for her drink, taking a measured sip before placing it back down on the orange plate with a soft ‘clink’ of ceramic. “Then again, I study. I’m not watching myself stress over memorizing these definitions.” Her words were lighthearted but he could see the stress come back on her face as his eyes fell to the pastel highlighters uncapped next to her. Something Harry never understood doing because she was bound to dry this set out.

“M’sorry, love. Didn’t mean to distract you.” Harry wanted her to let him accompany her to study again. The last thing he wanted was another stretch of time without her and he had to prove himself today that he could keep his hands to himself- but she hasn’t said anything about eyes. That was impossible to keep away, so he wouldn’t even attempt that.

“It’s okay, it isn’t just you. I’m frustrated with it.” She sighed, pushing her glasses back up on her face. “You’re behaving for once.” The smile returned to the lips Harry loved so much, causing the cotton candy feeling to rise back in his stomach. He had done that. Gotten that smile from her. He wanted to do that more and more.

He went to say something back but he was rudely interrupted.

“Y/N?” A voice startled them both, Harry looking up to see a somewhat familiar face. He knew of the guy, someone on the lacrosse team and a bit obnoxious at parties, he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing coming up to them- let alone Y/N- but he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Hey, Tyler.” She greeted him with a polite smile.

It was one Harry knew to be reserved for casual friends, not the same ones he got, but he still felt a bit annoyed. The guy was interrupting the little time he got with her today. She was leaving after to go back to her place for another study group.

“Hey! I can’t wait for study group later. It’s really cool that you guys are nice enough to help out. Thanks for letting me join. I’ve never understood material so easily. You’re especially good at explaining things.” The guy hadn’t stopped staring at Y/N, not even taking a glance at Harry. It pissed him the fuck off.

Yeah, he knew she was good at explaining things. She was extremely smart. And funny. And beautiful. And Harry’s. He never did like sharing as a kid and he didn’t like sharing now. Especially not Y/N’s attention.

Fuck. He hated this feeling. This fucker was going to be studying with her today? When Harry was at home watching reruns of ‘Friends’ and pouting because he missed her? It was moments like these that made him irritated that he didn’t have the same courses as her, wishing he could join in and be of use. Be around her and actually make an impact studying. All he could do here was read her flash cards and help her organize her highlighters.

“Oh! I’m so glad it’s helping.” Y/N smiled, looking genuinely pleased. One thing about her? She was oblivious to the ways people looked at her sometimes. She could clock some flirting but the gazes, the schmoozing? It went over her head. It wasn’t that the compliments weren’t genuine either. Harry knew very well it was probably not a lie- but the way he said it, the way he stared. He knew what was going through his head.

“It’s so crazy you’re still studying. Do you ever stop?” The guy seemed impressed but it was like every word that came out of his mouth annoyed Harry more. He hadn’t even said hi or glanced at him which was rude, but he was openly gawking at the girl he was currently in love with. Even if she didn’t know- it was guy code. Don’t do that shit.

“I do! I was taking a break last night but we decided to come out this morning and see some light.” She motioned to the windows of the coffee shop. “This is Harry, by the way.” Y/N motioned over to him. “He’s not in the study group obviously but we make a good studying team.”

It was then that Tyler looked over to Harry, a flash of irritation on his face as he realized Harry was not liking this. As if the moron couldn’t feel the daggers being flared into his back before. “Ah, yeah. I know of him. Don’t think we met before.” He nodded before turning over to Y/N. “I’ll see you tonight. Make sure you bring snacks, I’m sure we’ll be going late tonight.”

The last words were said looking at Harry. As if it was a threat. A taunt. Idiot.

It was stupid because he had her. He knew it. Y/N was only talking to him this way. She wasn’t a liar; she wasn’t someone who was purposely flirting with this guy. He was testing his luck. But Harry had a jealous streak a mile long and it kind of made him pathetic.

“Yeah, we tend to go all night when it’s just Y/N and I.” Harry smirked. “She’s got plenty of good snacks in her pantry. I’m sure she’ll bring something good. Or we can stop at the shop on our way to her place.” He shrugged. “Whatever she wants. She’s generous that way.”

Y/N nudged his foot but Harry’s stare didn’t break from Tyler’s, the easily smug look not melting from his face before Tyler made a half ass excuse saying his order was ready and moving out of there.

“What was that?” She whispered at him, kicking him harder now.

“Ouch! Fuck. Watch the legs.” He hissed, reaching down to rub his sore spot.

“No! Why did you get all weird?” She demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. “He was just saying hi. Don’t make it weird when it doesn’t have to be.”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds before sighing, shaking his head as he reached over to grab one of the cookie bites on her plate she had abandoned. “Y/N… he has a thing for you.” He knew she was going to try and deny it so he shook his head, swallowing the bite he had taken. “I know you don’t see it sometimes, but I do. He had the look, the tone. I’m telling you, the dude likes you. And it’s annoying to come over here and try and flirt with you when m’sitting literally right here.”

“So?” Y/N scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she adjusted her cardigan. She had been irritated with his “It isn’t like I was gonna entertain anything with him, Harry. And besides…” she pursed her lips. “It isn’t like we’re together anyways. You never got like this before.”

‘It isn’t like we’re together anyways.’

Harry felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

Immediately his appetite vanished, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a reply, but he couldn’t. The sick feeling spread to his throat and made it feel like he had a rock in the back of it.

She wasn’t wrong. They weren’t together, actually. But he had thought at the very least they were… something. That what they’d been doing and saying the last few weeks had meant something more than just fucking around. Harry knows that any other hook ups he had were nothing at all like this. There was no yearning or wanting. The moment they’d seriously kissed had changed everything for him. But apparently, it was only him.

He had read it wrong and now he was fucked. Fucked and hurt and embarassed.

“I… yeah. You’re right.” He said quietly, clearing his throat before closing his book. “I wasn’t like this before. M’sorry. We aren’t together so… I shouldn’t act like that.” Grabbing his bag, he pulled it into his lap. He needed to get out of here. To.. hit something, scream, cry, figure out what he was going to do to lose the shit he felt so he could be un-in love with his best friend.

“What? Why are you packing your bag?” Y/N asked confused. “I’m not done. We still have an hour left.” Her glasses were pulled off her nose now as she watched him place his things inside the book bag, zipping it up. They had an hour and 15 minutes left, actually. He had been the one needy for her attention- and now he felt like an idiot.

“Yeah- I just, I forgot I told Niall we would head to the gym. Planned it before.” He gave a weak smile, standing up and pushing his chair in. A five dollar bill was placed on the table. “Get another coffee and study, yeah? I’ll see you later. Have fun at your study group and let me know you got home safe.”

Harry heard her call for him as he left, shooting her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes as he rushed out of the shop. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, his eyes burning a little bit at how stupid he must seem. At least in his own hand.

Of course she hadn’t missed him as much. She didn’t have a problem spending nights apart and studying because she didn’t care as much about it. She didn’t miss the smell of him on her sheets and she didn’t sit and stare at him the same way he did. And he couldn’t even be angry at her.

He had to be the one to go and fall in love with her. She had never asked for it, had never said that. He had let his feelings get in the way, he had been the one confident it wouldn’t change anything and now he had to clean up the mess he made.

—-

🍑: H are you okay?

H: yeah I’m fine

🍑: okay… don’t bullshit me though. Was it the coffee?

H: nah. I met up with Niall and went to the gym. It’s on my insta story.

🍑: yeah I saw that but… idk

🍑: did I hurt your feelings or something? Because of the study group? :/

H: no, no. It wasn’t that. I’m okay.

🍑: are you sure? I realized maybe you feel excluded. You can come with me tonight if you want!!

🍑: we can go and get snacks before :)

H: I’m okay, love. I’m not feeling so good, I’ve got a bit of a headache. Think I’m dehydrated so I’m gonna just relax at him tonight.

H: please be safe on your way home. Text me if you need a ride.

🍑: oh… okay :( feel better.

He was dehydrated, probably. Working out, the sauna and then crying did that to a person. He felt wound up tight, even after the workout. Niall had been a real one for not asking what happened after the initial one, merely patting his back. He understood that sometimes the best medicine was beating the fuck out of a punching bag.

Curled on his couch, he let the tv play as he replayed his own moments in his head. It was the first time he had rejected Y/N to hang out. He went to see her when unknowingly had the beginnings of the flu and ended up giving it to her by accident. But he couldn’t stomach it right now.

It wasn’t that he blamed her. He didn’t. He blamed himself for misreading signs. For making things into a bigger deal than they should have been. Y/N had never been anything but authentic and kind and honestly, he couldn’t blame himself for falling in love with her because it was so fucking easy to do. Though sometimes a bit abrasive, she was sweet under it all. Kind. Helpful. Fucking intelligent too. She had sparkly eyes and soft lips and having her attention made you feel like the most important person in the world. Harry had just gotten lost in the high of it.

[tteokdoroki]

oblivious | k.takami

♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.

♡ word count: 1.8K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.

♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.

♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D

♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha​ but i figured today would be the perfect day!  i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3

♡ masterlist | requests

keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.

your obliviousness that is.

on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.

the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’

keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.

the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.

you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.

sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.

they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.

so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.

“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”

“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions.  the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”

she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.

said  blonde follows with a huff,  making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer—  one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task,  the squint to your  eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.

he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.

your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”

“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.

there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.

“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“

you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.

keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.

rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.

“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.

“yes miss miruko?”

you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”

takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.

hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.

“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”

you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.

to hell with it.

“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.

but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”

and who were you to say no to him.

[littlemissnoname13]

I have always known- Part 2 (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader)

Summary: What happens when you find Draco Lucius Malfoy standing on a ledge at the Astronomy tower, ready to pitch himself off

Pairing: (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!reader) HBP era

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal tendencies, self harm, angst, smut

Words: 1500+

A/n: Thank you to everyone who read part one from the bottom of my heart. It means so much to me! <3

If you haven’t already, you can read part one over here.

Draco let the revelations sink their way into his brain as he carefully and meticulously recalled that fateful day at the ledge once more.

He recalled how he’d sat alone, hugging his knees at the tower later that night after you’d convinced him to get down from the ledge.

His shirt sleeve—pushed up as he stared at the nasty looking snake and skull etched into his forearm all the while fighting a strong urge to gnaw at the flesh till the mark came off.

And just when he thought he’d cave into his urges, something fluttering,speckled in black and orange caught Draco’s eyes.

The paleness of the moonbeam made the Monarch butterfly seem almost iridescent and he held his breath watching it land gently on the palm of his hands.

“I should have known.” Draco finally shouted pacing back and forth in the room of requirement as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Of course it was you—How could I have not realised! I mean who else would even want to turn into a butterfly at will?!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked as you walked towards him—completely ignoring the fact that your shirt was still lying somewhere on the floor.

“The fucking butterfly tattoo, the whole the-world-is-full-of-goodness-and-sunshine attitude.” He scoffed. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“Draco—” you attempted to reach for his hand but he instantly pulled it away.

“Only you would be stupid enough to stick around a bloody death eater despite knowing.”

“Please just calm down—” You began reaching for him once again and he winced at your touch like it pained him as you gently grabbed onto his wrist.

“No.” He shook his head as he cut you off hastily. “Listen to me y/n, and listen to me carefully —You need to stay the fuck away from me.”

“Malfoy please. Just hear me out. I’m sorry for sneaking up on you that night. I shouldn’t have.”

You took a few mindful steps towards him.

He looked absolutely furious at first glance with his bloodshot eyes, heavy breathing and slightly flared nostrils. But when you observed him more carefully, you saw the helpless and vulnerable boy from the ledge again. Tucked away somewhere in the depths of this tired and sunken eyes.

Branded at such a young age.

Forced to give up his youth and any shard of innocence he had left inside of him.

While his friends may have been playing quidditch, getting into trouble and stressing out about their homework, here he was stressing out about the god damned cabinet like his life depended on it.

You felt a sharp stab at your heart when you remembered.

His life did depend on it.

“Please y/n. Just go away.” He pleaded with this voice cracking as you slowly wrapped your arms around his stiff torso and placed your head on this chest. “Don't make it harder than it already is.”

Draco was right.

This was wrong on so many levels.

You knew better than to melt into the arms of a death eater.

But you were already too fucking deep in.

You knew exactly what you were in for when you gave him a smile at potions class. You knew how grave the situation really was every time you walked towards the Slytherin common room with your book bag full of food you’d snuck out from the kitchens.

You knew full well that the task given to him was no child’s play.

Even though he’d barely said anything during your nights at the tower, you’d gotten to know him by the way his eyes widened when you kept blabbering about the most mundane details of your day.

You’d learned him and the way his brows furrowed in frustration while he spent hours on end trying to fix the vanishing cabinet. He was completely unaware of the fact that you constantly looked up from your book to steal quick a glance at him.

“Okay. I’ll go away.” You whispered pressing yourself impossibly close to him.

“Good.” He mumbled even though his slender arms found their way around your waist. He rested his chin to the top of your head and the smell of your smell of your shampoo comforted him.

Contradictory words and actions. Nobody did it better than Draco and Y/n.

You held onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you until your lips were pressed against his. As your lips moved against his, you noticed that he had let his arms fall from your waist.

But before the waves of disappointment could hit you, Draco’s right hand made its way towards the base of your neck while he raked his left hand through your hair.

It would be an absolute understatement to say that he kissed you feverishly.

He may have told you to go away and you may have agreed but the way your lips moved together told a different story altogether. The way he lightly bit your bottom lip before hungrily exploring your mouth with his tongue gave everything away.

Draco Lucius Malfoy was a goner.

The passion and aggression in your kisses had you both tugging at each other's clothes- gasping for air.

It wasn't long before you found yourself pressed up against the wall again while your bra quickly got discarded.

“Stunning.” He breathed trying to commit every bit of your exposed skin to his memory.

He wasted little to no time covering the exposed bits of your skin with open-mouthed kisses. The already existing marks on your neck only darkened with each kiss as you let your fingers comb through this hair—gripping. Encouraging him to kiss you harder.

And when he placed his lips over your taut nipple, he had to remind himself to be gentle with you even though It was impossibly hard for him.

That wasn’t the only thing that was impossibly hard.

Especially when you whimpered and moaned his name over and over again.

You gently pushed his shirt back indicating that you wanted it off and while he hesitated for a brief second, the shirt was quickly discarded next to your bra on the floor.

He suckled and caressed your breasts and you dug your nails on his biceps arching your back, desperate for more.

His fingers skillfully touched you in places that made you blush as you kept moaning deliriously.

Over and over again.

Soon enough, you were lying on our back on the floor as he hovered on top of you, propped up against his elbows and you were seconds away from begging him to take you then and there.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to y/n.” He said softly. His darkened grey eyes went back to their normal color and you could see the sincerity in his eyes while he asked you.

“I want you. Please. I just want you.” You pleaded bucking your hips as you caressed his face in reassurance.

“Fuck” he hissed as he slipped inside of you and you struggled to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when he started to move. Slow and steady at first before he took you harder and faster.

You felt like the last days of summer in Draco’s arms as he took you.

The kind of day he desperately wanted to hold onto before an impending Autumn.

There was a cacophony of sounds in the room of requirement.

The sounds of skin against skin.

Your pants, and moans.

His grunts and curses.

Draco.

Only his name escaped your lips when you fell apart at his mercy. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated, leg spasming pleasure as you came.

Y/n.

And only our name rolled out of his tongue when he found his release inside of you. Glistening beads of sweat on his forehead and veins slightly visible on his neck.

When it was over, he conjured up a blanket and wrapped his arms around you, greedily scooping as much of you as he could into his embrace.

You felt his fingertips trace the outline of your butterfly tattoo before he placed his lips over it. Kissing it gently.

The gesture softened you just like you softened him but he wasn’t going to admit that. Not anytime soon anyway.

“Why butterfly y/n?” He whispered tracing shapes onto your bare skin. “Your tattoo, your animagus.”

“Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect Draco?” You asked, pushing his hair away from his eyes as he shook his head.

“They say that when a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, it causes a storm elsewhere.”

He blinked his eyes at you in confusion and you gave him a small smile before placing a tiny kiss at the corner of his lips, continuing.

“Every small change counts Draco, a small change in the present can garner a completely different outcome in the future.”

He stared at you as you shook your head and mumbled “I just like to believe that our actions matter you know. I don’t know. I just—nevermind.”

You soon fell asleep in his sturdy, safe arms as he held onto you tightly staying up all night to savor the moment.

Little did you know, the butterfly effect stuck with him.

It stuck with him through the war and even after the war.

Just like you did.

The girl who kept him alive and kicking.

