#nearly all of my past prompts I have no recollection of making them. that’s my biggest fear with asks. genuinely subconsciously not knowing-

[stealingyourbones]

Update: I’m watching multiple video essays and the movie over again to make these

The urge to give ghosts in the Infinite Realms Beetlejuice logic

[lemontongues]

hohohohohohoho. Number 11 please. Timkon.

HI THANK U FOR THE PROMPT ♡♡♡ there were two number 11s so i just combined them :] i posted it over here on ao3 too if u prefer to read over there!

(no real content warnings aside from some suggestive/bdsm themes due to the setting)

**

Conner hates being undercover. It used to be that he had too much baggage for it—lying to himself, struggling to understand who he was supposed to be, the discomfort of forcing himself into a secret identity. These days he’s past a lot of that, but he’s still always worried he’s going to screw it up. Too easy to let something slip by accident and blow his cover, or… well, maybe Ma is right about needing to trust himself. 

He's here because Tim needs him, after all. There’s been something haunting a club in downtown Gotham, Tim had explained to him, something disappearing young men and women from back rooms without a trace. Tim hasn’t been able to find anything but rumors—no cars in and out of the alleys behind the club, no secret doors into hidden basements, no traces of blood or of drugs that might be used to subdue victims. By all accounts, young people found their way into the private rooms, in pairs or with older partners who later had no recollection of anything between entering and leaving, and simply vanished. 

Tim’s working theory is that it’s the handiwork of a metahuman or, more likely, a demon. Conner really hopes it’s not a demon. He hates magic even more than he hates being undercover, and he really hates being undercover right now. 

Right now, Tim is curled up beside him on a leather couch tucked into a corner of the club, sharp eyes scanning the past the crowd mingling in the open space in front of the bar, locked on the hallway leading to the private rooms. Conner himself is having trouble keeping his gaze in the same place—the club that Tim had dragged him to is a very particular kind of club, and Conner is finding the juxtaposition of the casual chatter between some patrons and the public paddlings taking place between others… distracting. 

“You’re supposed to be my eyes and ears,” Tim reminds him, slipping one gloved hand up Conner’s bare chest and leaning in so that his lips are nearly pressed to Conner’s ear. It drags an involuntary shudder out of him, a wave of heat rolling down his front, and Conner ducks his head, trying to put space between them. It backfires spectacularly when Tim slides that gloved hand up to his jaw and turns Conner’s face into the crook of his neck, letting his head fall back as Conner’s lips brush his throat just above the black leather of the collar fastened there. “Acting, Conner. Try.” 

“Fuck you,” Conner mutters, trying to ignore the way his face is heating and his pulse is pounding rapidly. 

“I doubt we’re going to have to take it that far,” Tim replies, and Conner gets a sinking feeling that the tiny, subvocal noise Tim makes when Conner sighs heavily against his neck is the only victory he’s going to wring out of this night. He’d lost from the moment Tim had held up the heavy leather collar to him and he’d balked, and he hasn’t recovered since. It seems pointless to argue when Tim continues, “just put your hand on my hip and focus for me.” 

Following those simple instructions is harder than Conner cares to admit. Several deep breaths are necessary to settle him to the point where the hand Tim has snuck into his hair fades into the background, shifting from distracting to grounding as Tim strokes slowly from the crown of his head to the back of his neck. 

His awareness of their clothes, their bodies, starts to go next. It’s an achievement, really—it’s been nearly impossible for him to get his mind off of Tim’s outfit. There are the tight black pants tucked into knee-high combat boots and the intricate harness he’s layered under a tank top so loose and shredded Conner doubts it even qualifies as a shirt anymore, and that’s bad enough for Conner’s heart and his fraying self-control. Worse, though, are the accessories: bracelets and cuffs layered over long, fingerless gloves, fake—definitely fake, he insists to himself—jewelry glinting on his half-exposed nipples, and the collar, the stupid collar around his neck, the heft of it somehow emphasizing the elegant curves of his throat and collarbones, attached to a leash that’s been wrapped around Conner’s fist since they entered the club. The makeup artfully smeared around his eyes and the messy tousle of his hair softens his face, transforms him from sharply handsome to alluringly pretty, and Conner has to force himself to let go of the image of Tim’s soft, pouty lower lip caught between his teeth as they’d walked into the club, the way he had glanced up at Conner from under his lashes as he suggested they find someplace quiet to start. 