The girl with her butterfly tattoo.

~~~~~~

And that’s it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Tagging those who wanted a part 2: @imbadwithunsernames @dumbassswhore @larywitchlingacademic @lainphotography ❤️

[sinfullystanning]

Nightlight

Matt Murdock x Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I just finished Daredevil and I’m so whipped for Matt Murdock so expect lots of new content... The title is inspired by the song “Nightlight” by The Sam Willows.

Matt Murdock creeps down the stairs from the roof as quietly as possible. He had heard your even breathing and smelled the sweet yet subtle scent of your shampoo from almost a block away. A small smile had teased his lips at the idea of you waiting for him at home, even if you were fast asleep. As he reaches the living room he realizes that your breathing isn’t coming from his bed. From what he could tell you’re fast asleep at the dinner table. His brows furrow in confusion and concern as he crosses the room to where you’re slumped over the wood, a blanket slipping off your shoulders.

***

You hadn’t planned to fall asleep. You’d shown up to Matt’s with takeout and a bottle of wine hoping to catch him before he stepped out for his night job but after silence had answered your knock at the door, you’d fished out your key, shoulders slumping as you pushed the door open with your shoulder as you did your best not to drop the contents of your full arms, shuffling through the entryway into the apartment, being careful not to let your clumsy feet catch on any of the furniture as you made your way to the kitchen where you deposited the food onto the counter before making your way back to the front door to lock up and deposit your shoes by the doorway. You check the bathroom to make sure Matt is really gone before letting out a sigh as you stand in the middle of the empty apartment, alone with your worries and thoughts. You try to push the latter away as you absently wander through the two rooms, looking for something to tidy up while you wait for Matt to come home.

A few hours later, you’ve folded a few stray shirts and pants you found uncharacteristically strewn in Matt’s bedroom, probably from a busy day, hauled the cleaning supplies out of the tiny closet that never gets opened and swept and mopped, the floors, scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom top to bottom, and dusted. You collapsed on the couch, staring at billboard outside that had lit up while you were cleaning, bathing you in a warm pinkish-blue glow. The apartment no longer smelled like Matt, instead, the sharp odors of cleaning solution and Pine-sol pierced your nose and you wrinkled it in discomfort. Rolling off of the couch you pad over to the kitchen, finally untying the now-cold takeout bag, methodologically pulling out the small cardboard cartons, cracking one open to deeply inhale a more comforting, welcome smell. Closing the box again, you glance at your phone, sighing at the time that reads past midnight. Begrudgingly, you turn and open the fridge, what you’d intended to be dinner would probably end up being breakfast.

You can’t help the way your eyes roll at the contents of Matt’s fridge. It’s almost post-apocalyptically empty, a few bottles of beer its only inhabitants, a stark contrast to yours at home, full-to-bursting with every edible vice known to man that your budget could afford. After depositing the takeout inside, you decide to check the freezer and open it to come face to face with an old friend. You snort as you fish out the half-empty quart of strawberry ice cream from a casual date night a few months ago. A split-second decision later and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, a spoon buried deep in the remaining ice cream. The ice cream disappears faster than you’d care to admit and you toss the empty carton into the trash, washing the spoon for lack of something better to do, your mind creeping into unwanted territory.

Matt hadn’t mentioned anything serious going on with his night job recently, so tonight should have been just a regular patrol night. Long story short, he should be home by now. The words that you’d forbidden yourself from thinking all day branded themselves into your brain. You shake your head, trying to shoo away the dark thoughts threatening to collapse your mental state into a useless cycle of worry. Your wandering eyes catch on the bottle of wine that you’d brought but you decide against it. Nothing like alcohol to trap you in your own head. You settle on making tea, doing your best to keep your focus on the task at hand and away from the tempting thoughts that were now accompanied by images. Matt unconscious on some rooftop somewhere where no one would find him. Matt half-dead in a dumpster where anyone could find him. You tighten your grip on the kettle as you drag your focus back to the present.

While you wait for the water to boil, you dig through the contents of a small shelf, looking for the candle that you bought Matt for Christmas, finally feeling your fingers curl around the small jar. Smiling slightly, you pull it out and set it on the kitchen table, grabbing the matchbox from the kitchen, coaxing the candle to life, a small trail of smoke and a warm, woody scent filling the room, easing your tense nerves. The kettle whistles and you head back to the kitchen to finish making the tea.

Eventually, you settle at the kitchen table, a mug of tea wrapped in your hands and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Matt’s voice in your head fussing about you catching a cold. The flame of the candle dances in front of you, small but strong and you smile to yourself, letting it bring you peace as you wait for Matt to come walking down the stairs from the roof.

***

As Matt approaches the table he feels the slight warmth from the candle, his nose twitching slightly as the scent from the candle mixed with the chemically clean smell that seems to coat the apartment. Pulling off his mask with one hand, setting it across the table from you, he reaches his other hand to brush against your hair gently. You stir in your sleep at the delicate touch, and Matt retracts his hand, not wanting to wake you. He’s turned away to go slip into the shower when he hears your sleep-addled voice, “Matty?”

He turns back to you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

You shake your head a few times to brush off his concern and shake off the sleep. “No, no I’m sorry I fell asleep. I was supposed to be waiting for you.” You stumble to your feet, your brain thinking faster than your limbs could follow and your foot catches on the leg of the chair and you stumble. Thankfully, Matt moves fast and you fall against his chest.

“Hey, be careful. You could have hurt yourself.”

“Look who’s talking.” You slur slightly as your tongue attempts to rouse itself from its deep sleep. “You should have been home ages ago.” You pout, half-playful, half-serious. You see the guilt in Matt’s expression as he tries to turn his head away, but you reach a hand up and lay it against his cheek while winding your free arm around his waist. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just missed you, and when I miss you, I worry about you.” You move your hand off his cheek and let it join your other arm around his waist. Matt nods, letting his head rest on yours as he shifts his grip from holding you up to holding you close.

The two of you stay like that for a while, listening to the silence and the sounds of each other’s heartbeats and breathing, letting them convey the feelings that are too much to put into words. The moment ends when Matt’s stomach growls into the silence and you giggle at the sound, disentangling yourself from Matt. “Sit down, there’s takeout in the fridge.” You say with a smile as you head to the kitchen. Matt stops you, however, wrapping his arms around you from the back and burying his face in your hair.

“You’re an angel.” He murmurs. You roll your eyes.

“It would have been warm if you were home on time.” You answer as you wiggle out of his grasp and fish the takeout containers from the fridge, scooping a generous serving onto a plate and placing it into the microwave, finally turning around to smile gently at Matt. It was both odd and endearing to see Matt in his Daredevil suit doing something as mundane as sitting at the dinner table and you tuck the memory away for a rainy day as the microwave announces that the food is ready with an exuberant ping. You bring the plate over to the table and place it in front of Matt before retaking your seat across from him. “Your candlelit dinner is served.” You say with a dramatic flourish of your hand.

Matt laughs and your heart warms at the sound, feeling full and content, the worry from before, long gone. Matt Murdock is conscious in his apartment with you. Matt Murdock is alive and eating dinner across from you. After a few bites, Matt speaks. “Sorry about tonight, there’s really no excuse for how late I was.” He pauses. “If I knew you’d be here, I’d probably have been home sooner. I guess,” a longer pause this time and you reach out to cover his free hand with yours, tracing the ridges of the glove that’s still on his hand, “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone in here.” The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, letting his words fill the empty space.

“Thank you,” you whisper, finally, as the words begin to go from a comfortable warmth to taut awkwardness, “for telling me that. I didn’t know.” He nods and you lapse into silence again before you test out the words that have been stewing in your mind all evening. “Maybe,” Matt raises his head from where he was boring a hole in the table with his unseeing gaze to look in your direction, “maybe, I could be here more often.” You shift in your chair, nervously, “and maybe I could leave a night light on,” you suggest, your voice so quiet that it’s almost a whisper, but you know Matt hears it.

“I think,” Matt breaks the silence. “I think I’d like that,” he turns the hand in your grasp over to lace his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “And,” he hesitates, and it’s your turn to look at him, nerves dancing in your chest, “you are my night light.” He says, his lips curving upward into a shy smile. You smile back and that night, you don’t feel as lonely when you blow out the candle.

[cloudywriter]

vanilla pudding cups - 2

~~~

A/N: hey guys, sorry i changed the name but i really hated the first one, it didn’t really fit. in a few chapters you’ll get the new title, but anyway i like it much better! im sorry if this chapter isn’t the best, i kinda pumped it out bc y’all were liking it & i like making people happy ya know, enjoy luvs

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre woke up with a surprising amount of energy, usually she felt fatigued and spent most of her days lounging in her bed with earbuds in and a sketchbook laying in her lap. She decided she would use this new found energy to tape up her accumulating pile of various sketches she wanted up on her wall.

She threw on a pair of loose, grey sweatpants and white t-shirt, stained with her attempts at using charcoal, soon setting out on her voyage to acquire a ladder.

Surprisingly, it was an easy task. All she had to do was sweet talk the maintenance guy a little bit, throw in the whole I have cancer and she had a ladder leaning against her wall in no time. 

--

Rhys, however, had a less pleasant start to the day. Alis had let herself in that morning with a plate in one hand and the same clipboard in another. 

She informed him that unfortunately his day would consist mostly of testing and scans to determine just how bad it was. She left Rhysand to get ready and eat his breakfast of rubbery, bland tasting eggs and one of those nasty little plastic cups of mixed fruit. 

As the day went on, Rhys lost count of how many needles punctured his skin and how many cups of contrast solution he had to gulp for his scans.

Finally, he fell back into bed later in the evening feeling drained, though he had barely lifted a finger. But the mass amount of poking and prodding he endured only cemented in his mind that he was truly right back where he started a year ago. The realization was mind-numbing. 

He hadn’t even called Mor, Cassian, Az, or Amren to ask for their support. He didn’t feel like he had had the time to truly mourn the life that had become his over the last few months, the life he was losing. He needed a moment, when he got a moment he would let himself fall apart. For only a moment before he would have to put back on the mask of the Rhys his family had come to know. The Rhys that wasn’t afraid of death, the Rhys that still had faith that he could make it, that this new battle wasn’t a lost cause.

In truth, Rhysand was terrified of the idea of death, of leaving them behind. To think of the lives they would live without him was like a punch to the stomach, the kind that leaves you sprawled on the ground struggling to suck in air. 

Just as his mask began to crack, just as the tears began to prick his eyes, as the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified, and the air felt heavy, too thick to breathe properly, the faint sound of a violin captured his attention. It was a small tether keeping him anchored to reality and he felt the pull. 

Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, he had slipped out of his door and was outside of another; the one that was undoubtedly the source of the violin. 

It felt as if he was watching himself in a dream as he pushed open the door. 

And there she was.

A nostalgic feeling as if he were reliving a fever dream took root. A girl was sitting atop a metal ladder. The setting sun sent light streaming in through the floor to ceiling window, illuminating her; her long, honey-colored hair was glowing gold. Her skin was pale, without any hint of a tan but her arms were dotted with faint freckles as if she had once spent all of her days basking in the sun. Strips of tape lined her fingers and she held the dispenser between her teeth, her free hand holding a piece of paper to the wall. 

Rhys found himself staring at her rather than making his presence known. The combined sound of soothing classic music emitting from a laptop on the bed and her sun-lit silhouette had him mesmerized. She honestly looked like an angel in the flesh, if angels wore sweat pants and oversized, charcoal stained t-shirts that is.

As soon as Rhys started to regain his wits a screech came from behind him. 

“FEYRE ARCHERON, GET DOWN FROM THERE!”

Rhys and the girl, Feyre, both spun to face Nurse Alis who stood in the threshold. 

He heard the ladder groan behind him, the patter of bare-feet on tile, and the warmth of a body came to rest next to him. 

His head pivoted to look at her to find she was already examining him herself. 

She looked him up and down then met his gaze. Her eyes were vivid, so blue with a ring of grey around the pupil and they were so full of life. The same soft freckles that decorated her arms danced across the bridge of her nose. Her left cheek had a smear of charcoal across it. A small smile came to her lips as their eyes meet. He thought she really was an angel.

“Feyre, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She broke eye contact, “I’m hanging up some of my sketches.” 

“Using a ladder? Alone? You could fall and crack your head open! And I’m your assigned nurse! They’d blame me and then I’d have to scrap your brains off the floor while looking for a new job!” Alis cried, eyes wide. 

“I guess that sounds like a less than pleasant afternoon for you,” Feyre considered.

“Uh huh, less than pleasant. Where the hell did you even get a whole ladder?”

Feyre shrugged, “Tarquin, the maintenance guy, and I are pretty cool.”

Alis rolled her eyes. “You guilt-tripped him with the cancer card.”

“Works every time,” Feyre looked satisfied with herself. 

“Yeah, well, next time guilt him into supervising you too.”

As their short exchange came to a close, Alis’s face lit up, “I see you met our newest resident, Rhysand.”

Feyre gave me another glance. “If you count meeting as found him staring at me then sure.”

Rhysand felt his cheeks and neck heat as the embarrassment that that is literally what he did set in. 

“Sorry,” he began to sputter, “I-I heard the music and just ended up in here, I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to be a creep.”

Feyre gave him a playful smile and held out her hand.

Rhys hesitated only a moment before taking her smaller hand into his. 

Instead of usual, mundane introductions, Feyre ripped off the bandaid. 

“So, you’re dying too?”

Rhysand’s stomach didn’t drop as he heard the raw words, he felt weirdly at peace in her presence.

“That’s what they tell me.”

Alis cleared her throat, “I hate to interrupt this heart-warming exchange but I was actually here to grab Rhysand for a moment.” 

Feyre tore her gaze from Rhys. “Oh, okay,” her shoulders slumped a microscopic amount. 

Quickly, Rhysand found himself being led down the hallway, the calm aura dissipating. He wasn’t fully listening as Alis explained that they needed to draw a little more blood, his mind just kept wondering back to you know who.

He tried to focus his attention to his hands as he always did when getting blood drawn when he noticed: a smear of charcoal had been left across palm.

His lips tugged up at the corners ever so slightly. 

~~~

hope this is alright! kinda cliche but what are you gonna do? also leave a reply if you wanna be tagged in updates i think that’s a thing people do lol.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 14](Part 2)

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I’ll do a few more pieces of this today.

Chapter 4

Logan’s statement did not appear to go over well with the small assassin. He went still and curled over into himself as though to protect his more vulnerable areas. Honestly, Logan thought agitated, Logan hadn’t threatened any bodily harm. He’d even prefaced the statement with an apology even though he didn’t feel as though he had anything to apologize for! Just like father had taught him!

Patton shot him a glare, telling him he was somehow in the wrong despite the fact that he’d been the one who was almost assassinated. Logan grumbled and returned to quietly sulking in the background while Patton cooed at the assassin, trying to cajole him out of the ball he’d wrapped himself into.

Logan did have to admit the situation was odd. He was young. He didn’t even know anyone trained assassins so young. His kingdom did have a guild of trained assassins/spies, but one couldn’t even join the military until one was of age (though they could start training at 16 with special permission) and all assassins must have at least a year of military training before being considered. It would be years more before they were sent out on actual missions.

So, where had this young boy came from? Surely, he wasn’t acting of his own violation, especially considering his age and temperament. What was his or whoever had sent him’s greater purpose? One didn’t attempt the risky act of regicide without some reasoning. Why did he only have one weapon? Most hired killers would be provided with a backup at the very least and more than likely an arsenal. Why was he acting so skittish? It was a strange attitude for a trained killer.

He had piqued Logan’s curiosity and Logan wanted answers.

“There, see?” Patton was saying. He was hand feeding more of the cookie to the assassin who looked just as startled by this fact the second time around as the first. “How about a compromise?”

Logan eyed him suspiciously. He was willing to let Patton lead since Logan was well aware of his own shortcomings when it came to tact, but his friend also had a bit of a bleeding heart. Logan refused to let him put himself at risk.

Ironically, the assassin seemed to be on the same page as Logan. His eyes tracked Patton distrustfully. “Compromise?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Patton said, unconcerned with the blatant discomfort in the room.

“We’ll ask you a question and you answer it,” Patton said. “Then you can ask a question and we’ll answer that. Then we can keep going back and forth like that.”

The assassin seemed unsure about this, but he slowly nodded. “What’s your question?” he asked.

Patton looked back at Logan and inclined his head. Logan took a step forward. “Who are you?” Logan asked. The assassin hesitated.

“Maybe a more specific question,” Patton suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time and ‘who are you?’ is a bit of a big question. There are so many different answers!”

“Very well,” Logan agreed. “Let’s start with, what’s your name?”

The assassin considered him, looking overly cautious for such a mundane question. “It’s Virgil,” he said after a moment.

“Last name?” Logan prompted.

“I-” he hesitated, looking distressed. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Logan asked.

And… he was curling up into a ball again. “Sorry,” he said softly. He started to cry again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” Patton soothed. “That was good.”

Logan frowned. It was not ‘good’. It had given them basically no information. “Why-”

“It’s Virgil’s turn to ask a question, Logan,” Patton said. Logan almost groaned. This was going to take forever, wasn’t it?

Virgil’s eyes bounced between them. “Why haven’t you called someone to take me away yet?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions ourselves before getting the castle guards involved,” Logan answered.

“Are…” he shut his mouth, likely realizing he’d have to wait for his next question.

Logan considered him. “Why do you have no last name?” Logan asked.

Virgil looked away. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents were, and no one bothered to give me one.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Logan acknowledged. “And your question?”

“Are…” Virgil said. “Are you going to torture me if I don’t answer something right?”

Patton let out a little pained exhale.

“Why would we do that?” Logan asked.

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” he replied.

“Where the hell are you from where that’s a question?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?”

“Why the hell would you be defending a place that makes you think that’s a normal question?”

“What the fuck are you even on about?”

“Okay,” Patton cut Logan off before he retorted in kind. “I think that’s enough of the question game at the moment.” He stood up and walked back over to the plate of cookies.

“He-” Logan started to grouse and got a sugar cookie pushed into his mouth to silence him.

Logan frowned around the cookie as Patton went back and offered the other cookie to Virgil. Virgil turned his head away from it. Logan’s eyes watched the assassin as Patton thought for a moment and then tore a bit of the cookie off. He ate the bite himself before offering the cookie again. This Virgil was a suspicious thing, Logan thought as the boy slowly ate a bite of cookie.

It made Logan’s curiosity itch even more, but at this rate he wasn’t going to get any answers. He polished off the sugar cookie and then walked over to sit on the floor next to where Patton was kneeling.

Virgil watched him move and Logan met his eyes. “No, by the way,” Logan thought to answer. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Logan tried not to bristle at the disbelieving look on his face. Logically that distrust had nothing to do with Logan personally, but with whatever his experiences were before this.

Logan tilted his head at him. “Why the one knife?”

Virgil blinked at that. “What?”

“The knife,” Logan reiterated. “You were clearly here to use it, but you only have one. It seems odd.”

“Uh…” Virgil said. “I don’t know. That’s all they gave me.”

Logan nodded. “Me or my dad?” he asked. “Or both?”

Virgil clearly didn’t want to answer. “The king,” he said.

Logan nodded, and it suddenly hit him exactly what would have occurred if he and Patton hadn’t happened to be awake. Virgil seemed to see the realization on his face. He braced himself as though expecting to be struck. Logan felt suddenly nauseous, the idea of a dead father hitting a bit too close to home after…

“And the guards?” Logan asked.

“I didn’t,” Virgil rushed to say. “Just a light sleeping potion. They probably didn’t even notice anything happen.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “Good.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Virgil asked.

“We’ll hand you over to the guards,” Logan said. “They’ll figure out what to do with you from there.”

He nodded, looking small, and Logan refused to feel guilty for it. Virgil had come here with the intention of killing Logan’s dad! Logan had no reason to feel guilty about turning him in. Besides, it wasn’t as though any of them were going to hurt or kill a literal child. Dad would never let them anyway. He’d be fine! There was no reason for his sad eyes that seemed almost too big for his face to make Logan want to squirm uncomfortably.

Logan sighed. “Are you still hungry?” he asked. “We do actually have more than just cookies in spite of Patton’s efforts.”

“We don’t have any more jam though because of Logan’s efforts earlier,” Patton said sweetly. Logan pursed his lips but didn’t deny it. Instead he just walked over to where they’d stored their extra snacks.

“How about some cheese?” Logan suggested, “and perhaps some milk to drink?”

“Why are you trying to feed me?” Virgil asked.

“Because you look hungry. Are you?”

He bit his lip and nodded. They split up the cheese between the three of them which seemed to soothe Virgil’s worry of poison. He ate what they offered him without complaint and drank most of the milk.

Logan managed to squeeze a few more answers out of the boy, but nowhere near enough to satiate his curiosity. Eventually, morning came, and Logan sighed. “We should probably…” he said, “turn you in.”

The boy looked like he might burst into sobs, but he just hung his head. Another stab of that unfounded guilt shot through Logan and the frown on Patton’s face just made it worse.

“I’ll talk to my father first,” Logan promised. “He’s a kind man. Nothing bad will happen to you.”

Virgil clearly didn’t believe him, but Logan knew it would be okay in the end.

“We should probably hide him before we leave though,” Logan told Patton. “Just in case.”

Patton nodded and looked around. “Closet?”

“That will be adequate,” Logan agreed. He turned to Virgil. “Those bracelets make your arms stay in place as you have seen, but I can move them at will. I’ll take your arms and guide you to the closet. You walk behind me. Understand?”

Virgil nodded and Logan picked up both of his wrists, pulling his arms in front of him and then using his grip to help the boy stand. He didn’t resist being pulled to his feet or led to the closet.

“Alright, let’s go,” Logan said. Patton had on his unhappy face, but Logan did his best to ignore it. This was the correct decision. He and Patton left his bedroom and crossed to his dad’s room. Logan knocked. He’d expected that he’d have to wake his father since it was still very early in the morning, so he was surprised when the door opened before Logan had even finished knocking.

“Logan,” Father said. “I was just coming to see you.” He was already dressed, and Logan raked his brain for any early morning appointments for today and came up blank.

“What about?” Logan asked.

“There’s been word that Lamir’s new Queen may be considering an alliance with Mocnejsi. Seeing as I knew her mother fairly well, I’m hoping I can talk her out of it,” he said.

“What should I do?” Logan asked.

Father turned back into the room. “You’ll stay here and oversee things while I’m gone,” he told Logan over his shoulder. “I’ll only be gone for three weeks and there is nothing major that will need to happen. Just make sure everything runs like usual.”

“You’re going to be gone for three weeks?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Father confirmed.

Logan glanced at Patton who had turned to him, hands clasped and was shooting him his best pleading expression. “Okay,” Logan said, “have a nice trip.”

 Chapter 5

Virgil sat as still as he could in the dark space he’d been put in. He could feel the warning tingle of the binding magic at his wrists telling him not to move too much or else. He was just lucky that they’d chosen to use metal instead of cloth to apply the potion and that he’d been unconscious until it dried. He knew from experience that there was no escaping the pain that type of potion brought until it dried no matter how still you were. Now, at least, if he didn’t try to struggle against his binding it wouldn’t hurt him. It sucked because all he wanted to do was move. He wanted to struggle and pull against the binding at his wrist, but he couldn’t. Even if it wouldn’t put him in crippling amounts of pain, he’d still not be able to get away.

So, instead he just shook. He was such a fuck up. He couldn’t even remember the right room and now he was going to die. No, he was probably going to be tortured and then he was going to die. His breath came quicker and quicker the longer he remained in the closet. He’d tried to murder their king. He’d come into their prince’s bedroom in the middle of the night wielding a knife. There was no way he wasn’t going to be made to suffer for that. It didn’t matter how gently the prince and his… person had treated him so far.

He heard the muffled sounds of people approaching the closet and curled into himself. Oh, god he was going to die. He had been breathing quickly, but now he couldn’t breathe at all. It felt like someone had poured tar into his lungs. The closet door opened, and he flinched, curled into a ball and choking on nothing.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice said. Patton, Virgil’s mind offered: the other guy with the prince. When Virgil managed to flick his eyes open, he saw Patton had gotten to his knees in front of him. He dully noted that the boy had reached out and touched his shoulder. “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry. Can you breathe for me?”

What was the point? He wondered, but after a few moments, he managed to suck in a couple of breaths.

When he managed to calm enough to look around, he noticed that instead of there being a bunch of castle guards standing around waiting to drag him off to some dungeon, it was just the prince and Patton again. He blinked up at them in confusion.

“There’s been a change of plans,” the prince explained.

“What?” Virgil asked dumbly. “What do you mean?”

“My father is going to be away for the next three weeks,” the prince said. “Considering you didn’t kill the guards and your only targets seems to be my father and perhaps myself, you are likely not a real danger to anyone if you escape and I’m willing to take the risk with myself. With that in mind, Patton and I have decided not to turn you in yet.”

Well what the hell did that mean? Was that good or bad? On one hand, it meant that he wouldn’t be executed yet, but what exactly did the prince want with him?

As Virgil began to freak out about the possibilities, the prince continued to speak, seemingly more to himself than to Virgil or Patton.

“We will need to figure out how to care for you in the interim. We’ll have to provide you with more food than just snacks as well as find you a place to sleep. At least one of us will have to be with you at all times, and with Father gone, I’ll have to attend to some royal duties. Luckily it isn’t strange for Patton to come into my quarters at will.” He considered Virgil with discerning eyes. “Also, your general health seems to be lacking, so I’ll have to account for preexisting conditions. First thing, first though. I imagine keeping you in those bracelets all the time would be impractical. We’ll need another solution, especially for sleep.”

Virgil did not like the sound of that. He assumed based on what the prince had done so far that he’d enact some sort of magical bondage. From Virgil’s experience, magical bondage ranged from unpleasant to legitimately agonizing.

“Patton, if you will watch him for the time being, I need to go work on a more precise binding potion then the one I’ve been using.”

“Sure,” Patton agreed, but the prince was wondering away before he’d even finished the word. Patton shook his head fondly before turning back to Virgil. “Wanna come out of the closet now?”

He really, really didn’t, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He curled his legs into himself as much as he could and waited to be dragged out into the room, but he wasn’t touched.

“Okay,” Patton said. “That’s fine. It’s a pretty nice closet.” Virgil said nothing but did breathe a sigh of relief about being able to stay. It wasn’t very rational because in actuality he was no safer here than anywhere else in the room, but the closet felt more defensible even if they could drag him out of it whenever they wanted.

Patton seemed content to sit outside the closet and leave him in peace for the moment. A few minutes later Patton made a sound and Virgil looked over to see him yawn. He smiled when he saw Virgil watching. “It was a long night for all of us, I imagine,” he said. “Hmm… actually. Wait there.”

Like he could go anywhere else. He couldn’t get a good enough angle to see what Patton was doing, but he could here him moving around the room and rustling through a few things. He came back into view holding a comical number of pillows and blankets.

“Here,” Patton said. He offered Virgil one of the blankets and then seemed to remember that Virgil could not reach out to take it. “Hmm…” He spread out the blanket next to Virgil. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

“Why are you even asking?” Virgil asked. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Patton frowned and Virgil scrunched into himself at the expression, but it lightened the next moment. “I know it’s a bit of a bad situation and you are technically a prisoner, but I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel bad,” Patton said.

 Virgil didn’t know how to respond to that. There was no way that it wasn’t some sort of trick, but he didn’t dare outright say that he thought that.

“Can I touch you a bit?” Patton asked once again. “Just to help you get onto the blanket.”

“Sure,” Virgil agreed.

The other boy smiled sweetly and grabbed his wrists with gentle fingers. Virgil let his whole body follow Patton’s guidance until he was situated rather comfortably on an unbelievably soft blanket.

“Head,” Patton said, holding up a pillow. Virgil lifted his head slightly and the pillow was shoved underneath it.

 Another blanket was settled over him the next. Patton was weird. “There you go!” Patton said. “Now you can take a nap.”

Virgil blinked up at him in confusion. That was… not happening. What exactly about this situation did Patton think was conducive to sleep?

“…Or rest comfortably at least,” Patton said after a moment. He arranged a pillow and blanket for himself and laid on his side, so he was facing Virgil. He yawned slightly again but didn’t close his eyes. They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.

“What are we doing?” Virgil finally asked when he realized Patton was not planning to ever break the awkward silence.

 “We’re resting,” Patton said, “and hanging out.”

“Hanging out?” Virgil asked.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton said popping up onto his elbow to peer at him. “Let’s talk some! We can get to know each other.”

Virgil looked at him suspicious about where this was going. “Talk about what?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Patton hummed a quiet tune and his fingers tapped against the side of his face as he wiggled a bit back and forth. “Do you like cats?”

“Cats?” Virgil asked. “Uh… sure?”

“I love cats,” Patton divulged. “There are a lot of cats in the castle. Not all of them like people very much, but I like to try to pet them! I even made up a game where I get points for every cat that lets me pet it. The grumpier they are, the more points I get!”

 “You… try to pet wild cats?” Virgil asked.

“Uh huh!”

Virgil thought back to the few untamed cats he’d met in his life. “Don’t they… try to murder you.”

“Sometimes,” Patton said with a shrug. He moved his arm suddenly and Virgil startled, but he just rolled down his sleeve so Virgil could see a large, fairly fresh-looking scratch on his arm. “This one’s from Mr. Calico Man. He does not like his ears touched apparently, but he will let me give him chin scratchies!”

This boy was insane.

“I think I’ve pet every single cat in the castle at least once, except for Ghost Kitty.”

 “Who is Ghost Kitty?”

“Oh, Ghost Kitty is the prettiest thing in the world,” Patton gushed. “She hangs out in the gardens a lot, but no one ever can get anywhere near it. She’s completely black and only started showing up about a year ago. I can’t even see her for more than 2 seconds at a time let alone try to pet her, but I will some day and on that day, I’ll get 1,000 points!”

“How many points are they usually?”

“For ones like Mittens and Cleo who I’ve known since they were babies, only 1. For Sandra it’s 5 since she can get a bit tetchy, but usually won’t run away. Lily Flower and Red Hot like to run away, but won’t try to scratch me if I do catch them so they’re 10. Ones like Mr. Calico Man are worth 100.”

 “So, you are going to try to pet a cat that is 10x more feral than the one that slashed your arm?”

“She’s so pretty!”

“You have no survival instincts whatsoever, do you?” Virgil asked.

Patton smiled wryly at him. “I apparently have a couple,” he said.

Virgil blinked at him and thought back, connecting the dots. Only Patton and the prince knew he was here, and the prince had been in front of him when he’d came into the room… “You were the one to knock me unconscious,” he concluded.

“I’d say sorry, but you were coming in here with the intention of hurting someone I care about,” Patton said with a shrug.

 Right. Virgil had almost forgotten amongst his soft tone and gentle countenance that the man laying docilly next to him definitely hated his guts, and would probably relish in whatever the prince had planned for him.

Virgil let his fists clench, but otherwise didn’t let onto his distress at the thought as Patton softly brought the conversation back to the previous topic and continued to ramble on about the different cats of the castle.

 Chapter 6

Virgil had started to feign sleep about an hour after Logan had left to his potions lab. Patton could tell because his arms never relaxed. Patton kept talking to him in soft tones even though he was no longer responding.

 He seemed exhausted, but he was also clearly not planning to sleep any time soon. Patton wondered what had led up to him being here both recently which had caused the dark circles under his eyes and long term that had caused the sunkenness of his cheeks.

Patton’s stomach growled reminding him of the passage of time. He had no idea how long whatever Logan was doing was going to take, but someone was going to have to go to the kitchen and get some breakfast soon. The snacks truly had not been enough to hold them through the night.

 He felt secure enough even knowing Virgil wasn’t actually sleeping to push himself to his feet and walk over to the potions lab door. “Hey Lo,” Patton called. Virgil still hadn’t moved to indicate he was still awake.

“Yes?” he asked.

“How long are you going to take? I need to get food soon and maybe come up with an excuse for at least one of us to stay here all day.”

“It’ll be a little while longer,” Logan said.

Patton glanced back at Virgil. He caught the boy with his eyes open this time and saw him wince at being caught. “Maybe Virgil can stay in there with you well I go get things?”

 “That would be fine,” Logan said, turning back to what he was working on. “Bring him in here if you’d like.”

“Okie dokie,” Patton chirped. He turned to Virgil who was looking up at him. “I’m going to take your arms and lead you to the other room, okay?”

He nodded and Patton leaned down and grabbed his wrists. He went tenser somehow when Patton moved his arms to his front and Patton frowned, but didn’t comment. He helped him get to his feet and led him into the other room.

“You can seat him over there,” Logan said pointing.

 Virgil was looking around the room with wide eyes and Patton had to stop and think about what this room might look like to someone who hadn’t been enthusiastically introduced to every new potion ingredient and piece of equipment as they arrived. There were shelves of ingredients, all organized and labeled. He kept all powders in uniform glass vials and liquids in bulbous containers. Whole dried herbs hung from strings in one area and there were containers of fresh ones glowing a soft green; the preservation spells that Logan came up with himself kept them fresh for months longer than they would usually last.

 Logan had three separate areas for potion making. There was one space for potions that required more dangerous ingredients which currently had something simmering at it, but the enchanted protective curtain wasn’t drawn around it, so Patton imagined it must not be doing anything that could be too harmful at the moment. The table he used for experiments was empty and thoroughly cleaned so he was clearly making something with an already well-established recipe. Currently, he was standing at his table reserved only for non-harmful substances. He was chopping up what appeared to be mint as two smaller pots boiled in front of him.

 Patton led Virgil over to the indicated chair which was out of the way of even the non-dangerous ingredient zone. He still seemed to be trying to take in the room as Patton settled his wrists on the chair armrests.

“Any requests?” he asked Logan.

“Not really,” Logan replied. He glanced up at Patton. “Though if you can sneak me some of the leftover macaroni salad from dinner, that would be appreciated.”

“That’s not breakfast!” Patton chided.

“Which is why I requested that you to sneak it.”

Patton shook his head and turned back to Virgil. “What about you?” he asked.

 He looked up at Patton and shook his head. Virgil looked a bit scared and out-of-sorts. He wanted to reach forward and pat him on the head or kiss his cheek to comfort him, but he imagined that would go over worse than badly. Instead, he flashed the boy a quick smile and then turned to leave the room.

He left Logan’s private chambers and closed the door behind him before walking down the hall.

“Good morning Patton,” one of the stationed guards greeted.

He smiled at her and the other guard. “Good morning Kalani. Hi Owen.”

“I see you and the prince had a sleepover,” Kalani said. “Should we be planning on him not making it to his royal duties until later today?”

“Actually,” said Patton. “Maybe all day. He was feeling a little sick. Had a headache.” It was… probably true. They hadn’t slept a wink last night.

“Hmm,” Kalani said. “Maybe there is something going around. Clover said she had a bit of a dizzy spell last night.”

“Oh,” Patton answered. Clover had been one of the two guards set to watch the door to the royal wing. At least Virgil had been telling the truth about not hurting anyone.

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“I hope she feels better. I’m going to go get Logan something to eat for breakfast since he can’t come himself, so I’ll see you again in a few minutes.”

The guards nodded to him and he turned to walk down the hall. The areas around the kitchens would be pretty busy at this point in the morning so instead of taking any of the busier paths to it, he walked past the dinning hall towards the guest hall and took the staircase that led straight outside. It was a longer path because he had to go around and through the garden, but it was worth not getting in anyone’s way.

 Patton always did like the garden. It was pretty at every time of year. Even now as the flowers started to get sparser in the fall, it was still wonderful, and it smelt great. He took just the briefest moment to himself to splash a hand through one of the fountains with a giggle. He turned away to continue on his path to the kitchen which is when he saw her.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Hi kitty.”

Ghost Kitty was there and stared at him briefly before taking off into one of the bushes.

“Bye kitty,” he said just as soft. He smiled even though she’d ran away because that was the closest, he’d ever gotten to her.

 He continued his trek to the kitchen and snuck inside on quiet feet hoping to be unnoticed as he went for the chilled storage box. Luck was on his side because Mama was busy talking in hushed tones to the gardener, Mr. Deknis, as she peeled potatoes.

“Well certainly no one has joined the kitchen staff who has a child,” Mama said. “I’d know.”

“Perhaps a maid or even a guard,” Mr. Deknis suggested.

Mama was frowning. “We don’t usually hire many people towards winter for those positions. Maybe someone in the stables?”

“But he needed to get back to the castle, not to the stable hand’s lodging.”

 “Well then,” Mama said. “I don’t know Jeff. I’ll ask around.”

Mr. Deknis sighed. “I should have asked him more questions, but the poor thing seemed ready to startle out of his boots, and I didn’t want to push.”

“Well if he’s new to the castle, he’s probably just a little out of sorts and nervous,” Mama reasoned.