Only slightly easier to forget is the vague embarrassment of his own disguise. Tim had gone with a play on his old leather jacket, this time sleeveless and involving leather pants tucked into a pair of combat boots less decorative than Tim’s. The leather vest hangs open, revealing the musculature of his chest and stomach, and his only other accessories are a pair of short leather gloves and two wide leather bands hugging his biceps. He feels, frankly, slightly ridiculous—he’s positive he’s seen this outfit on the cover of an old porno before—but it seems to have worked well enough, more people ogling his arms and abs than bothering to glance at his face. 

Tim was right, as usual—as he settles further, it gets easier to tune out what’s actually going on, let his senses widen. He can forget that he’d put his hand on Tim’s hip as he’d been told to, how they’re pressed together, that Tim is half in his lap by now. When his pulse stops pounding in his ears, he can filter through the chatter on the floor, the conversations mingling oddly with moans and wails. What he catches, eventually, isn’t so much a sound as… the lack thereof. 

“It’s quiet,” he says, and he feels Tim’s hum more than hears it, a low vibration in his chest that spikes Conner’s pulse all over again. 

“Conner.” Tim taps the back of Conner’s neck lightly with a polished nail, pulling his attention back, and Conner suppresses the surge of unfair irritation that Tim somehow always knows even though Conner is the one with superpowers. 

“It’s too quiet. There’s no sound in the back rooms, no voices, no heartbeats, not even bugs crawling. Either something is blocking my senses or there’s something very wrong with those rooms.” 

“We need to get closer,” Tim says, easing himself out of Conner’s lap and back onto the couch beside him. Conner’s fist tightens reflexively around the leash, pulling Tim up short, and Tim’s pretty eyes narrow at him, unimpressed. “That part is pretend, Conner. I don’t have time to renegotiate our relationship right now.” 

Flushing hard, Conner loosens his grasp, lets the leash slip nearly all the way through his fingers before giving it a light tug. When Tim looks at him again, Conner sets his jaw, determined not to let Tim run roughshod over him. “You need to be careful. Something isn’t right.” 

Tim looks ready to make a snippy remark, snatch his leash out of Conner’s hand and march himself over to the private rooms without a backward glance, disguises and danger be damned. When Conner doesn’t flinch, holds his gaze, something seems to shift between them, and the line of Tim’s shoulders softens. Rather than taking off to confront whatever’s been lurking at the back of the club, Tim eases backwards, a controlled, languid fall into the arm of the couch that invites Conner to follow him. 

Conner isn’t quite sure what he’s doing as he leans in over Tim, props himself up on an elbow against the arm of the couch, bracketing Tim’s head. His free hand rests on Tim’s knee, and Tim’s eyes are steady on him, open and curious despite the faint flush that rises to his cheeks as Conner’s hand trails upwards, his fingers splayed wide and possessive across Tim’s thigh. The sweep of his thumb across Tim’s inner thigh would be impossible to mistake for friendly even before Conner squeezes once, hard enough that he hears Tim’s breath hitch and his pulse spike. 

Tim’s head drops back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed as Conner hears him breathe a careful pattern. His hands find Conner’s shoulders before he opens his eyes, and the way his fingers twine at the nape of Conner’s neck is almost as intoxicating as the look on his face as his gaze drops to Conner’s lips. 

“Maybe we do need to renegotiate,” he concedes, and Conner’s heart leaps, a wild, soaring sensation filling his chest so fast it leaves him giddy. His thoughts scatter, leaves in the wind, and it’s all he can do to grin down at Tim, bite his lip to avoid kissing him with the kind of gleeful, giggling overexuberance that would definitely get them noticed in here. Tim grins back, but then schools his face into something more sultry, glancing towards the private rooms again. 