“It didn’t seem like normal nervousness. He was…” Mr. Deknis shook his head. “Anyway, tell me if you figure anything out.”

“Of course,” Mama said.

“Also, your kid’s steeling macaroni salad for breakfast.”

“Patton!” Mama said, rounding on him. “That’s not breakfast!”

 Patton shot a pout at Mr. Deknis, but he seemed unrepentant. Patton pulled his hand away from the macaroni salad. “The prince wanted it,” Patton said.

“That’s not breakfast for ‘the prince’ either.”

“But,” Patton argued, “he’s not feeling well.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Is he not feeling well or is he tired?” she asked.

“…Both?”

“Mmhmm.”

“No! Seriously mom!” Patton said. “Kalani said that Clover wasn’t feeling well this morning and she sees Logan all the time. I even convinced Logan not to do any unnecessary royal duties today.”

“Well he must really be sick if that’s the case,” Mama admitted, “unless of course he found an interesting book to read or had an idea for a new potion.”

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“It’s not about a book or a potion,” Patton promised.

Mama considered him. “Fine,” she said, turning back towards the countertop. “Then give me a few minutes to make him and you a nutritious breakfast that doesn’t consist of 80% mayonnaise.”

“Pancakes?” Patton asked hopefully.

Mama shot him a look over her shoulder. “I said nutritious,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Besides, I thought you said he was sick.”

“He’s not nauseous, mama,” Patton said. “And if you put blueberries in it, it’ll be healthy!”

“Mmhmm.”

“It will!”

“Now I know my own son doesn’t think I was born yesterday,” she said.

“Please mama,” he begged. “I promise we’ll both eat some other stuff too.”

“I don’t believe you.” Patton gave her a wobbly lip. “No,” she repeated.

“But Mama.”

“You and Logan are going to have a healthy breakfast or so help me…”

“… but Mama.”

  Chapter 7

Logan placed a spoon in one of the boiling pots in front of him so he could get a better look at the liquid. It looked dark enough, but he leaned forward to taste it just to be sure. At the moment, it was basically just mint and lavender tea with a couple of extras. Satisfied with it, he slowly poured it into the slightly simmering larger pot in front of him and stirred it a few times clockwise. The pot glowed a soft purple when he took the spoon out.

He glanced into the other small pot and saw that the liquid there was starting to thicken. It wasn’t quite at the honey consistency he needed it to be yet, but it was on track.

 Then he glanced up at his guest. Virgil had clearly been watching him but looked away quickly when Logan turned to him. Logan studied him for a few more moments. He looked almost sickly in the light of day, like he’d shatter in a stiff wind. Yet, somehow this was the assassin sent to kill a king? He was an enigma.

Logan turned his attention to the binding potion still simmering on the other table. Virgil cowered slightly as Logan walked by him to check on it. He certainly did startle easy. It was another piece to a concerning puzzle.

 The binding potion was coming along well. He stirred it slowly a few times and carefully rinsed off the spoon, so it didn’t get anywhere he didn’t want it before laying it back down. He checked the open book next to it and compared the color to the chart in it. It would need at least an hour or so more before it could be used, but it would be a much better solution to the one that basically glued Virgil’s hands to a chair.

He walked back over to the other potion set up to start cleaning up his supplies.

 He had some herbs that he hadn’t used and stuck a mint leaf in his mouth as he returned them to their correct containers. There was a small wedge of honeycomb left on the plate that he’d cut it on. Without even really thinking about it, he cut the honeycomb into to equal parts with the plan to offer half of it to the other presence in the room. He paused and looked up at said other presence who looked down at his lap quickly.

“Would you like half?” he asked. Virgil looked back up at him, hesitance in his eyes. “You can pick which half each of us eats,” Logan offered.

 Virgil nodded slowly and Logan rounded the table with the plate. “Left or right?” Logan asked.

“…Left.”

Logan nodded and went ahead and stuck the right piece in his own mouth before offering the left piece. Virgil opened his mouth and Logan popped it into his mouth. Logan almost laughed at the expression that crossed his face as he started to chew. He imagined this is what people were talking about when they mentioned feeding babies different foods for the first time. His eyes went wide, and he blinked a couple of times before chewing a bit faster. Logan smiled at him and took the plate back around to the other side of the table.

 The liquid in the second part had gotten thicker now and he stirred it carefully a few times before deciding it was finished. He then turned of the heat and quickly scrapped the sticky substance into the main pot. The purple liquid that had been in the pop slowly turned golden as he counted the number of times he stirred clockwise and then began to sparkle as he stirred it a few times counterclockwise. Once he was finished, he turned off the heat under the pot and wondered over to his case for empty jars. He grabbed one of the liter ones.

 While he waited for the potion to cool, he measured out and marked the container with 30 careful lines. It did not need to be an exact intake every day which is why he didn’t bother with separate containers, but for maximum benefit it should generally be about 40ml for the first 10 days and 30ml after that. The lines should help them keep track.

He walked back over to the potion once that was done and placed a funnel into the opening so he could pour it into the container. It perhaps filled a bit more above the top like than 40ml but having a bit extra the first day wouldn’t harm him.

 He looked to Virgil who was watching him with suddenly very wary eyes. He rounded the potions station and approached him slowly, hoping not to startle him when he already seemed rather skittish. “Okay, Virgil,” he said. “I’m going to need you to drink this. It’s a…”

“No.”

“W-what?”

“No,” his eyes were locked on the container in Logan’s hand and he shook his head back and forth. “Please no.”

“I assure you, it isn’t poison,” Logan said. “I will even test it myself.” Yet, he was acting differently than he had with the food. He’d begun to shake and cry as he continued to shake his head.

 Oh dear. Logan grimaced and set down the potion. He glanced at the door very much hoping that Patton would come through it in the next few seconds, but he did not. “What is…” Logan said. “What is wrong?”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Please. Can’t. No.”

Logan wrung his hands and then went to his knees in front of the hyperventilating boy. He tried to place a comforting hand on his knee, but he flinched violently, and Logan removed his hand quickly. He dithered, unsure what to do as the boy continued to heave with sobs.

“I am not adept with discerning feelings. Please communicate with me verbally.”

 He did not seem inclined to capitulate, making pitiful upset sounds that Logan could not determine the meanings of.

“Please, no, hurts.”

“You think it will hurt you?” Logan asked with a frown. “It won’t hurt you Virgil. The purpose of that potion is quite the opposite.”

He either did not hear Logan or did not register what he said. “Please,” he begged. “I’ll be good. I won’t even move. Please.”

Won’t move. Logan glanced over at the other potion still simmering at the other station. “Do you think this is a binding potion?” he asked. “Why on Earth would I be offering you a binding potion to drink?” Yet, Logan watched as he shook and cried, eyes not quite focused on Logan but on something else that wasn’t there. “Did,” Logan with dawning horror. “Did someone feed you a binding potion?”

 Logan had once accidently gotten some of a binding potion he was making on his hand. It had stung like a thousand small bees had attacked one area of his skin, and it was only made worse by the fact that even that small amount had kept him trapped in place. Then, binding potions were sticky. They were difficult to remove. Even after the counter potion had been applied, he’d still felt a bit of an ache when he moved it for the next week or so. It’s why one was never supposed to apply it directly to a person’s skin.

 Who would make someone drink that? Beyond the assured agony and full body paralysis, it could easily kill someone. If not cooked properly, it was literally poison and even if it was perfect, there was still the possibility that it would freeze a person’s lungs, heart, or any other number of internal organs. If someone had fed Virgil a binding potion (and while he was no expert on facial expressions, the one currently on his face made Logan sure that someone had) they had little regard for his life.

Logan tired his best to soften his expression and tone. “Hey Virgil,” he said. “It’s okay. I won’t force you to drink anything. It’s not a binding potion, but I won’t make you drink it anyway.”

 It took him a bit to calm down, but finally his breaths started to even out. “Are you alright?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded after a moment.

“Good.” He waited for a few minutes for Virgil to calm down even more before he said anything else. “I will not make you drink any potions,” Logan promised. “Though, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to explain the option.”

He gave Logan a suspicious blink, but he didn’t seem inclined to have another fit at the sentiment.

“It is not a binding potion,” Logan started with. “I am making one for you, but I have no intention of having you consume it. What I was offering to you is medicinal. Both Patton and I noted that you seem unhealthy and likely malnourished. While nothing can reverse the effects of malnutrition completely, the potion I made would help prevent many future problems as well as let your body acclimate to a more nutritious diet easier.”

 Virgil squinted at him. “Why?” he asked. “I’m your prisoner. Why would you want to help me?”

“You are my prisoner which means you are under my care,” Logan said. “I will not abide by your suffering if I can prevent it. That being said, if drinking the potion causes you undue mental distress, I will not force it upon you.”

Virgil studied him, eyes hard and suspicious, but his words were tentative when they came. “Does it hurt bad?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” Logan promised. “Allow me to demonstrate for you?” He nodded and stood to retrieve the potion.

 Logan placed his thumb over the lid of the container and tilted it until he felt the liquid hit his skin. He pulled his hand away and showed Virgil the notable drops of liquid on his thumb before opening his mouth and clearly placing it on his tongue. “It mostly tastes like the honey I put in it,” he told him, “plus a bit of lavender and mint. It does have a slightly sour aftertaste, but overall, it’s fine. How about just a small amount to start and then you can decide if you want to drink the rest of the dose for the day?”

 “Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m going to put this bottle to your lips. You can take as little as you wish.” Virgil nodded and Logan leaned forward and pressed the container to his mouth. Virgil kept his lips firmly closed as Logan titled it up briefly before taking it away. Virgil’s tongue came out to swipe up a bit of the liquid on his lips. He seemed to brace himself as he waited for something to happen, but he calmed after a few moments.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not bad.”

“It is not intended to be,” Logan said. “Would you be willing to drink a bit more?”

  Chapter 8

Whatever the potion was that the prince had just given him made his mouth tingle slightly. It was not an unpleasant sensation. In fact, it was actually kind of nice, and it tasted pretty good though not as good as the honey he’d been offered earlier. It did, as Logan had said, have a bit of a sour taste under the sweet of the honey. Yet, the way it sort of warmed his tongue almost made up for that.

He bit his lip, wondering if he was making a mistake and having more than a taste would rip apart his insides, but still replied, “yes,” when Logan asked if he was willing to drink more.

 “Okay,” Logan said, tapping his finger on the container in his hands. “I’d like you to drink about to this line today if you can, but you can go as slow as you like.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay.”

Logan offered the container again and this time Virgil opened his mouth for it slightly. Logan tilted it slow, letting Virgil control the pace. It was still slightly warm from being cooked, but there was a bit of unnatural warmness to it as well. It slid down his throat easily when he swallowed, and Virgil could feel it go to work the instant it hit his stomach.

 Virgil paused and Logan let him. The warmth didn’t fade. Instead, it seemed to radiate out and through him. He opened his lips again and Logan tilted a bit more of the liquid into his mouth. He drank until Logan pulled the container away and looked at the level of the liquid. Seeming to be satisfied with how much Virgil had drank, Logan capped the container and moved away.

“You should drink a little bit more each day until this is empty,” Logan said.

“O-okay,” Virgil agreed. The effects of the potion hadn’t faded. There was a pleasant, warm buzzing all over his skin at this point.

 It seemed to congregate where he knew there were still a few leftover bruises on his back fizzling there slightly under the skin. He let out a breath and felt his head slightly droop, suddenly felling very sleepy.

Logan turned back to him and seemed to notice. “Apologies,” Logan said, “I did forget to mention that it has a general healing potion in it as well. If you were at all injured and it needed to activate, you may feel some drowsiness. Though it should in no way be enough to force you asleep if you do not wish it.”

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A potion with a sleeping agent sounded like something Virgil should be concerned about, he thought, but he couldn’t quite manage to summon any anxiety over it for once. He felt himself list a bit to the side.

“…Of course,” Logan continued. “I did not account for the fact that I have no idea when you last slept, and you are also likely suffering from an adrenaline crash considering your panic a few minutes ago.”

Those… sounded… like… words?

“Oh dear,” Logan said. “Let’s not fall asleep in the chair.” He felt Logan hovering over him and squinted up at him.

 “I’m going to touch you now, alright?” Logan asked. Everything felt kind of floaty and he felt warm but not too hot all over, like he’d fallen asleep at the exact right distance from a fire. His eyes slipped shut and he couldn’t quite recall why that made a bit of panic shoot up his spine. Said panic was dulled immediately by the crashing waves of exhaustion and a comforting lack of pain anyway. “…Virgil?”

“Mmmph.” The identity of the speaker didn’t quite stick anymore, but it didn’t sound mad so it was probably fine.

“...I will take that as consent.” Gentle hands pushed him back up into a sitting position where he had been listing to the side and then Virgil’s wrists were grabbed. Virgil confusedly staggered to his feet when he was pulled up and immediately stumbled into something warm. He decided to lean against it. Leaning against it sounded good.

“When is the last time you slept, Virgil?” The voice rumbling from the warm thing supporting Virgil’s weight registered as chiding, but there didn’t seem to be any danger coming from it. He was given a soft push and he tripped in that direction. A warm band went around his waist to steady him and then pulled him forward. Virgil allowed himself to be guided, leaning heavily against the warmth next to him. He was stopped after an unknown amount of walking. “I’m going to have to put you in the closet again for now since I have to keep watch over the binding potion. However, it seems as though Patton has already constructed a comfortable enough sleeping area there anyway.”

“Mmmnum.”

“Would you lay down for me?” Laying down sounded fantastic right now. The walking was not fun and had made him even more tired. He let his body slump forward until his knees hit something very soft and then toppled onto his face. There was a sigh from above him and then hands were pushing at him until he rolled over onto his side. When one of the hands strayed near his head, he pressed his cheek into it.

“This would be something Patton would find adorable if it wasn’t a result of my unintentionally drugging you, injuries, and sleep deprivation.” The hand Virgil had been leaning into carefully lifted his head and when it was lowered again, his ear sunck into a plush thing. Something soft was pulled on top of Virgil, covering him from head to toe and then the warm thing drew away. Virgil whined at the loss.

There was a pause. “Here.” Something soft and squishable was placed under his chin and Virgil curled his arms around it, pulling it to his chest. “Sleep well. I’ll be back to check on you periodically” There was a soft click and then the world got even darker behind his closed eyelids. Virgil drifted off to sleep.

[atiny-ahgase]

Does He Know That?

Author’s Note: I’m not really that confident in my writing skill do I don’t usually enjoy writing what I see as being long stories but I really like this one. Probably has a little too much plot but that’s okay.

Summary: Your bad day lasts throughout the entire week and you want nothing more than to just relax with your boyfriend who is busy working on his comeback.

Pairing: Yeosang x Female reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Genre: Fluff, Angst

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

“Sangie! Wait up,” you yell to the blonde head of hair briefly peeking out above the crowd of students. You squeeze your way through, breathlessly catching up with him. “Yeosang,” you whine “, you walk too quickly,” you say while clutching your chest breathlessly. “Maybe you just walk too slowly,” he teases while smiling down at you. His golden hair appearing even more beautiful in the morning light, framing his flawless face even more.

You smile back at him, eyes rolling slightly at his remark. Your best friend really was a sight for sore eyes. When he wasn’t acting like a teasing five-year-old he was pretty charming. He turns on his heels, proceeding to walk in his previous direction. “You coming!”  you hear him shout. You release an exaggerated sigh before running after him. 

---------

You’d met Yeosang on your first day of university, you were running late for your class; unable to find the correct building. Frantically rushing around a corner you collided with another student. That’s where you met. Falling with a thump, both of you landed on the floor, your respective documents joining shortly.

“Wow, where’s the fire,” you hear him say while standing from the floor. He extended his hand helping you up as well. “Sorry, I’m late for class. I just can’t seem to find the right building,” you sigh, exhaustion clearly in your voice. You both collect the papers littered all over the floor before you attempt to leave.

“What building are you in?” you hear him ask. “Umm...Building 19,” you reply, turning around to meet his eyes. “That’s on the other side of the school you’ll never make it in time,” he responds while taking a step towards you, slowly retrieving your schedule from your hand. “You’re an Art Major,” he proclaims “, this is the History Building,” he continues before returning your schedule.

“It’s at least a half-hour walk to your faculty,” he says, you sigh in response; head hanging in the process.“Thank you umm,” you begin; not really knowing what to call him. “Sorry, I’m Kang Yeosang,” he informs you while offering his hand to you for a handshake smiling brightly as you take his hand. You shake it before introducing yourself as well.

“There are maps at the entrance of each building so that should help you get around better. Don’t get too lost okay Newbie,” he smiles at you, chuckling slightly while continuing down the hallway. He seemed nice. Okay, let’s just focus on finding where every room is since you’ve basically already missed your first class. Can’t afford to get lost every time you have a class.

You’ve spent the rest of your day familiarizing yourself with the layout of the campus. Although you’re still not an expert you can at least find your way around easily enough. Dropping yourself on an adjacent bench you decide to rest a little before eventually heading back to your dorm.

Shuffling through your bag you search for your key card, finding it among a folder full of papers. Grasping it, you remove it from your bag which you attempt to close but a gust of wind causes this usually mundane task to be quite difficult, your papers rustling in the wind. Eventually, you succeed without getting any paper stuck in the zipper.

Unfortunately for you, one paper flew out of your bag and is now flying across the schoolyard. Just great. You grasp your bag firmly at your side before chasing the stray page. The wind had settled down momentarily so you grasped the opportunity and grabbed the page before it gets the chance to blow away once more.

Looking over the contents you soon realize that the page doesn’t belong to you; the student ID was unfamiliar. Where could you have gotten this from? Raking your brain you come to the conclusion that it probably belonged to the Yeosang, the boy you met briefly in the History Building. How do I get it back to him? It looks like it’s important. Thoughts flood your mind. It was your fault that you even had it in the first place, you weren’t paying attention.

Sighing softly, you place the page in your bag before heading to the History Building. It has been at least 2 hours since you were last there, what assurance did you have that he’d still be there? And even if he was there; the building has 3 floors, he could be anywhere. Brushing the doubtful thoughts from your mind you continue on your endeavour. 

Upon arriving, you realize that you have no idea where to look, feeling just as confused as you were when you had initially wandered into the said building earlier that day, you sigh, distress obvious on your face.

“Are you lost?” you hear an unfamiliar voice inquire. Spinning around you’re greeted by a pair of deep-set dimples. “No, I’m actually looking for someone,” you respond, taking a step back. 

He smiles at you, dimples deepening further. “I’m San, by the way, maybe I know them,” he states. You relax slightly at his words, hoping that he at least knew of Yeosang, honestly, any information would have helped. “Do you know a guy named Yeosang?” you inquire, “ He’s about this tall, has blonde hair and a birthmark over his eye.” 

“Oh yeah, Sangie. He’s the Student Representative for one of the boys’ dorms,” San says while tilting his head to the left. Well, I guess that’s where the dorm is.“Thank you,” you tell him before heading to the left. “We could walk you if you’d like”, he states while looking over at his group of friends. 

There were 4 of them in total; San who sported a silver streak in his otherwise pitch-black hair, a guy with pale silver hair split down the middle and two taller guys. One with vibrant red hair which could easily outshine the sun and one whose eyes for some reason remind you of a puppy dog.

“It’s getting pretty late, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” he reassures. “Thank you but I’ll be fine,” you responded sweetly before heading on your way. The sun was still up and the schoolyard still bustled with groups of people so you weren’t the least bit worried and you knew better than to trust a group of random strangers.

After stopping a few people to ask for directions you finally have the dorm insight. It took you longer than expected, the sun already dropping lower in the sky; welcoming the cold night breeze. Clutching your jacket closer to your body you walk into the reception area.

“Hello,” you greet the security at the desk “, I’m looking for the student rep for this dorm,” you inform him, remembering what San had told you. “Oh Yeosang, he’s in the last room down the hall to your left. You just need to sign the registry first,” he states before handing you a book. You quickly fill in the information before scurrying down the hall. Keeping your head down you ignore the gazes of the other residents before reaching the room in question.

Hesitantly you knock on the door. Hearing faint shuffling from the other side you release a breath of relief. Before long the door swings open and you’re greeted by Yeosang. He wore a loose white t-shirt, a pair of grey sweatpants and a look of surprise. “Um hi,” you begin, a shy smile on your lips. You honestly didn’t think this far ahead.

“Sangie I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” you hear some boys across the hall. 

“Guess our student rep isn’t just all books,” another exclaims with a loud laugh. You could feel your face heating up at their childish remarks, causing you to lower your head. Yeosang must have noticed this because you began to softly tug at your arm causing you to lookup. 

“I don’t really know why you’re here but it's a lot quieter inside, come on,” he says while stepping to the side; allowing you to walk in. You step past him, thanking him softly. The door clicked as it closed and Yeosang sigh while running his hand through his golden hair.

“I’m sorry about that. I’d say that they’re not usually like that but I’d be lying,” he attempts to lighten the awkward mood. Lightly chuckling you reach into your bag searching for the entire reason you just turned up at this almost complete stranger’s door. “Umm. I think you dropped this when we bumped into each other earlier,” you inform him meekly before directing the paper in his direction. 

Retrieving it from your hand he looks it over before clicking his tongue glancing over at you. “So you came all this way looking for someone you hardly knew and have no information about to give them something they dropped?” he asks rather bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “It seemed important,” you mumbled, shifting your field of vision from his face to the floor. You knew it was kinda stupid but he didn’t have to be so blunt about it.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I have a habit of always saying the first thing to come to mind,” he begins to ramble; fingers ruffling his hair before laying on his bed. Your eyes following his every movement. He’s really handsome; managing to keep your attention even when he’s dressed down. How could he not already have a girlfriend? 

“Thank you,” he breathes out “, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble, I really do appreciate it.” You fight back the smile threatening to creep up on your face. “You’re welcome,” you respond; your heartwarming at his words “, I should get going though. It’s getting pretty late,” you continue while glancing out of the window.

“I’ll walk you out,” he states. Not really leaving much room for argument. You both walk down the hall, trying to ignore the hollering you receive from the other residents. Yeosang pushes the door open causing a gust of cold wind to greet you. You shiver slightly while hugging your body. “How far is your apartment?” he asks while looking up at the dark blue sky. “It’s on the other side of the campus,” you respond.

“I’ll walk you there,” he says while already beginning to walk. “Are you sure that’s okay?  You’re not really dressed for the weather,” you query while looking over what you assume to be his pyjamas for the night. “And you don’t have a single sense of danger. I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk alone. So come on it’s freezing,” he replies now at least 10 steps ahead of you. You hurry behind him.

---------

You chuckle slightly at the memory of how you two became friends. Even though he was surprisingly blunt you really did cherish his opinion. You knew that it was coming from a place of love and genuine concern. Yeosang was the one person that you knew would always tell you the truth no matter what. He’d never sugar coat any of his words and he’d definitely never lie to you and you really appreciated that.

You had both arrived at the cafe, sitting down once you had received your orders. “You sent in your paper Sangie?” You ask him. “Yeah, now all I have to do is study for finals,” he states, smiling brightly at you.

“How is your collaboration project going?” Yeosang asks before taking a bite of his sandwich. For your end of year project, the Art Majors were paired up with Seniors belonging to the Fashion Department to work with them on their Final Year Project. 

The essence of the project was that you’d choose to analyze a form of art, whether it be found in architecture, different painting styles or whatever you’d like, and combine both Majors (Art and Fashion) to create two cohesive pieces; one everyday look and one high fashion look.

You weren’t really the most fashionable person in the world but you couldn’t have asked for a better partner.“Oh it’s going pretty well,” you begin “, we decided to choose Starry Night so our looks will have to be representative of that piece. I was pretty concerned about manipulating the brush strokes on the fabric to mimic the piece but Hongjoong said that he’s got it covered.” you began gushing about your partner.

Usually, you hate any type of group projects because they basically consist of you doing all of the work and being guilt-tripped into putting everyone’s names on the assignment. But this time things were different, you actually have someone you can depend on. 

“Seems pretty full of himself if he thinks he can recreate one of the most memorable pieces of art in history,” Yeosang concludes. Sometimes you forget that he’s a history major.

“I think it’s nice. It shows that he believes in himself and his talents”, you state while looking down at your plate. “Let’s just hope it’s not unjustified confidence,” Yeosang snidely remarked.

Okay, you knew that he was blunt but he has literally no justification to be going in on Hongjoong like that. “Sangie”, you sigh; hand reaching out to grip his arm resting on the table. Using your thumb you rub gentle circles along his arm; feeling him stiffen up slightly.

 “You’re not usually like this. Is something wrong?” you question looking into his warm brown eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but is quickly cut off by your name being called.

“Y/n. Hey, I didn’t expect to see you over here,” you pinpoint the voice smiling brightly as you realize its Hongjoong. “Hey Joongie!” you exclaim raising from your seat to hug him.

“I just came to get something to eat before class starts. What about you?” you question. “I was passing by and saw something that looked absolutely delectable from through the window and just thought I’d come in to have a closer look,” he states, his hand still around your waist from your precious hug.

“Wow you must be sporting 40-40 vision to notice those pastries from all the way over there,” Yeosang states, obviously not believing his story. The counter was situated more towards the back of the shop but you just brush it off.

“Hi, sorry we haven’t met. I’m Kim Hongjoong; Design Major,” your group partner introduces himself.

 “Kang Yeosang; History,” Yeosang states while raising from his seat forcing Hongjoong to look slightly up. Yeosang was in no way one of the tallest guys you’ve known; he is still taller than Hongjoong.

“I have a paper to write so I’ll see you later okay. Text me when your class is over, we’ll study together,” Yeosang states while pulling you into a hug. To say that you were caught off guard would be an understatement. That was the first time Yeosang had ever hugged you. Yeah you were both friends but you just assumed that he wasn’t the hugging type; but apparently not. You smile into the hug, it was nice, you silently wish that he would hug you more often.

The hug didn’t last long before he pulled away looking over at Hongjoong one last time before grabbing his coffee, ruffling your hair and leaving. Didn’t he say that he finished all of his papers? Why would he lie about something like that?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your date,” Hongjoong says nervously while shifting his weight from side to side. You were sure in that moment your cheeks were warmer than the coffee that you left on the table. He thought that you two were together. You and Sangie? He thought that you looked like a couple. 

“Oh no it's nothing like that,” you begin almost frantically “, we’re just friends.” Hongjoong’s eyes never drifting from yours. “Really?” he asks; his voice dropping octaves lower than before. You nod slightly, unphased by his change in demeanour. 

“That’s great,” he says while brushing a stray hair from your face, fingers lightly grazing the surface of your skin “, I’ll see you in class then.” And just like that, he was gone. 

The class was pretty uneventful. No, be honest you weren’t really listening, you were worried about Yeosang. In the time that you have both been friends, he’s never once lied to you. He just isn’t the time. And on top of that, it was a lie about Home Work? Really? Something just didn’t add up; you wanted to ask about it.

“Hey y/n are you okay?” Hongjoong asks once class was over. “Yeah I’m fine I’ve just been feeling a little off today,” you reply. Hongjoong places his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. You know that he’s just being friendly and he’s concerned about your health but every time he touches you it feels wrong. You don’t get that friendly energy that you get from your other friends and you don’t get that warm, safe feeling that you get from Yeosang.

“You don’t seem to have a fever, maybe it was something you ate.” You nod your head slowly, “Yeah probably. But anyway I should be going. I promised that I’d meet up with Yeosang.”

“He won’t die if you don’t hang out with him for one day,” he proclaims while gently gripping your forearm. “Huhh?” confusion dripping from your voice as you turn to face him.

“Y/n. Can I ask you something?” he sighs while looking at his feet.

“Sure,” you simply reply.

“Would you like to go out with me this coming weekend? We could go to the art exhibit that we talked about.” he gleams.

He was asking you out. Kim Hongjoong was asking you out on a date. This is the first time someone has asked you out since you’ve entered University. So why aren’t you more excited? 

“Sorry Joongie I can’t. I’m busy that day”, you lie while averting your eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be Saturday, it could be Sunday if you want. Whichever day works for you.” He responds with an air of desperation in his voice.

“Actually I’m not busy,” you confess; the guilt is already beginning to eat you alive. You never were a good liar. “I can’t go because-” “You can’t go because there is no way he would let you,” he interjects.

“Who are you talking about?” you question. You both clearly are not on the same page.

“Your boyfriend. Yeosang was it?” Hongjoong asks, but it doesn’t really sound like a question.

“Sangie isn’t my boyfriend, we’re just friends,” you state, attempting to annoy the sudden ache in your heart that those words cause.

“Does he know that?”

----------

The thunderous downpour of the rain attempts to drown out the ringing of your phone as you try to contact Yeosang. His phone is off, just great. You’re running across the courtyard basically going from building to building until you reach his dorm. You wanted to see him, you needed to see him.

Earlier today he said that he had a paper to write but that was a big fat lie and you knew it. That coupled together with Hongjoong basically insinuating that Yeosang liked you, your mind was a mess. You refused to listen to anything about Yeosang that didn’t come out of his mouth because that’s how much you’ve trusted him. He has always been upfront with you no matter how much it hurt it, that’s why you need to hear it from him.

Finally reaching Yeosang’s dorm building you rush inside; not even bothering to check-in by the front desk cause you’ve been there so many times before. By this time all of your clothes were wet, the rain doing a serious number on you. 

Walking up to Yeosang’s door you raised your hand, banging on it harder than usual. “What?” you hear an angered Yeosang ask from inside and within seconds he had swung the door open; ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind.

You saw the drastic change from anger to concern on his face as soon as he laid eyes on you. Realizing that he could never be mad at you. You walk past him, walking straight into his room. 

“It’s pouring outside what are you doing here?” No response. He began rustling through his draws in search of what you believe to be some dry clothes for you. “Here wear this, I’ll wait outside.” He hands you a pair of his shorts and a sweatshirt before exiting the room. You quickly change before opening the door and letting him in.

“Why are you here y/n?” he asks but his eyes never reach you, he hasn’t looked at you once since you’ve entered his room. This isn’t like him; he doesn’t just blatantly lie to you and he always looks you in the face while talking to you. Yeosang has always made it a point to look at whoever he is speaking to in the eyes. He said it was something about effective communication, yet here he was, avoiding eye contact.

Ignoring his initial question you ask, “How’s the paper coming along?” while dropping down at his computer table. He sat on his bed, shoulders hunched looking down at his feet. “It’s going pretty well, you could expect a draft to read really soon if you want,” he states, never lifting his head to look at you. He was lying, you could tell. His voice was distant like he was there but his thoughts somewhere else. What was on his mind?

“Remember when we were walking back from the library after studying for Mid-terms? We talked about how you’re such an amazing friend because you’re so honest. I promised you that I wouldn’t lie to you so we could be amazing friends together,” your voice cracks replaying the memory.

Everyone lies you knew that better than anyone but Yeosang wasn’t like everyone else, not to you. He was your first University friend, he’d always make time for you no matter how busy he got and would continuously check up on you during finals. He meant a lot to you, so much more than he would ever know.

He sighs once more; falling back on his bed. “I don’t know what you want me to say y/n.”

“Tell me the truth. What’s up with you lately? Everything was fine yesterday, what’s so different today?” you yell. Standing to your feet. You’re beyond annoyed right now. You know that something is wrong and you wanna help him through whatever it is he’s going through but you can’t because he won’t let you in. What’s with this attitude? What’s with these secrets? Why won’t he just talk to you?

“You want the truth? Fine!” Yeosang shouts, his voice bouncing off the four walls of his small dorm room. “Not once during this entire so-called friendship have I ever thought of you as a friend.” His words crashing into you like a load of bricks. He was the most important person in your life; tearing down walls that you didn’t even know you had.

“Sangie,” you breathe out, almost in a whisper, heart aching every time you look at him. 

“Please stop,” he says in a hushed tone “, stop calling me that. It’s painful. Every moment I spend beside you hurts so Goddamn much, I can’t take it anymore.” he says; his voice someone seeming even more crushed than yours.

“I don’t want this friendship! I don’t want to stand beside you as other guys flirt with you, I don’t wanna hear you gushing about the guys in your classes, I don’t want to stand by and be your supportive friend y/n.” With that, he’s once again seated on his bed, hands in his face and breathing heavily.

Mustering up the little fight you can manage to gather after that heartbreaking revelation you ask, “Then what do you want Sang-...Yeosang?”

“You,” he says. Almost in a whisper. His voice sounded so tired, so soft, so...damaged. “I like you y/n, I’ve always liked you. You’re the only person I know that truly gets me.”

“You’re not deterred by my bluntness, you’re not deceived by my lies, no matter how many times I try to push you away you see right through me.”

He’s now looking up at you, his face red and tears threatening to fall. “I like you to Sangie,” you reply while taking a tentative step towards him. You did like him. You didn’t know when you had started experiencing those feeling for him but you were made aware of it by San; who you’ve been getting pretty close to.

San had asked what kind of guys you were into (he was tryna set you up with one of his friends), when you had responded he couldn’t stop laughing. You asked him about it and he simply said “, You know that you just described Yeosang perfectly right?” He promised that he wouldn’t say anything and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship.

And look where that mindset has you. Face to face with a tear-faced Yeosang. You really messed up.. 

“Stop lying!” he shouts, startling you. “You don’t need to lie to me to keep me by your side,” he continues. He doesn’t believe you and why should he? He’s been harbouring feelings for you this entire time and you just couldn’t see it. 

Even though you love him so much, he can’t see his pain. He was hurting because of you, he’s been hurting because of you. You feel your body move on its own. Before your brain can even register you’re already standing between Yeosang’s legs holding him in your arm. 

His arms tentatively rest on your waist as you hold him close to your chest, just nuzzling his head. “Sangie” you whisper “, I’m sorry I’m an idiot. I’m sorry that I couldn’t see you even though you always saw me,” your voice begins to crack. You feel his grip on waist tighten as his fingers grasp the sweatshirt that you’re wearing. “I promised that I’d never lie to you, so please believe me when I saw that you’re the best part of every day and I’m so happy to be a part of your life.”

“If you’re not with me I don’t know what I would do. I spent all day worrying about you, I wait at my phone wherever you say that you’re gonna call me. I take the long way to class every day just so I could pass by the History Building and see you sitting under the big oak tree.” you confess. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t come to terms with my feelings sooner but I really do like you.”

You feel him shuffle beneath your grip. Releasing your hands you look down at him as he looks up at you. He looks so vulnerable, you can’t believe that you caused that.

“I won’t stand idly by as other guys flirt with you,” he begins “,and I’m the only guy that gets a nickname ok?” he professes, his eyes looking straight into your soul. “No ‘Sannie’, no ‘Youngie’ and definitely no Joongie.” He continued while poking out his bottom lip; looking at you with puppy dog eyes, his face brightening up as he looks at you.

“Just Sangie from now on okay?”

You reply to his almost adorable wishes the best way you know-how. Leaning forward you place a small peck on his lips, smiling down at him when you pull away. “Fine,” you chuckle “, I’ll leave all of the cute nicknames for you.”

[mojotheroot]

I wish everyone would stop saying

“ Just forget him”

“ Move on”

“ He is not worth it” etc.  The countless pep talks that are meant to help me move on, they seem so dismissive. Like a lack of empathy to my pain and situation. Or an intolerance to seeing my suffering. Because I can’t simply forget and move on because he was and is worth holding on to for me personally. Perhaps that is just hope.

Tricky bitch that it is.

I have at least come to the realization that I am not attracting toxic people.

The truth is that toxic people are not picky.

Sure, they may have a preference for a particular prey. But ultimately, I do not think they are picky about who they destroy as long as they are destroying someone.

The real question is not why the toxic people are abundant in my life but why do I allow them to stay.

That is what I need to change the most.

This sounds a lot more mental positive than claiming that I am “broken”. 

As mortifying as it sounds, I think a toxic person can initially be beneficial to any relationships.

It can ground any ideals that may be impractical.

It is surely a reminder of where you do not want a relationship to go.

It allows the setting of hard boundaries.

The trick is to enforce those boundaries.

When the person has crossed them, it is time to move past it as quick as  possible and let them go.

As easy as that sounds... I give reasonable advice but seldom ever follow it…that kind of shit you know.

All of that said, it still seems a somewhat monumental task to just move on from this heartbreak.

I was once told that for however long you were together you do some math stuff and the result was how long it would take to find some form of solace.

Without putting into account the depth of the connection and what time sentence that carries as well…sigh…I got a while to go before I can safely move on.

The hardest part is the waiting. Damn , I feel like I have waited lifetimes already for a response. And it has only been…only 16 days?  Wait…16 days have passed?! Feels oddly like only hours since our last words but again, it also feels like a lifetime. Shit this is going to be a hell of a ride. It is already bad enough as is.

Sixteen days----384 hours- 23,000 minutes and some change…huh… my mind is a bit shook over that.

All of those hours and minutes have been filled with echoes of the words he once said.

Statements that my mind is struggling to categorize as lies, all while my heart and soul is hanging on to them as canon truths.

I think, for healing purposes, I can acknowledge the reasoning for the depths of my feelings over these statements that are perpetual in my mind.

They came at a time where I was legit mentally broken.

I had given up loving others.

Rather I had grouped the world into two categories:

People that can be trusted because they had yet to figure out how to use me

and

People that were actively not to be trusted because they were using me. 

I absolutely give up on love.

I mean why should I even bother with it when I didn’t even love myself?

Love was a banal attempt at getting closer to another because ultimately you wanted something.

A chemical con-job the brain produces to lull the sense to any potential predator response the brain could possibly trigger (gut instinct can be loud I guess in the initial meeting…maybe it is that predator response…can digest that later perhaps) but really it is just the brain getting us closer for evolutionary purposes if we cut through all the shit and be honest. Not a good premise for a romance novel or poetry.

But it is true.

I digress.

As I said, I had already thoroughly become disgusted at the idea of people as a whole and given all faith in humanity up.

It was just me and the rest of the world were NPC [non playable characters] or distracting side quests completely irrelevant to the main quest regardless of how they may enhance a storyline.

And that is where our villain enters the scene.

He swoops in almost immediately recognizing and acknowledging my pain.

From the start it was intensity of the Sun.

He wasted no time at all.

The first thing was establishing trust.

He did this with kind patience. Listening to me cry.

Just sitting there with a hand on my shoulder. Waiting and saying nothing until it passed.

Then the phrase that I have come to loathe and is likely now the entirely of my reasoning to almost immediately disassociate from a person and be on red alert:

“ You can trust me.”

The first time he said that, I was totally shocked at the ludicrous idea of it.

Trust you? Trust anyone?

What a novel idea but my mind had long ago already established fantasy parameters and boundaries based solely on that phrase alone.

Yet, he persisted.

For some time, he would always seem to find me alone, broken down and in an utter mess of a mental state.

Like he had a radar for the heart ache.

And we would go through the motions, he would comfort me with physical presence or a warm touch.

All sprinkled with kind soothing words.

Then the expansion upon the phrase came as “ You can tell me what is on your mind. Trust me please.”

This was new to me.

Like it stopped me deadass in mid fall to contemplate the idea because it had never before been offered as an option to me.

Sure folks would say I could talk to them about anything before but that was always context based like if I wanted to talk about a shared interest or even how I felt about a particular scholastic or political idea. But, never had anyone offered permission to talk about things that were hurting me.

It was generally presented to us as children in my household that one just did not talk about what was hurting them inside, not unless it was something that required a visit to the hospital. Mental trauma was a product of a weak person.

And be damned if we ever allowed the world to perceive us as such because we already had enough strikes by being poor.

Let the world see you struggle with a smile on your face.

At any rate, the idea of having somebody that wanted to hear why I cry…why I hurt…and mind you this was completely unsolicited by me with any words or actions other than my own distress; had incited a curiosity.

So, the seed was planted.

I resisted it of course.

The soil of my heart was salted and had the sole purpose of wallowing in the misery of whatever current dilemma I was facing.

It was a burial plot.

A place I would die a thousand times per day.

I had put my red alert on but was inquisitive while also dismissing the entire idea as a “ good Christian’s act of kindness” and nothing more than a self-imposed penance for Original Sin.

And yet he expanded the phrase again.

This time, it was the bullet that struck the mark.

I remember that night.

I was deep into my feels.

Almost inconsolable and wanted nothing more than to cocoon myself up in it and let the flood of emotions drown me.

He came to me unexpectedly this time.

Whereas normally he would do a knock on the door or some tentative inquisition as to my need for help.

I was face down drowning my pillow in salt tainted water and he slid next to me on my bed.

Naturally, I jumped in response to this intrusion. Whereas he grabs me by the shoulders and wraps his arms tightly around me. Smoothing my disgruntled hair and cooing “It is okay, it is okay.” I lay there completely consumed by this grief that wracked my very core on a daily bases from a time that seems like since birth.

And then he touches my tear drenched cheek and travels to my downfaced  chin and lifts it like it is the most fragile thing he has ever touched before until my closed by shame eyes were level to his and opened them with a single kiss to the cheek. He said:

“ Please let me help you. Talk to me. I want to help. Trust me. I just want to help. “

I must have visibly shown to him my abhorrence to the idea of trusting because he then used the most sacred three words that is often thrown around like such a mundane thing…he said -I love you.

Now, I have heard this often of course. It is a phrase used so much in Southern families and amongst friends in parting or as a sign of pleasure to any particular act that needs emphasis.

But, this was the first time I had it said to me; albeit in such a serene way, where it was delivered with a penetrate force and I felt it inside.

After those words, I stammered at first the dismissive phrases degrading my obvious mental distress.

He was not taking that as an answer.

He leaned in and held me close. Heart to heart and whispered random things if nothing more than to steadily chisel away my resolve.

Which worked of course but, I was not about to initiate sharing my feelings at this point because it seemed to me futile since I was calming down.

He must have sensed the shift and the settling calm because he stops talking and with no hesitation wipes the tears from my eyes with the palm of his hands and smooths my face with a gentle caress.

And the next step was for me the most intimate thing I had experienced in a long time.

He looked me in the eyes, something I had all but identified at a young age as an act solely reserved for dominance and degradation and he smiled with his very own and asked in a pleading tone if I could learn to trust him, because he would not hurt or betray me with anything we talked about. He just wanted to help me. And then that three word phrase to add emphasis.

I melted then and my mouth betrayed my mind and words came out like a volcanic force.

When the eruption was over, he smiled at me. Smoothed my eyebrows with his thumb and held my hands ( this would become a permanent act of intimacy between us anytime we met henceforth) and we sat up in bed and he held me again.

I shuttered in response to another round of emotional tears and he held tighter and said it was okay, he was there for me. And I stopped.

Because I felt it in my soul that he meant that.

And there it was. I had started to feel again.

It was like a tiny itch at first.

Nagging and begging to be scratched.

Weeks went on, we got closer. And I remember out of nowhere telling him in response to his kindness, I love you...

Damn I was fucked with one phrase and knew it the moment it leapt unexpectedly from my lips.

Not simply the phrase itself but it was the way it felt coming out.

Because the moment it passed my teeth I felt with it’s expulsion the crumbling of the walls I had built around myself.

And he knew it because he smiled with his eyes and embraced me.

I was completely at his mercy when it came to any curiosity about how I was feeling or how I felt about anything at all.

I was enthralled with this new freedom to say how I felt to somebody that legitimately wanted to know and encouraged it.

Every time I would breakdown and ultimately attempt to put up walls he would coax me with his unwavering patience and wield his kindness with the skill of any warrior with a sword and promptly redirect me so we remained open with one another.

Simply waiting until he changed his attention to some other idea or thought was never an option because he remained patient and waited until I would eventually speak even if he had to use prompts.

But it was never an option again for me to simply dismiss and bury my feelings.

So, here I am...flipped and twisted and not entirely sure where things go from this point.

[iffyswriting]

ICE 1 prt. 2

Note: Chile my bumass might as well finish this on Tumblr. 🥴

People say it's hard to be a good person and much easier to be a bad one. I'm inclined to find it true.

Looking from side to side I made my way towards my car and turned my music up louder, hoping it could drown out the thoughts beginning to cloud my mind. It didn't work, my brain always winning out when I started to think.

Trying to do something better with yourself and putting effort into turning a new leaf is like a double-sided coin, you don't get the perks or the praise you want right off the bat. Especially for just attempting.

When you've got no moral compass it's easier to be selfish and easy to deal out your own version of justice. Growing up I found that admirable and I modeled myself after that mindset. It's affected my mental health worse than expected and as I get older I realize I need to change.

If I want any chance at some peace of mind, I need as many changes I can get and do.

Every day I'm trying to do better and even then it doesn't seem like enough. I don't want to give up because you've got to take slow steps in any journey.

The cleansing of a conscious is a process and this new process is going to be long-winded.