“Let’s go get this taken care of, alright?” There’s a wicked sparkle in his eye when he looks back at Conner. Arching off the couch until he’s close enough for Conner to feel the heat radiating off him, he puts his lips to Conner’s ear, the low rasp of his voice sending a happy shiver down Conner’s spine. “I promise I’ll stay close.” 

“I—okay,” Conner says, agreeing before he quite computes what that’s going to entail. Tim smiles up at him, soft and fond again for a moment, and Conner feels dazed and only faintly annoyed at how easy it is for Tim to turn him to putty in his clever hands. The annoyance fades entirely when Tim tilts his head up, jaw angled so that all but the last inch of space between their lips is gone. Conner feels his breath catch in his chest, silly and thrilled at what Tim is offering him, and tries not to float right off the couch as he closes that final gap and presses his lips to Tim’s. 

Their first kiss is a slow, careful thing. Under the circumstances, it would be easy to get carried away—there are plenty of things much raunchier than this happening around them, and Conner certainly wants to push his hands under Tim’s pathetic excuse for a shirt, to toy with the metal glinting at his nipples, to grind down against him and hear him gasp, but… there will be time for all of that later. Right now, what Conner wants more than anything is to savor the way Tim sighs against his lips, wraps his arms around Conner’s neck like he’s finally, finally getting something he’s been waiting for and isn’t in any hurry to let go. Conner hasn’t often felt that way, like he’s treasured, deeply wanted, and he lingers in that sweet, glowing feeling for as long as he can, lets Tim keep kissing him for as long as he wants to. 

Then Tim is slipping his fingers under Conner’s palm where it’s still resting on his thigh, pressing the leash back into Conner’s hand as he pulls back with a smile that’s downright radiant. Conner basks in it until Tim tugs lightly at his hair, looking sly. 

“Stay in character, sir,” he says, voice husky and eyelashes fluttering. Conner rolls his eyes as he wraps the leash back around his fist, reeling Tim in until Conner’s knuckles brush his throat and Conner can claim his mouth in a deeper, rougher kiss, more for show this time. Show or not, Tim is flushed and breathing hard when they break apart, and Conner finds himself looking forward to Tim making him regret his smirk later. 

“Come on,” Conner says, tugging the leash as he backs up, pulling Tim up with him. 

He’s having fun teasing Tim with the leash, but as they rise, picking their way out and across the floor, he’s careful not to yank or keep much pressure on it, holding it loosely in his fist so Tim will be able to break away as he needs to. Tim stays a half step behind him, letting him lead, but Conner knows where to look to see that there’s absolutely nothing submissive in his posture—he’s eagle-eyed, ready to act at a moment’s notice, letting Conner tow him along only as a convenience so that he doesn’t need to flirt and tease his way across the room to keep the act up. Conner doesn’t mind. He usually prefers to have Tim in charge, easier to follow Tim’s orders than to summon up the confidence to lead, but he’s eager to finish the night, so he keeps his stride quick and confident, pulling Tim along behind him into the dark. 

**

It turns out to be a magician who summoned a demon, because of course it would be. Conner hates Gotham. His only bits of luck in the fight are that the people who had been kidnapped are still alive and that the magician hadn’t collected enough of them yet to summon the master of the first demon, which would have rocketed the whole ordeal from “huge pain in the ass” straight to “minor disaster.” 

By the time they’ve ousted the demon, subdued the magician, gotten the missing patrons to the EMTs, and ensured that someone is helping them get in touch with their loved ones, the club is empty of all but a few of the staff and a unit of police officers. Tim and Conner slip away a bit worse for wear—Tim has a new bruise blossoming on his jaw and a shallow cut that stretches diagonally from his collarbone to his ribs, and Conner is thoroughly singed and favoring his left side as he floats Tim to the top of a tall building several streets over. 