I parked my car by the railroad tracks, looking over at the house my presence would disappear from. Many called it the trap but I'm calling it the past I rounded up a bag from the back and checked it's contents, sighing at all I was leaving behind me.

"Miro!" Quint called out to me, bringing attention to himself. I could see from the porch, his arms were outstretched a goofy-ass smile on his face.

"Are you fucking high?"

"Nah, but I plan too. Stick around long enough, I'll let you get a hit."

"Man getcha ass back in the house."

Walking through each room that looked just as unassuming on the inside as it did on the out. Careful planning and rearranging kept everything lowkey and mundane. If you're gonna deal drugs, don't have your product or evidence spread out everywhere.

People talk too much.

Walking into the back office, I stared at my life-long friend knowing that after this our friendship wouldn't be the same. It was something I was coming to accept.

"Kirk."

"Mir." He looked up from his numbers, his facial expression stoic."I expected a warmer welcome with you walking into my house and shit."

"This isn't a friendly visit. You know that."

"I feel like you been avoiding me- so I at least expect you to fake a cordial attitude." Kirk was always about how he felt and even if it wasn't true if he felt that way, then it was good enough truth for him.

"If I wanted to speak, we'd been have had a conversation." Placing the bag onto his desk, I stood back a bit watching as he opened it, gazing at its inside."I'm just tryna wrap up any more loose ends."

"Yeah, yeah whatever nigga."

"You always hostile anyway, Kirk." I joked, letting my guard down finally.

"Nah, I get mistaken for that because of the voice. I'm as peaceful as they come-" He joked back with a smirk, stacking his money together. He placed a band over it and threw it into a ziplock bag, to freeze later.

"Walk with me while we talk."  We went to a further backroom, and I looked at the boys he had under his belt working and getting his money together. He claimed it to be giving out opportunities but I saw it as sending out more toxicity.

Kirkland swiped at his nose, browsing over his workers."You got a plan after this?

"Always do."

"Didn't expect nothing less." Two were snickering about something, and I twitched at wanting to reprimand them. Wasn't my place anymore.

"I thought I fucking told yo ass to keep your eyes on those fucking numbers! You got ADD or something?! Can't focus on one thing!?"  He snapped at one of them, fear jutting out of them as they moved fast back to their original task.

"And you say you're peaceful." Kirk shook his head, rubbing the space between his eyes- stress underlying them.

"And then I said as they come." He took a brush out of his pocket and began to brush his hair distracting his brain.  "I'ma honestly miss your presence Mir."

"You keep shit in line- that's why I made you my right hand."

"I'm just organized. You can find another nigga just as good as me." I wove off, my decision was stagnant.

"We both know that's not true but that's okay because figuring shit out on my own is my specialty."

"If you'd listen you wouldn't have to figure out anything."

"Now, that's a lie." He said a ghost of a laugh coming out.

"At least won't have to figure out shit detrimental to your life."

"You know as much as I do this life only leads to two outcomes, Death or Jail." I started to rant, my blood pumping in my veins. "If we've got fucking brains then there is no reason for us to continue to do this stupid shit when we could be trying to make something of ourselves!"

"Don't come in here acting all high and mighty, when just a couple of months ago you were doing this same shit! You've never been a hypocrite don't start now."

"I ain't being a hypocrite-"

"Easy money is easy money." He spoke cutting me off. "And with the dirt you've got piled up around here, I ain't expect you to leave so early.  All the shit we had planned, mean nothing to you?"

"It means nothing to me now because it isn't the direction I want anymore." I pointed at him than myself. "I'm not getting any younger and neither are you."

"We aren't even business associates anymore, so this conversation is useless."

"Kirk."

"What the fuck, I just say!?" He responded his chest puffing up. I clenched my jaw and my fists, counting in my head to control my anger, I didn't come here to fight with him I came to finish everything.

"Fine."

"When shit gets tough, don't forget you always got a place back here."  He said ultimately, that look in his eyes all too familiar. He was persuasive and good with his words, but his charisma wouldn't keep me stuck in the quicksand. I refused to be pulled back in, no matter how bad shit gets.

"I won't be back. " I said sternly, looking him in his eye as he continued to smirk unfazed by my words.

"Sure." He became genuine holding out his hand for a dap. " Make sure you speak when you see me."

"I will ." Kirk was like a brother to me, the same way I view Quintin but if I have to choose between my soul and their brotherhood, my soul is sliding across the finish line easily. If I don't have my heart, then how am I gonna help them eventually?

"Gone so soon?" Quintin asked, sparking his lighter as he lit a blunt. His eyes were empty as he scanned his surroundings, searching for something I didn't see was there.

"Yeah, there's no more ties between us."

"That easy?"

"It never is but it's good enough for now."

"Tell Tilo, I said wassup."

"You can tell him yourself when you come by the house."

"Nah, gon' be too busy."  His eyes were hazed over now but still empty as he gave me a slick smile, his head falling back.

"You want  a hit?" I felt tempted but I still had more things to do.

"Next time I see you, remember this turn."

"I will." I dapped him up and walked towards my car. I placed a hand on my door, standing still in place. I can't turn back because it'd be like turning back on my mother. On all her dreams and wishes for me,  I can't keep living with myself if I do that.

I have to move forward and I have to do better. I gotta trust in my process because it's all I got to believe in.

@bakarilennox @domdollass @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @chaneajoyyy

[mcnypieces]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme

fill out & repost ♥  This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK ( They’re missing out )

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK ( It’s subjective )

Are they underrated? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO? ( This is... also subjective. )

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

How strictly do you follow canon?

     As closely as possible, considering there’s not very much to work with in regards to his canon to begin with. There’s a lot of freedom in picking up any kind of minor canon character. I look mainly to expand on what little is present. I adore fleshing out even the smallest ideas so having something I can comfortably build on is great.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.

     Pica is loyal, beyond anything. Strong, well-built, and never wavering. Regardless of the situation, he is always on task, diligent to the last moment and perhaps longer. Devotion and collected functionality make a grand guardian. Always acts as a pillar; a collected foundation of a man centered around dedicated familial values. Being in contact with stone makes him nigh invincible, granting him not only the protective assimilation but the literal stature and appearance of a stone goliath given enough material. Strategic with respectable swordsmanship, constantly protective of what’s important. He’s nice on the eyes, quiet, and a good listener. There’s order and beauty laced within all that cataclysmic chaos just waiting to be found. 

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).

     Distant, stoic, absolutely terrible with expression that isn’t hateful and violent. Pica is very strict, lacking a sense of humor. His voice is extremely disruptive. The smallest remarks set his short fuse alight and it burns on and on until there’s nothing left. That murderous intent settles for very few things, and getting him to open up is a long, grueling process. He’s self-conscious but in an overbearingly cocky way, in that pride often masks everything genuine. He thinks very highly of himself and looks down on other people constantly. He’s uncooperative, constantly wrapped up in solemn business, and heavily against indirect methods. Abrasiveness is a weapon and he uses it without remorse. Stubbornness and general unwillingness to speak with strangers make attempting to converse with him the equivalent of talking to a wall. Pica is impatience, wrath, and apathy tied together with coarse cobblestone.

What inspired you to rp your muse?

     As odd as it sounds, I found certain parts of Pica relatable in very specific, personal ways. People never took me seriously when I was upset because I was so small ( sometimes they still don’t dskdsks- ). For awhile when I was younger my voice was really deep and hoarse due to adenoid issues. Speaking in general was hard, because breathing was hard. It made me sound very masculine, especially over any kind of voice-only system. Normally adenoids aren’t an issue at that point because they’re vestigial and tend to essentially be shrunk down to nothing. But something ( probably fighting off infections and never shrinking/bad allergies, nobody knows ) blew mine up and they were blocking 3/4ths of my airway for ages without anyone having any idea what was going on until it got bad enough to the point it was obvious something was wrong. I couldn’t have any stuffed animals in my room because it was legitimately dangerous and a lot of my non hypoallergenic stuff had plastic covers on it. Made me really sad. Eventually they were surgically removed, and it cleared up my breathing and in time my voice was relatively normal. Before then, nothing felt worse to me then than struggling to breathe trying to defend myself in tandem with all the emotional stress it brought on me. 

     I was always quiet and distant otherwise, and a lot of people thought I was just weird and unapproachable ( unless you wanted a laugh, anyway ). There were days before I made my small group of good friends I’d just spend sitting under the stairwell up against a wall eating lunch by myself. I’m probably one of the few people that listened to Pica talk for the first time and didn’t immediately burst into laughter. I didn’t completely click with him at that point, but watching that one little thing turn into a running gag constantly coming back to undermine everything else that was amazing about him really set my feelings in stone... pun completely intended. I’ve loved him ever since. That inspiration and adoration has only grown with time.

What keeps your inspiration going?

     Quite a few things. Aside from the constant love pouring from my being, I love looking at highly detailed stonework. It’s beautiful. Scrolling through rolling mountain landscapes, listening to certain songs, daydreaming in between sentences. I never really lose inspiration for Pica. Something new hits me every day in the most mundane tasks. A lot of it does go unshared, but some of it is personal and other times I simply don’t have the energy or reason. Very well I could be brimming with inspiration for him all day and have nowhere really to put it without excess. Getting opportunities to do so really makes me smile, though. It’s amazing how much being invested in a character will keep your inspiration at an all time high even when you’re having a rough time. Sometimes all it takes is just an extra comment from someone else or an occurrence or some kind of image to put you right back on track. For me, seeing any kind of lovely stonework or abandoned, run down places really sets my inspiration for him in motion.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO ( I would hope so! )

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO ( I’m always thinking of new ones! )

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO ( It’s been awhile, though... )

Do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES!! / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO 

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO ( Generally speaking, I try to be! )

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

     Actual criticism, yes. I don’t mind it. At the same time, however, I’m really just here to have a good time ─ as is everybody else. Growing and developing my writing is always a bonus when I’ve the experience here in an environment I’m comfortable with, but critique isn’t exactly something I go hunting for. I’m here to write the characters I love and adore and honestly, sometimes, it’s better to have the freedom to do things as you wish without the worry of receiving it, no matter how well-intended it may be. It’s all chill times and good vibes doing what we enjoy most.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

     Absolutely! I love randomly being sent things that keep me thinking with any character. I’m always looking for little intricacies and tidbits to really bring them to life. Sometimes it takes a bit for me to think of something appropriate but I always appreciate the brain candy when it comes to new details! It goes without saying that I’ll happily accept anything that gives reason to my constant, aimless musings related to Pica.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

     Yes and no? I always love hearing other ideas on why someone else’s headcanons differ from my own. For all I know it might be enough to change my mind or, at the very least, give me a different perspective on something I’ve never thought about before. I’m always curious about stuff when it relates to a character I love. As long as they’re not rude about it and we’ve talked to the point it’s not out of the blue, it’s okay. On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter if someone disagrees. We all have our own headcanons and it’s very easy to be respectful about them. Despite what has already been said, there’s a high chance I’m going to keep to my own headcanons as they are regardless, because I put a lot of thought and heart into them. Someone disagreeing with them at face value isn’t going to make me up and throw all that work in the trash just like that.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

     That’s okay. There are plenty of different ways to interpret a character. People are allowed to like and dislike whatever portrayal they so choose, so long as they’re not bashing anyone outright. I would much prefer that be something that’s kept to oneself, however. It’s very easy to simply ignore something you don’t agree with, and it’s just as easy to be kind about things when expressing your own thoughts in comparison with theirs. Plus, there’s always making your own blog and writing whoever however you please! Someone out there is bound to enjoy whatever portrayal you prefer. ♥

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

     Not personal, certainly, unless it was somehow directed at me personally. It’s very understandable. There’s a lot of potential present for actual progressing development, but on the surface Pica is very dislike-able. It’s very clear his purpose was to act as a stepping stone for another major character’s development and there wasn’t much left beyond that. Of course it’s always a sad thing being hopelessly attached to a character like that but as an avid lover of what are often viewed as very minor, niche characters, it’s something I’m very much used to. Perhaps not intense hate in every case, per se, but underappreciated. It just so happens that Pica is... not exactly a good person, putting it kindly. But that’s just another reason I love him so much as a character.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

     Sure! Though chances are I’ve probably already noticed at that point and have been embarrassed about it/fixed it. I’ve probably made many over the years and also not realized it. Most of the time it’s something minor anyway, and a lot of people just naturally read it as it’s supposed to be read. So there’s no trouble!

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

     I’d certainly like to think so! I tend to be very patient and accommodating. I wholeheartedly stand beside the idea that RPing is meant to be fun and enjoyable and not something that causes more stress. People should take their time with things and set their own pace. Being comfortable is part of what makes RP the wonderful hobby that it is. Really that applies to any hobby, but there are many little things that can turn someone away from doing something they love at any given time. There’s nothing that would hurt me more than unintentionally making something someone enjoys a chore for them. I try my best to make sure everyone knows that I’m really just a chill little bun having a good time doting on characters I love. Pica might not be cordial, but I certainly try to be!

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

     🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

tagged by. @tenyxshx ─ thank you flamingo nerd ♥ ilu

[kumkaniudaku]

No Nut November

A/N: Shoutout to the anon that requested this. I hope you enjoy!

"Stop it!"

"No, you stop!"

"You were saying don't stop earlier today. Which one is it?"

"Shut up!"

Like high school sweethearts, CoCo and Chadwick sat together in their therapist's office, giggling and sharing small touches. Things had been almost perfect as they counted the days until their wedding. Aside from minor spats that were handled using the tools they learned in therapy, the friends turned lovers were enjoying the fruits of a healthy relationship.

Dr. Barea quietly walked into the office, unbeknownst to her favorite couple before stopping to observe their conversation.

"Ya know, when you two are on the same page, it's a beautiful thing to see." She smiled as Tasha timidly pulled away from Chadwick only for him to scoot closer and drape an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, don't stop on account of me. Continue the love fest!"

"We're just trying to make you proud. You've done a lot for us."

"Always a pleasure," Andrea laughed. "Well, since we're all smiles, it's only right that we have a free session. What's going on in the lives of my favorite, almost married couple?"

Tasha looked over at Chadwick and smiled, "We're thinking about moving in together early. It feels right. We're happy and spending every day together." Finally, looking away from her fiancé's loving gaze, she gave Andrea her full attention. "What do you think? Are we ready?"

"I think you're on the right track. How've you two been dealing with disagreement lately?"

"We're applying the listen, learn, level approach," Chadwick gushed while gripping Tasha's knee.

Andrea quickly jotted the small gesture in her notebook as she took in his statement. "Great. And how has that helped? Any discoveries?"

"I learned that Tasha just needs a moment to blow off steam before we talk."

"And I learned that Aaron prefers to solve problems in the moment, no matter how long it takes."

Dr. Barea watched Tasha's hand float to Chadwick's inner thigh and rest for a moment before her thumb began a gentle stroke. Noting the third instance of PDA, she sat forward in her chair.

"Tell me, how often are you two having sex?" Chadwick let off a surprised cough while Tasha's eyes bulged from her head. "What? We're cool here. I would guess maybe 3-4 times a week?"

"Higher," Tasha suggested.

"More than five?"

"Try twice a day."

It was Andrea's turn to be surprised as she forced herself into taking a sip from her coffee mug. "Wow. Okay. Um...woah. Where do you find the time?!"

"Before work, after work, getting dressed... Sunday's are usually empty."

"There was that one time during your lunch too."

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that."

Their therapist sat in stunned silence, mentally taking notes for both their file and her husband at home. She allowed them to run through several scenarios before lifting her hands in surrender.

"Okay! Shouldn't have asked," she laughed. "So, that's what's been keeping you two happy."

"I mean, we like each other too, now. Sex is just the cherry on top."

"Right. Of course. Out of curiosity, though, how often do you hang out? No sex at any point together."

"Last weekend," Tasha proclaimed. Her proud smile soon dissipated once the realization hit. "Wait, no. We had sex later that night."

"What about dinner with your friends last month?"

"No, we had sex in the car when we left."

Chadwick whispered, 'oh yeah' before sitting back to think. "Maybe when we had lunch on Monday. But then again…"

"Do you see my point," Andrea laughed. "Is sex the only way to enjoy each other? Trust me; I understand the bliss of engagement. Still, I'm afraid that your relationship's entire existence is wrapped in physical pleasure instead of the genuine enjoyment of your partner. Would you agree?"  

CoCo and Chad sat in silence, understanding Andrea's sentiment but not wanting to admit she was right. She could sense the smoldering stubbornness which fueled her next move.

"Let's cut this session short so that you guys can jump on what might be my favorite homework assignment to date." Dr. Barea stopped short to drink from her mug amid protests from her clients. "Today is November 1st, and I want you two to cease all sexual activity until the end of the month. That includes solo fun."

"What!"

Andrea laughed at Chadwick and Tasha's simultaneous response and decided to show some mercy. "Okay, until Thanksgiving. But you'll get extra moral points if you can hold out for the entire month. In that time of abstinence, you are not allowed to decrease the time spent together. Carry out your routines as normal. I suggest you test out your moving in theory. Spend some time together outside of the bedroom and see what happens. I guarantee you'll be rewarded."

After several minutes of bargaining that ended in disappointment from the couple, Tasha and Chadwick left the office angry and strangely aroused. The mere sight of each other doing otherwise mundane tasks heightened the sexual tension between the two as they settled into Tasha's condo to live together for the month. Silent prayers as they piled into bed and attempted to cuddle were sent to God to ask for strength to keep their hands to themselves.

It was going to be a long month.

WEEK ONE

Chadwick stood at the bottom of the stairs in CoCo's condo, holding her heels and keys to help her as she rushed out of the house. Sleeping in the same bed without touching was beginning to affect her sleep pattern, leading to several restless nights and late starts.

"Oh my God, babe, I am fucked." Both of them caught the unintended second meaning and shivered at their sad sex life. "Well, shit, at least if I were literally fucked, being late would feel better."

"Only two more days left in the week before we make it to week two."

"Which means only two more weeks until you can take me to pound town."

Shaking his head at her joke, Chadwick extended his hand to provide balance for CoCo to slip into her shoes.

"I can't wait. But for now, you need to go to work."

It wasn't abnormal for them to leave each other with a quick kiss in the mornings, but today felt...different. The hard lines spanning Chadwick's body seemed to create the perfect grooves for the soft curves of Tasha's body. Their lips lingered a bit longer than usual as they fought an inner battle for restraint.

CoCo let go of a small moan and a shaky breath before pulling away. "I...I have to go. I can't suck your dick right now. I can't! Stop asking!"

"Wha…?" Chadwick started as she dashed to the front door.

Looking back, she bit her lip and shook her head, "I said, stop asking!"

The door slamming shook the coat rack beside it and left Chadwick in total shock with a small smile on his face. "Wow, I'm in love with a crazy woman."

WEEK TWO

"Babe, can you bring the shrimp over here? The pan is ready."

Following instructions, Chadwick navigated the quaint kitchen to deliver the cutting board to its destination. In two weeks of living together with no sexual contact, Chadwick suggested an indoor date night in an attempt to reduce the tension in the house. He knew it was time for a change when watching CoCo clean the kitchen counter one night made him more excited than he should've been. Being in the same room and smelling her perfume would make him tingle with excitement until he realized that he wouldn't be able to get any closer.

Making his way across the kitchen, he stopped short when he reached the stove.

"Co, I can't bring this to you. I'm sorry."

"Boy, stop playing and bring me the damn food. This butter is gonna burn!"

Chadwick found himself in a pickle. He could refuse to bring the item a second time, but that would end in anger and an empty stomach. Or, he could slide past Tasha's backside as risk losing all sense of himself once their bodies came in contact. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to choose the latter option to prove that he could withstand the temptation.

He planned to move quickly without looking down. If he couldn't see the forbidden fruit, he wouldn't feel the urge to bite. He nearly succeeded until a sudden shift in CoCo's stance left him butt to crotch with filthy thoughts tormenting his brain.

"Shit," he whispered as the bowl roughly collided with the countertop, sending some of the shrimp tumbling onto the counter.

"Are you okay? Did you trip?"

As CoCo attempted to turn around, Chadwick anchored his hands on the counter and shook his head. "Don't move! Stay right there. Give me a moment." Another shift on her heels made his body stiffen at the sensation. "Baby, please! Stop moving!"

"What do you want me to do!"

"Moan my name," he breathed out.

"What?!" Craning her neck around, she found him with his eyes clamped shut and lips parted to draw in shallow breaths. "Are you aroused right now?"

"I'm aroused all day, Co! Now moan my name."

"You know what, you can finish cooking. I'm going back to the living room."

Tasha made it a point to press her body into his as she left the area, forcing him to deal with the pain of rejection and an unattended erection alone.

WEEK THREE

The sexual energy in the house was at an all-time high to match the building tension. Small infractions would create an argument in seconds that forced them to institute the listen, learn, and level method more than before. As the end of the challenge approached, they found that they were spending time together without thought of sex, forcing them to cut physical contact short.

With Twister spread across the living room floor, Chadwick and CoCo's Friendsgiving game night raged on with the lovers locked in a winner takes all battle of bending prowess.

"Okay, Tash," Devin hollered over the noise. "Right hand on green!"

Looking around the board, CoCo smiled and began to move her hand, "You gone have to come harder than that, this ain't nothin' but a little lunge."

Her move placed her in a comfortable position with her feet shoulder-width apart and her palms on the ground a few spots ahead of her body.

"Tasha has assumed the position. Chad, your turn. Left hand on yellow."

With both of his feet on separate red dots, Chadwick searched for a comfortable spot to place his hands. Those watching the game sat in silence while he made his decision. Finally, his hand landed on the dot behind Tasha's left elbow, forcing him to hover over his fianceé slightly. Instantly, they were transported into a moment that featured fewer people and even less clothing.

The downward dog variation made them shiver with the contact. Tasha could feel the weight of Chadwick's body on her back, the same weight that would trap her to the bed as he explored the depths of her body. His touch made her light-headed and sent her body collapsing to the ground. Her sudden fall caused him to tumble on top of her with a thud.

Sprawled across the floor, the lovers fought to catch their breath.

"So, does that mean both of them lost?"

"I think it means we need to let them have a moment."

Slowly, the crowd began to thin out, leaving them on the ground in separate dazes. Tasha was the first to snap out of her trance and turn her head to address Chadwick.

"In one week, I want you back on this floor without those pants."

Smiling, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "It's a date."

WEEK FOUR - THANKSGIVING

A long day of family friends and food kept Chadwick and CoCo away from home until the wee hours of the morning. Both of them wore a goofy smile as they used each other to stumble into the condo buzzing from the Rose served at their final stop.

"I'm gonna go put this pie in the kitchen," Tasha announced as she made her way across the room. "You want water?"

"Yes, please. My mouth feels like cotton."

Chadwick made short work of securing the door before joining CoCo at the kitchen counter. Her growling stomach overruled her plan to save the sweet potato treat for the next day. She was so into her food that it took her several moments to notice her partner staring at her.

"What," she asked with her mouth full of food.

"I'm excited for us to have Thanksgiving in one house one day soon. Our families under one roof with some kids that look like us running around."

CoCo chuckled before shoveling another bite of food into her mouth. "And you coming to the kitchen to steal food. I see your vision."

"Speaking of, let me taste some of that."

Tasha watched Chadwick lean across the barrier between them with her lip trapped beneath her teeth. He moved with the type of smooth confidence that made her heart flutter every time. When his face was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, CoCo lifted her fork to feed him a piece of her dessert.

Watching his tongue escape his mouth to accept the food before using it to lick his lips was a moment that became far more sexual than intended.

A glimpse of the clock across the room made the gears of Chadwick's mind turn. "What time is it?"

"2:00 am. Why?"

Taking a swipe of sweet potato from atop the crust, Chadwick held it between their lips and smiled. "We made it to the finish line. How should we celebrate?" His index finger slowly swiped pie filling across CoCo's bottom lip to watch her repeat his earlier display. The moment she finished, he pulled her face closer to taste for himself. Sparks flew behind their eyelids as they settled into the significance of the moment. Pulling away left them breathless and ready for more.

A split second sent them in a race to throw clothes and shoes around the room and meet each other and around the counter until they were tangled on the cold tile of the kitchen floor.

"Babe, wait," Tasha panted, breaking the kiss to make sure her words were heard.

"What's wrong?"

Smiling, Tasha pressed her lips against his and pointed up at the counter.

"Grab the pie."

---------

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[elven-oracle]

under the rose: part 2|th

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT:  2.8k

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2: Hand on a Blade

Things returned to their usual mundane business after the episode in the field. 

It had forced you to start wondering the purpose of the men sitting around doing hardly anything all day. It was a sex-trafficking business, yet you hardly saw a single young woman pass through the warehouse that had now become your day job. In meetings at the agency, you reported and confirmed everything the mic attached to your collarbone had recorded. You had been reassured that your work was dong leaps for the investigation, but you were antsy to make the arrests of the criminals you spent your time with. 

You knew that these women were out there somewhere, going through everything unimaginable; the thought of them was what got you out of bed in the morning, and every time a “client” was discussed, you suppressed your firey urge to sock one of the men in the face, but there was a cover to maintain, and many many lives to protect. Including your own. 

Tom’s fingers laid loosely interlocked with your own, an interaction so natural that it was as if you had been doing it for years, as the cover suggested. All of the detached moments of affection were slowly burning into your motions like delicately practiced choreography. Tom grabbing your hand, your waist, your forearm, the way he pressed a kiss into your body, it was all starting to lose its spark that you felt when you had started a week prior. 

After literally saving the lives of your favorite sex-traffickers, they had started to trust you. You discovered that these rival groups spent a good portion of time attempting to sabotage any efforts, and they did the same in retaliation, all done by an entirely different set of people that you had a slim chance of meeting. It was a good report to bring back to intelligence, though. 

You had gotten into an interesting conversation regarding them. 

“They like to get creative with their attacks, one time they threw chemical bombs into the place, we left with swollen eyes, I may have been blind for a few days,” Smithy took a long drag off of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the arm of his chair. 

“Oh!” Hardy spoke up, “Don’t forget the time that you got a ninja star in your leg,” he raised his eyebrows at you, “that’s right, miss, a whole fucking ninja star.” 

“It’s almost like a game for them,” you commented, starting to catch on. 

“Yeah,” Candy spit, “It’s fucking stupid, though. They need to stop being pussies and use a gun. Like everyone else.” 

How attacking with one lethal weapon over another made someone a pussy was beyond you. 

Meanwhile, you had continued to play the game of seduction with Tom to keep your mind off of the imminent deathtrap you walked into every day. After the scene in the bathroom, you started to notice the sly way that he would eye you as you walked away, or how his hand lingered so low on your waist. Some movements were methodical, some were the result of a secret desire that he probably hadn’t realized you noticed. The extra sway to your hips and the subtle release of your breath when he held you were nothing but purposeful. 

As long as nothing carried on, you would be fine. You weren’t about to become another notch in Tom Holland’s belt. 

Sitting in Tom’s passenger seat, you made the silent drive over to the location, occasionally checking your lipstick to give yourself something to do. It was strange how close you felt to your partner, despite the limited, cordial conversation that you carried out privately. Being two different people had proven itself to be restricting in the strangest of ways. 

This morning, however, you decided to take a new step in the carpool and twist the volume on to turn on some music. You felt his eyes as you returned back to sitting, some song by Taylor Swift echoing in the speakers. 

Don’t blame me love made me crazy, if it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right.

You had never been in love. It never crossed your mind as something important. During your high school years, you had much more strenuous priorities, and now, your job was your entire life. Something about the lyrics radiated in your brain, though. The way that love could change someone. Sometimes it was the best thing that could happen to a person.

And sometimes it was the worst. 

When you reached the final destination, you were greeted with a series of tired grunts, as usual. It took a couple hours for the guys to wake up, and a few beers usually did the trick. Alcohol for them was like coffee for you: they had no words for each other until they had gotten it coursing through their systems. 

Nothing seemed out of place that afternoon. There was a specifically intriguing soccer game that they all seemed invested in, while you couldn’t care less. Anything other than soccer was more your speed. 

Well, nothing was out of place that afternoon until Boss made an unruly entrance, tossing guns to his men, and looking directly at you and pointing to the bathroom. Thrown completely off guard, you turned around to see a storm of men, clad in black, all wielding long and seemingly sharp blades. The rival gang had made another return, this time with another creative form of weaponry.

You took note of the pistols on their hips. Today they had decided not to be pussies.

You were reluctant to place yourself into hiding, but you drifted away to keep the cover intact. It was almost painful to separate yourself from the action. You had almost reached the door when you took one last glimpse, not wanting to admit that you wanted to be absolutely certain that Tom was okay. The answer was half satisfying, half terrifying. 

A dark figure was approaching Tom from behind, blade raised, going in for a fatal swoop.

You wanted to tell yourself that it was your instinct as an agent that sent you running, in the same way, that had brought you to throw that grenade out of explosion range. It definitely wasn’t the panic of seeing your partner in danger, a wild panic that was out of control, rather than the regulated anxiety that was perfect for sending yourself into life-threatening situations. Your heart was beating out of your chest as your feet pounded, your mind spun, and you shoved Tom out of the way, replacing his head with your hand. 

In training, they had forced you to endure all sorts of pain, all consensual. They would get your verbal confirmation, and with a countdown from three, you would get a shot of electricity shoved into your veins. In this job, pain was inevitable, but pain was also fleeting. The more you grew used to it, the stronger you felt.

The burning sensation that exploded in your hand was nothing like you had felt in training. You wished you had felt the fire in your hand, and as your vision went white, you heard the gunshots fire off. Boss was yelling, through the unwarranted tears in your eyes, there was the sound of Tom’s pseudonym being demanded to a task. It felt like an eternity until there was a shout of “all clear.” 

Through your blurred vision, you saw Tom’s concerned brown eyes, and his hands bring you to your feet. You were dizzy with delirium, the pain in your hand only increasing as more seconds passed. Maybe you had split it open, maybe once they contained the bleeding you wouldn’t feel like vomiting, but the sight you were welcomed to once the fog cleared almost sent your breakfast and the minimal alcohol straight up your throat. 

It was a clean slice to your pinkie finger. Which, fortunately, meant that it could be sewn back on.

Right?

Tom started to say your name but quickly corrected himself, “Rose, baby, let’s get to the car. Hospital time.” 

Despite the excruciating pain, you stayed in character, “Johnny...what happened?”

You knew what the fuck happened. Those pussies had chopped your finger off. 

Tom didn’t reply with the obvious, he replied with, “Love, you saved my life,” and then under his breath, “again.” 

You were ushered out the door, with Tom insisting that he take you himself over having the entire group follow. You knew that you were headed to the agency and not an actual hospital. There couldn’t be any public record of the injury. It would blow your cover. There was a fully operating hospital wing on one of the floors for this very reason, the surgeon would be ready for you when you got there. 

Tom helped you into the passenger seat of his car, placing your severed finger in your lap, wrapped in a towel as if that made anything better. It only made you want to hurl more. 

This car ride was not silent. 

“Y/N how’s it going?” his British accent was a breath of fresh air, and you hated that.

“I’m not fucking dying Tom.” 

“Yeah, well, pardon me for making sure you aren’t having a panic attack. You just got mutilated after all.” “I’ll live. Eyes on the road.” 

“Okay! Okay.” 

Your entire body was damp with sweat as if someone had dumped water everywhere except your hair. You could feel it dripping down your face and the way that it made the wig particularly itchy. You wanted to rip it off, but once again, the cover. The things you did for your job. 

“You saved my life again.” 

“Yes. And?”

He hesitated as if expecting a different answer, “Thanks.” “You’re my partner, I could only hope you would do the same for me.” “I would,” the way he said it was almost defensive. 

“Oh thank, goodness. I was worried for a second,” you were being sarcastic to mask the pain, but that couldn’t mask the yelp you let out as he sped around a corner. 

There was another brief silence, but you didn’t like how it felt, so you filled it with the dumbest joke you could think of, “Do you think this pain is worse than childbirth?”

You could hear him trying not to laugh, “You’re asking an expert.”

“Good. You think?”

He looked at your hand, which had now bled through the towel you were using for pressure and was bleeding onto your leather pants and onto the car seats made of the same material.

“Sure.” “Thanks, Doctor Holland, I think I’ll have kids now.” 

Upon arrival, you were shoved onto a gurney and taken away, Tom only being able to accompany you to a certain point. It didn’t seem like either of you noticed that he had taken hold of your non-injured hand until each one of your fingers were torn away from each other, leaving you to roll your eyes back and pass out, the final dose of adrenaline running out. 

…

Beep...beep...beep…

Consciousness was like hitting a wall. Your eyes fell open almost against your will, sleep wanting to regain its hold. With a deep inhale, you rolled your head over to your left hand, which now no longer had the deep pain from what felt like only minutes prior, although you knew it had to be hours. 

The memories came flooding back. There was the motion of intent in the body of the attacker, the insane panic, and the flash of internal light that stung across your eyes as the blade swept across your hand. It was a memory that would never leave you, a trauma that you knew you had no time to address. 

A thick, cast-like bandage surrounded your pinkie, sitting on a strategically laid table to keep it elevated. What caught your surprise, though, was the fact that another hand rested on top of yours, rough with calluses, a hand that you had held before, but never like this. 

Tom was asleep in a chair next to you, his head rolled back, mouth agape. The small sight of drool brought a weak smile to your face. Asleep, the usually dark and demeaning man that you worked with looked relaxed and...soft. You knew better than anyone that Tom was anything but soft. 

Your hand twitched, and Tom immediately stirred, yawning and retracting his hand away from yours. For a second you could tell he was just as disoriented as you had just been, but he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and met yours, looking slightly sheepish as he pulled on his fingers nervously. He pulled a leg to his chest, looking away for a second, then chuckled to himself as he looked back at you.

“Something funny?” your voice was hoarse. 

He shook his head, “You almost lost your finger there, agent.” 

“Thank goodness I had the wonderful Agent Thomas Stanley Holland to save me from a life of stub hand.” 

He chuckled again, “Even mutilated, you remain as endearing as ever, Y/L/N.” 

You couldn’t help the blush that sparked on your cheeks. Hopefully, the lighting was dim enough that he didn’t see. 

It was almost midnight when a flurry of agents took up almost all of the space in your hospital wing, a reminder that your work never stopped. The mission was still steady-going, and this was likely not to be considered a setback. 

“Agent Y/L/N, we would like to remind you that despite your injury, you are still expected to return to the field as soon as possible. This mission is too important for you to step back, and the chances of cover being blown-” 

You cut the man speaking to you off, “I understand. I expected nothing less.” 

As if you ever even thought about not continuing the mission. This had been the most important mission of your career. You would have to be killed in action before resigning. The man at the foot of your bed, an agent you had never met before, was trying to hide how pleased he was with your answer. Apparently, he had expected you to put up more of a fight. 

Satisfied, they left, not needing to hear anything else from you. 

“I’ll be sure to get well soon!” you called as the door shut behind them. It left you alone with Tom once again. He was smirking. 

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“Go for it,” you expected it to be about the plan of action for tomorrow. Neither of you talked about much more than work.

In the months you spent preparing with your partner, he had never asked anything personal, so his question took you by surprise.

“What brought you to this line of work?”

Your lips parted, and you took a second to think before responding, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You thought about the family you left behind when accepting the job, the minimal contact, how you hadn’t seen your parents in years. To any onlooker, you had given up a lot to take this job, but to you it had been an easy decision. 

“Um,” you sighed. “Well, initially I was a police officer. Narcotics. My parents…” Were you really about to tell him this?

“My parents ran a drug lab in our house for a very long time. They weren’t arrested until I was in college. I just wanted to make a difference.” 

“And what brought you here?”

“Putting Jacoby Zimmerman in jail.” 

He looked impressed, “You...put the Magic Man in jail?”

“Sure did.”

Zimmerman had been your side project. He was a drug trafficker, and he was good. The best detectives had been chasing him for years, and while you were the lowest tier in the line of detectives, you had been going behind their backs to try and book him. As much as you hated to admit it, the relation was personal. He had supplied to your parents, and your parents had tried to get you to deal at your high school. Instead, you worked a fast-food job and shoved the drugs down the toilet. Every paycheck went towards the drug hussle that wasn’t happening, and you hardly kept a cent for yourself. 

“Damn. He was…”

“Renowned. I know,” you paused, wondering how to conclude the strange conversation you had found yourself in, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to do what’s right. Change my past or whatever.”

You sat in silence some more, occasionally looking down at your bandaged finger. When you put away Zimmerman, you never pictured yourself in this position. You had been told countless times that being an agent sometimes required repeatedly putting yourself in danger, but after all the paperwork and the meetings, you had started to detach yourself from that factor. Now, there you were, sewn back together like Frankenstein. 

You hadn’t noticed when you fell asleep, but when you woke up in the middle of the night, after yet another nightmare where your finger was being torn apart, Tom’s hand had returned to sitting on yours. It was gentle. Tender. You couldn’t help the subtle feeling of comfort drawn from it. 

You were losing the game.

Part 1 Part 3

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[thegizka]

Her Name

Kirito works part-time at the Dicey Cafe to help cover the costs of attending college and gaming. He's usually good at remembering repeat customers, but for some reason, he can't seem to get this girl's name.

Written for Writer's Month 2019 Day 3: Coffee Shop AU.

Note: I do not own any aspect of Sword Art Online.

Read it on Ao3.

The first time he met her, she ordered a flat white.  It was an annoying drink to make.  Getting the right texture of the milk was tricky, but she had a cute smile, and when she thanked him, he felt like she meant it.  She took her drink and left the cafe and his thoughts.  He hadn’t bothered to ask for her name.

------

The next time he met her, she ordered a London Fog.  It was late.  He had been counting down the last half hour before close, debating whether to sneak in a few hours of sleep or power through his programming project and hope for the best.  When she slipped into the quiet cafe, bulging school bag slung over one shoulder, she had that desperate look in her fatigued brown eyes that meant she was also firmly entrenched in the finals slog.

“Late night?” he asked as he began steaming her milk.

“Psychology paper,” she admitted, smiling tiredly.  “I figured I’d need some caffeine to get me to the end of it.”

“And you’re going with tea?  A few shots of espresso would be more effective.”

She chuckled.  It was a refreshing sound.

“I only need fuel for a few hours.  I do plan on sleeping at some point tonight.”

“Well good luck with the paper,” he said, firmly fitting a lid onto her to-go cup.

“Thanks Kirito.”  She gave him a smile as she left.  It threw him off a little to hear her say his name.  She must have picked it up from his nametag.

When he trudged into his room that night, he remembered he’d left his nametag on his desk, but he was already resignedly thinking of that programming project and didn’t have the mental capacity to wonder how she’d known his name.

-----

The third time he met her, the next semester was well underway.  It was a slow Tuesday afternoon, and Kirito was hoping he’d get to go home early when she entered with a whirl of energy in the form of a short, purple-haired girl.  They both carried a few shopping bags and were chatting as though enjoying a day free of homework and worries.

“Okay Yuuki, pick whatever you want.  I’ll treat.”

“You mean it?”  The purple-haired girl’s eyes lit up.  “Even if I pick one of everything?”

This led to another round of giggles.  Kirito prayed she was joking.

Yuuki ordered a chocolatey frappuccino with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, and extra chocolate blended into it.  Her friend ordered an iced macchiato.  They were too busy chatting together for Kirito to have a chance to ask her name.  When they left, it felt like they took all of the energy with them.

------

The fourth time he met her, she came in during a rush.  As the weather warmed, the Dicey Cafe had gotten busier.  They were also running a buy-one-get-one special for their more popular iced espresso drinks, which had really drummed up business amongst the college crowd.

Kirito barely had enough time to look up and register she was there between making drinks.  His coworker Klein was manning the register while he fulfilled the orders, so he didn’t get the chance to ask her name and write it on her cup.  He was working through the line of drinks so quickly that by the time he’d called a name with a finished order, he’d already be looking at the next one.  So he didn’t notice when it was finally her turn or when she picked up her iced cinnamon latte, and by the time he glanced up and saw her leaving, he had already made a handful of other drinks, had called a handful of other names, and could not remember what hers had been.

-----

The fifth time he met her, he didn’t know it was her.  He had been playing Sword Art Online, a new VRMMORPG that was taking up the majority of his free time.  He usually preferred grinding levels and advancing skills on his own, and he’d be lying if he said his reputation as the mysterious Black Swordsman didn’t make him a little proud.  But periodically he’d take time to explore the open world and enjoy the game design amongst the more mundane tasks like shopping and eating.

He was studying the menu at a tavern in a small town in one of the upper levels when she entered wearing a simple brown cloak.  She took a seat at a table in a far corner and ordered hot tea, settling in as though waiting for someone.  Kirito barely gave her a glance.  It was a bit unusual that she kept her cloak on and hood up, but towns were safe spaces, so whatever shady behavior she might be engaged in couldn’t affect him much.

By the time his food arrived, two men in similar brown cloaks had joined her, ordering their own drinks.  They discussed something in low voices.  A few papers were pulled out and consulted.  It was obvious they were trying to plan something, even though they were attempting to be discreet.

They got up to leave while he was debating what to try for dessert.  Eating virtual food was a strange sensation.  His nerve impulses indicated taste, texture, and a sense of being full, but as soon as he logged off, he knew he’d be hungry after playing nonstop for several hours.  It was an amazing development in virtual reality, but he wondered about potential long-term effects of such sensory stimulation.  He’d have to ask his programming professors how much research had been done about it.

She lingered behind her companions a moment, talking to the server.  He thought he felt her eyes on him, but when he looked up she was pushing through the door.  Kirito caught a glimpse of a white and red uniform and brown hair.  Something familiar tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t identify what it was.

When the server stopped at his table, Kirito was ready to order, but paused when a plate of tiramisu was set in front of him.

“The Lightning Flash sends her regards,” the server said with a smile, depositing a neatly folded piece of paper on his napkin before turning away.  Confused and a little suspicious, Kirito carefully picked it up and read the note.

It’s the closest thing I’ve found to the delicious espresso from the Dicey Cafe.  You’ll have to let me know if you agree next time I stop by.  ~Asuna

Asuna…  The name sounded a little familiar, but he couldn’t connect it to a face.  Obviously it was someone who knew him in the real world.  How else would she know where he worked?

Honestly, he knew more about the Lightning Flash than her real identity.  She was as notorious as he was, skilled with a rapier and known for incredibly fast multi-hit combos.  He hadn’t seen her in action--he hadn’t been sure she was even a girl until a moment ago--but he respected the abilities she must have to earn such a reputation.  It made him doubly curious to figure out who she was.

When he knew, he’d have to tell her that the tiramisu was, in fact, delicious.

-----

The sixth time he met her, it was a few days before the end of the semester.  Several students had already moved back home for the summer.  Kirito had plans to continue working at the Dicey Cafe since he was living with his aunt and cousin Suguha only short bus ride away.  It would be good to earn some extra pocket cash without having to balance work with school.  He had his eye on a new VRMMORPG, Alfheim Online, which would be released in a month and a half, and he wanted to upgrade his dive system.

She ordered an iced white mocha with an extra shot.

“So?” she asked expectantly before he could request her name to write on her cup.

“So...what?”

“The tiramisu.  What did you think?”

Kirito’s brain momentarily short-circuited as the pieces fell into place.

“Asuna?”

“Yes?” she asked, a little confused.

“You’re the Lightning Flash?’

“Surprised?”  She grinned.

“Maybe a little,” he chuckled nervously.  She looked more like the preppy rich type, not a gamer.  The amount of time she must spend playing to reach her skill level was disproportionate to his impression of her.

“Well I suspected you were the Black Swordsman from the start,” she declared proudly, sticking a straw through the lid of her drink.  “There’s something about your loner attitude that seemed just right.”

“What?”  He was at a loss for words.  He wasn’t sure Klein even knew his in-game persona.  How had she figured it out?  And what did she mean by “loner attitude”?

“We should team up sometime.  I’ve been thinking of leaving my guild.  There are too many rules and strategy meetings, though it is convenient to have a lot of allies for these upper level dungeons.  I wouldn’t mind doing more side-quests and challenges, though.  That’s how you learned to dual-wield, right?”

“You sure know a lot about my gameplay.”

“I guess you could say I’m a fan of sorts.”

Was he imagining a slight blush on her cheeks?  He must be.  It seemed too unlikely to be real.

“You’d better accept my party request when I send it,” she declared as she turned to go.  “Otherwise I’ll challenge you to a match and beat you for standing me up.”

“What?  That seems a bit extreme.”

She flashed him a dangerous smile, and for a moment he saw a cunning and confidence befitting her in-game reputation.

“See you later Kirito.”

“Yeah, bye Asuna.”

Asuna...  Finally, he knew her name.

[thecosmicsen]

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? Jaewoo is 175cm which is the average height for a Korean male.

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? It’s mixed feelings honestly. He reckons he could have been shorter since he didn’t get to eat enough while he was growing up so he is glad that he isn’t on the shorter side. But at the same time, he looks at all the other tall guys and gets all huffy about how he isn’t at least six feet tall. Recently, he discovered the song Short King Anthem which has been his little ego boost about his height so now he proudly goes around singing about how his shirts would fit perfectly on girls around his height. 

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? His pitch-black hair is silky soft for the most part. In the sunlight you can catch a glimpse of faint natural dark brown streaks. It is in a perpetual state of bed hair though and it reaches down to his eyes so he’s often shaking his bangs (that grow slightly wavy at the ends) out of his eyes. It’s this entire look here basically. 

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? No, not at all. Unless he really really really wants to impress someone then he will try combing his hair to tame the bed hair. Otherwise, he reckons his hair is hair and part of his trademark style. 

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? Jaewoo does care about the first impression he makes because he wants others to have a certain image of him. If he wants to establish order and control then he will dress appropriately and act it since he does care about how others perceive him or it would make his job as a balancer a lot trickier. On the other hand, he does care about what cute girls and people he admires think about him so he does try working his oversized hoodie and fitted pants attire to the latest styles so he doesn’t come off as unfashionable. All in all, he cares more about the vibes he gives off through his appearance. 

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ? ▸     RAIN   OR    SUNSHINE ? ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ? ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS  OR    GEMS ? ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ? ▸     PERSONALITY  OR    APPEARANCE ? ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ? ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ? ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR   WHITE    LIES ? ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ? ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ? ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ? ▸     DUSK    OR   DAWN ? ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ? ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ? ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? Jaewoo tends to ask one question after the other because his brain works at a million miles per hour and his curiosity is insatiable which usually leaves the other person reeling from the number of questions asked. But he also tends to assume a lot about others since he believes that he has years of experience of handling and dealing with all sorts of people and supernatural creatures of various characteristics. Then, of course, there is the taunting and teasing which Jaewoo delights in because he learns more about the other person when they react to his brattiness but he does not know the limits to winding up someone even if they are way more powerful than him. He refuses to back down.

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? When Jaewoo’s father passed away, he only experienced numbness more than relief which confused him. It also ramped up his mother’s verbal abuse towards him so he often found himself wishing that his father was still alive since he resorted to physical consequences. But having such thoughts about wanting his father alive to take his mother’s focus off him often made him resentful and full of despair. Then when Jaewoo murdered his twin brother Taesoo, he was incapacitated and incapable of living on without him which is why he immediately killed himself right after. His emotions, thoughts and the build-up of the murder will be extensively explored in a self para !!

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?   Most of the fond memories he can remember are of him and Taesoo going to the playground together and racing to see who can swing the highest the first. He has vague memories of how their summers were filled up melting ice-cream, antics at the park, building blanket forts at sunset, stargazing during the hot sticky nights and watching all the movies together. The memories of his first love are very faint but he has very fragmented memories of being extremely happy at the convenience store ( to be explored in another self para ) and hiking around. 

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? Yes and no. When Jaewoo murdered his twin brother, it took around fifteen years of direct abuse from his brother to have him teetering to the edge of suicide and his wit's end. Even though Taesoo’s abuse was calculated near the end since he wanted Jaewoo to murder him then kill himself so they could spend eternity as spirits together, it still took him a lot of escalating abuse efforts to make Jaewoo start losing his grip on his sanity with the final trigger being his first love. Otherwise, now with his job of balancing the harmony between the supernatural and humans, Jaewoo spares no second thoughts to supernatural entities causing trouble and has no problem sending them off to the final afterlife with his knife. However, when it comes to troublemaking humans such as fanatic shamans, he attempts to chase every alternative route with murder being his last resort since he has firm beliefs in the dignity of human life.  

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? It is extremely extremely rare to see Jaewoo breaking down. If he does then it must be from a PSTD flashback that triggers his forgotten memories which are usually centred around Taesoo’s abuse to him. His entire demeanour will drastically shift and you will be able to tell that he isn’t in the present tense anymore. With eyes glossed over, he will be crying silent heartbroken sobs and in disbelief of whatever he is remembering. Then he will want to be left alone which is the last thing he typically hates. He’ll spend the next few days in isolation, trying to recover from the traumatic aftermath and onslaught of deep-rooted negative emotions. He’s the opposite reflection of his usual jovial and happy-go-lucky attitude. 

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? Yes, he is capable of trusting someone with his life. Ironic as it may be but he trusts Taesoo with his own life (even though he has no idea that Taesoo escalated his abuse to him because he wanted them to die together and be bonded as spirits together forever). I’m certain that he would trust any super close friends and if he finds someone who can handle him then he would trust the love of his life with that. It would take oodles of time and patience but it can happen.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ?

Jaewoo is a huge romantic by default so when he is in love... he falls hard. Since he is already a curious individual, he would be hellbent on knowing everything and anything about his love down to the simplest of things such as the shade of toast they prefer. However, he would do a lot more silent observation rather than interrogations since he would adore watching them do anything and learning all about their quirks by simply observing them. Though he is dedicated to his job, he would spend his undying devotion and time to get to know them to his best ability. With that knowledge, he’ll start daydreaming and fantasising about doing the most mundane domestic tasks together such as cuddling on the couch, doing the dishes, taking care of pets together, getting ahead of laundry... literally everything. He would be hypersensitive to their touch so even if they do something as basic like touching his arm then he would be reduced to a flustered blushing mess and he would be speechless for once. Jaewoo would be a lot more overprotective of them as well especially if it’s a human he falls for then he would worry about their safety from other humans and especially from supernatural beings usually enticed by his own presence. But he hasn’t been in love as a ghost yet so I cannot say for certain !

tagged by :  @foxcharmed​   &   @lavtiena   ( my actual angels I had so much fun doing this ) tagging :  @bubbledsoul / @kkotseo / @killsfor / @kkvm / @infernoath / @shesin / @egoistlve

[spn-rewrites]

01x14 (part 2)

Season One Episode Fourteen: Nightmare

A/N: let me know what kind of schedule you guys would prefer for me to be on, i’d love your input before i make any decisions. please reblog and like you enjoyed!

Word Count: 3432

Synopsis: Sam has not only one but two visions and sometimes, you can’t save them all. 

You started to make a habit out of weird cabins doubling as hotel rooms, the boys suggesting it this time. There is something intriguing about them, something rustic and beautiful that makes your day job seem not so bad. Sam sets up as much information as he knows about the house and the Miller family on the desk but there wasn’t much information out there. There was nothing bad about it. No deaths, no murders, not even an attempted suicide gone wrong. It was a perfectly normal historic home, no sign of anything going bump in the night. 

Dean throws out possibilities, Indian burial ground underneath, graveyards, battlefields, anything that could cause any kind of disturbance in the house as he cleans the weapons from inside his trunk. It was a mundane task that unfortunately needed to get done and you’re happy just laying on the bed next to Dean’s and watching. Sam rejects all of Dean’s suggestions and sits down next to you on the bed with a huff. “There’s nothing even near the property,” Sam says. 

“I told you, man,” Dean says with a shrug, using a rag to clean off the barrel of the gun. “We searched that house up and down. There were no cold spots, sulfur scent, nothing.” Dean puts the gun back together, locking it in place and double-checking the little eye window before putting it back in its case and grabbing another one. 

“And the family said everything was normal?” Sam asks, grasping at straws. His back was turned to you and Dean, but he kept glancing over his shoulder. 

“If there was a demon or poltergeist in there, don’t you think someone would have noticed something? We looked at the infrared thermal scanner,” Dean says, defeated. You sit up a little bit in the bed and lean closer towards Sam. He looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes deep and hollow from lack of sleep. 

“I know you really think somethings happening here and I wanna believe that but Sam, Dean’s right. There was nothing,” you tell him. He gives you a somber smile, unsure of what to say to you. Deep down, he knows you’re right but there was a feeling in his gut telling him that there was something he needed here. 

“So you guys think Jim Miller just killed himself? That my dream was just some sort of freakish coincidence?” Sam’s voice is still soft but there’s an air of defensiveness in it. You want to believe him so badly but sometimes, the evidence just isn’t there. 

Dean moves on to another gun, the metal clanking in his hands and making too much background noise as he takes it apart and starts to clean. “I don’t know.” Dean shrugs. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing supernatural about that house,” he mumbles. 

Sam’s shoulders are hunched over and his hair is covering his eyes as he turns around on the bed to face you. “Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house. Maybe it’s just-“ He sounds confident at first, hopeful and sure of himself but then he squeezes his eyes shut as Dean checks his cleaning job of another gun and you narrow your eyes at the younger boy. “Gosh,” Sam groans as he puts his fingers to his temples. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask. He buries his head in his heads, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can. The pain was sudden. One second he was fine and now he’s hunching over in excruciating pain and all you can do is wrap your arms around his shoulders as he hisses.

“Maybe it’s connected to Jim,” he tries to speak but his voice is cracking. Low and grumbly as he tries to form the words. He can barely keep his eyes open, it was all too much. You look over at Dean who slowly puts down his gun and eyes his brother cautiously. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asks slowly and Sam winces sharply, sitting up straighter and pushing his hands against his head harder to try and ease the pain. 

“Ah, yeah, my head,” he finally admits. He slides off the bed and onto the ground as he continues to groan in pain. You jump off the bed and kneel on the ground next to Sam, holding his shoulders in your hands and Dean is at your side in seconds. 

“Sam, what’s going on?” You ask, trying to make eye contact with him but he’s looking around aimlessly like he’s searching for something but he doesn’t know what. “Talk to us!” You demand but he just exhales heavily and ignores you. 

You and Dean try to keep him steady as he works through whatever was happening inside of his brain. His eyes danced around like he was watching a movie. Like there was more in the room than just you and Dean and Sam. Eventually, his eyes come back into focus and he looks at Dean. “It’s happening again,” he says. “Somethings gonna kill Roger Miller.”

You look at Dean and he looks at you and Sam looks between the both of you and your heart is screaming to listen to him so you nod at Dean. “Let's go then,” the older brother says, smacking his hands against his knees as he pushes himself off the floor. 

It’s dark outside now, the headlights of the Impala the only light on the dark and isolated street you drove on. Sam is on the phone trying to find Rodger Miller’s address but he seems exhausted. You had to physically help to the car and even now that he’s sitting, he keeps squinting his eyes and his voice is weak. 

“450 West Grove, apartment 1120,” Sam tells Dean as he hangs up the phone. You lean your arms over the front seat of the car and grab at Sam’s hand until he gives it to you. 

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, looking at him encouragingly, silently begging him to answer you for real but he says yes and you know he’s lying. 

“If you’re gonna hurl, I’ll pull the car over, cause the upholstery..” Dean tells him. He’s not joking, not even a little bit but he adds a little chuckle to lighten the mood. 

“I’m fine guys, just drive,” Sam orders. He hasn’t dropped his hand from yours yet but you feel his palm getting sweaty and you lace your fingers together. “I’m scared, guys. As if these nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And these visions or whatever, they’re getting more intense and painful,” Sam says. 

“It’ll be alright, man,” Dean says. He’s less than sure of himself, you can tell. He’s just trying to say something, anything, to make Sam feel better but there was nothing to say to make it go away. 

“But what is it about the Millers?” Sam asks. Now he drops his hand and pushes himself up to sit a little straighter. His whole body is sweating now that you can see it more clearly. “Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die? What the hell is happening to me?” 

“I don’t know Sam!” Dean yells in frustration, hitting the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. Neither one of you knew the right answer. Sam looks back at you and you try to neutralize your expression from completely terrified to maybe it’ll be fine. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” You tell him. “It’s just another thing that we have to figure out. We see this stuff all the time.” You try to rationalize it and make it seem like it’s just another thing but you know it’s not. 

“It’s never been us,” Sam says. “It’s never been in the family like this. Tell me the truth, that this isn’t freaking the two of you out,” he pushes, shaking his head between you and Dean to try and read your reactions but you bite your lip and chew on it. 

“This doesn’t freak me out,” Dean says coldly. His eyes don't move from the road in front of him. You lean back against your seat and cross your arms over your chest. You didn’t want Sam to push you to say it either because you can’t lie to him. It was impossible to do, so you tried to cover your face with the darkness so he can’t see the fear etched on it but you feel it’s too late.

You got to Rodger Miller’s house within a few minutes, catching him just outside the building with handfuls of groceries. Dean calls out to him of his window, but all you get is another snobby remark like the one he gave at the wake. “What are you guys? Missionaries? Leave me alone!” He yells before turning to head inside. 

Dean’s quick to park on the side of the road, driving up the curb and making the car shake at impact. You brace yourself, pressing your hands hard against the seat so you don’t fall over and as soon as the car is parked and turned off, the three of you are out and dashing towards Rodger. “We’re trying to help! Please stop!” Sam calls. 

Rodger shuts the door behind him just as Sam, who was always the faster runner, gets to the door. It’s entirely made of glass and you could see Rodger holding the door shut so Sam can’t get inside but Sam is still pleading with the grumpy, bald man. “I don’t want your help,” Rodger says, holding his hands up in defense and then he’s down the hall and gone. 

“We’re not priests! You need to listen to us!” Sam yells and bangs on the door. When you finally reach the door and start banging, too but it’s no use. Rodger doesn’t care. 

“You’re in danger!” You call but you Rodger is long gone and not listening. You let your shoulders fall and you let out a deep sign, kicking your feet up in a pout. “What are we gonna do?” You ask, looking to Dean. You hear Sam sigh behind you and he leans against the glass door. 

Dean looks around the street for any way in and then his eyes light up and he pulls on the sleeve of your jacket. “The fire escape,” he says and takes off around the building. You and Sam follow, the heel of your boot hitting hard against the cement. You can feel the impact on your heel. 

There’s a metal gate blocking the alleyway to the fire escapes, held together by a padlock that Dean easily kicks down. You run down the alley and Sam goes up first, determined and afraid of what he might find if he’s not there quick enough and Dean lets you up next. You try to keep up with Sam, who’s taking the steps two at a time but you use the rail to pull yourself further, faster. You don’t want to keep Dean behind so you push yourself as hard as you can, nearly slipping on the wet metal as you round the corners. 

You’re nearly there when you hear a loud crash, making Sam stop dead in his tracks. You’re running so quickly that you can’t stop fast enough and you bump into his back. Sam is stunned, probably numb with fear but Dean pushes past both of you and runs up the rest of the stairs only to find that you’re too late. 

Sam walks slowly up the steps and you follow closely behind. The window was splattered with blood. It was everywhere. The white window pane, the metal of the fire escape, the siding of the building. It was gruesome and you hated that Sam had to see it twice. 

Thankfully for you, Dean isn’t distracted by the scene or by Sam’s reaction to it like you were and grabs a rag out of his pocket, tossing it to you after wiping down everything he’s touched. “Wipe down your fingerprints,” he tells you. “We don’t want the cops to know we were here.” You nod and do as he says, wiping down Sam’s for him. 

“I wanna take a look inside,” Sam tells you. You hesitate and look to Dean. He takes a deep breath but he doesn’t have time to think about it so he takes the rag back and opens the window with it. Dean goes inside and you peek your head through the window, careful not to touch anything else but there was nothing. 

As you walk away down the street to your car, you hear sirens in the distance. “There’s nothing, just like the Miller’s house,” Dean says, the skepticism no longer subtle. It was never subtle, but now he was making it blatantly clear he was over this case. 

“I’m telling you, I saw something in the vision. Like a dark shape,” Sam argues. You sigh and hate to agree with Dean, but you had to at this point. Two deaths with no supernatural evidence of anything happening to them besides dumb, blind, unluck. “Something was stalking Rodger.” 

  “Well, whatever it is it isn’t connected to the house,” Dean says as a car horn honks just as you step off the curb. You grab Sam’s sleeve and Dean holds his hand out to stop him from walking out into traffic. The black Volkswagen drives past, flipping Sam off for not paying attention but Sam doesn’t notice. 

“I think it’s connected to the family,” Sam says after only briefly caring about the car that almost ran him over. He’s determined to make Dean believe him but you start shaking your head. 

“Sam, there’s nothing here,” you tell him sternly. Dean winced at your words but someone had to say it. Sam’s eyes snap to you and he furrows his brows. 

“No, there’s like a vengeful spirit following them or something,” he tries. 

“I mean, they’ve been known to latch onto families and follow them for years,” Dean hesitantly agrees. You give him a disapproving look, throwing your hands up when Sam isn’t looking. Dean just shrugs his shoulders and opens his car door.

You get to the car and as you get in Sam brings up the idea of Banshees. An omen of impending death. Legend has it, that every family has one but in your experience, it takes something dark and twisted to make it manifest. Almost like a curse. “You think Max is in danger? If it’s killing all the men?” Sam asks. You have a hard time believing that a Banshee has attached itself to the Miller’s but Dean seems willing to entertain the idea, so you sit back and let the boys debate. 

“Let’s figure it out before he is,” Dean suggests, starting the car. 

Sam chuckles, leaning his head back. “I know one thing we have in common with the Miller’s. Both our families are cursed,” he attempts a joke that doesn’t land. Neither you or Dean laugh, but Dean defends. 

“Our family isn’t cursed. We’ve just had our dark spots.” 

“Our dark spots are pretty dark,” Sam says. Maybe he was right but when it’s all you’ve ever known, it’s hard to think otherwise. Maybe he was spoiled with his college years and Jess to think that his life could be anything different.

++ 

In the morning, you go to the Miller’s house in your priest outfits, pretending once again to be something so completely opposite of yourself just to gain information. 

Max is weepily eyed as he opens the door. He immediately complains of all the casseroles that people have been bringing him and it was a funny thought, to think that a bunch of food all baked together would make someone feel something after a death. Especially as gruesome as his dad and uncles. Now, he had double the grief and double the casserole to mask it with. 

You sit between the two boys on the couch, Max sitting opposite of you. Sam asks about his dad and his uncle, trying to see if they were close enough to conjure up a cursed spirit together but there wasn’t a lot there, it didn’t seem. 

“They used to hang out a lot when I was little,” Max says. 

“Not much anymore?” You ask. Max looks at you dead-on and you feel uncomfortable. Something about his eye contact, the severity of it, the red and wet eyes, the swollenness of his cheeks and lips, it put you off. 

“We used to be neighbors when I was a kid. We lived across town in this house, and Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time,” he explains, barely breaking eye contact with you. You smooth out your skirt and nod your head, thankful for Sam when takes over. 

“So, how was it when you lived in that house?” Sam asks. Max’s face went hard when he answered with a quick, stern fine. 

“All good memories?” Dean pries. Max’s eyes dart from Dean to you, and then to Sam. “You remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle, maybe?”

Max shakes his head slowly, like he was thinking but maybe not really. And then he laughs. “Why do you ask?”

“Just a question,” Dean says. He’s remaining calm, something he was always unusually good at, while Sam feels like he’s crumbling from next to you. 

“We were totally normal. Happy,” he says but it’s unconvincing. You can sense something was wrong. That was he was keeping something from you but Dean closed out the conversation and the three of you left the grieving boy and when you got to the street, Dean expresses his distaste for the conversation.  

“You see when he was talking about his old house? He sounded scared,” Dean points out. You and Sam agree as you get into the Impala, making your next stop that old house. 

The neighborhood was quiet, nice, suburban. Normal. Everyone waved at everyone else, cracked jokes between yards as they tended to them and they seemed normal and happy just like Max Miller described. 

An older man wearing a flannel jacket and a red hat was racking his leaves when you drove up. He was happy, smiling, eager to help until the Miller’s name came up and then he shut down like a robot. “That poor kid okay?” The man asks, looking over your shoulder at the houses the Miller’s occupied all those years ago. 

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. The man tenses up but he shakes his head and looks at Sam. 

“Well, never in my life have I seen a child treated like that. I mean, I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. Used to beat the tar out of Max. Bruises.

Broke his arm two times that I know of,” he says. Your heart breaks and you look down at the ground. Dean looks over at you, bumps his hand against yours until you look up at him. 

“This was an ongoing thing?” Sam asks.

“Practically every day. In fact, that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy, but the worst part was the stepmother. She’d just stand there, checked out. Never lifted a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good,” he says. He looks at the house the entire time he talks like he can still hear the beating and screaming. 

“You said, stepmother?” You ask. The man nods, clarifying that his real mother died in a car accident. He’s about to keep going until he looks at Sam. You follow his gaze and again, he’s wincing in pain, holding his hands to his temple. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, shaking his head but the pain just comes back. Your arms go around his shoulders and you guide him down the pathway back the street. 

“Thank you for your time,” Dean says to the man before jogging down the path and helping you get Sam into the car. “You okay?” Dean asks once Sam is sitting in the car. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says as he lets go of his temples. Just like in the hotel room, he looks up into the distance like he’s watching a movie. Totally checked out for what seemed like minutes. All you could do is hold his hand while he worked through it and when he comes through, all he says is, “Max.”

tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo  @rachael-mae @jessewa26 @sundownridge