“You have to admit, that could have gone worse,” Tim says, eyeing Conner as he limps towards an edge of the roof less visible from the street. 

“Easy for you to say. You got to fight the dweeby magician while I kept the scary fire demon off your back.”  

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” Tim assures him as he follows Conner across the roof, settling himself next to Conner. He sits closer than he usually would, Conner thinks, their shoulders brushing as he situates himself, and Conner has to stare at the place where their dangling ankles bump for a moment before he can find the thread of the conversation again. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine once I get out of your home sweet hellhole and get some actual sun again.” 

“It’s supposed to be clear tomorrow,” Tim says, a note in his voice that Conner can’t place. Cocking his head to try to get a look at Tim’s face, he finds that Tim’s hair, still longer these days than he ever kept it when they were kids, obscures his expression. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, unsure if Tim means what Conner wants him to mean. His pulse is rising even though the action is long over, and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could use his x-ray vision to see inside of Tim’s head, read the words that he won’t let himself say. 

“You could get your sun here. If you wanted to,” Tim says. Conner hears him swallow, realizes that it’s not just his own pulse pounding in his ears—he can hear Tim’s, too, thundering along beside his own, and a jolt of exhilaration almost sends him floating off the building and into the damp, starless Gotham night. “You wouldn’t have to go home.” 

Taking a deep breath, Conner reaches down between their bodies, feeling along the concrete until he finds Tim’s hand. Tim is holding his breath, Conner can tell, and he stays frozen as Conner coaxes Tim’s hand into his own, lacing their fingers together. 

“If it was just—if you don’t want to, I get it,” Tim blurts out before Conner has a chance to say anything. “If it was just… being in there, the atmosphere, you were in character, and you don’t actually—it’s fine. I’ll understand.” 

“It wasn’t just the atmosphere,” Conner says, quiet, and when Tim turns to him, there’s a look of such naked hope on his face that it makes Conner’s chest ache. Curling in towards Tim, he ignores the dull protest of his ribs as he lifts a hand to Tim’s jaw and presses their foreheads together. “It wasn’t for show, Tim. I—can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” Tim whispers, and Conner can feel Tim’s hand shaking slightly where it curls around his wrist. “Please.” 

It’s just as good as that first kiss in the club—better, Conner thinks, because this time Tim has dropped the easy, flirty confidence. It’s a little clumsier, and the sincerity when Tim leans into him fills him with a sweet sort of warmth. He can’t help wrapping his arms around Tim, pulling him in tight and cupping the back of his head as he deepens the kiss, and Tim rewards him with a soft, needy noise, sounding almost wounded as he buries his fingers in Conner’s hair. 

“I don’t wanna go home,” Conner murmurs when they part, and he loves hearing the skip in Tim’s heartbeat, feeling Tim’s fingers tighten in his hair. This close, he can only catch the edge of Tim’s smile, but his eyes scrunch the way they only do when he’s really happy, and that tells Conner everything he needs to know. 

“Then don’t,” Tim suggests, and leans in to kiss him again. 

[oathbreakerapologist]

so what would prompt ghost to Go Back to Orin..? and would Orin even accept him?

You know, it's really more of a question of what keeps him from going back to Orin during the standard BG3 canon campaign events, and the answer to that is that he doesn't particularly remember his past relationship with her, so he doesn't have any reason to want to get back with her. But if that were to change—if he did regain even fleeting memories of his life with her before the betrayal—he'd go back in a heartbeat.

I've written elsewhere about endings for Ghost if he were a companion, and in that post I talked about how I think there'd be an option to give him the noblestalk, and that this would trigger him to attempt to return to Orin early in act 3. I think that something like this, a magical or otherwise supernatural restoration of some of his lost memories, is the most likely scenario. But I think there's another possible way as well.

Gortash manipulated Orin into betraying Niro. If Ghost were to discover evidence of Gortash's manipulation campaign, it's possible that that might trigger memories to which he'd otherwise lost access, or at least it would allow him to begin to piece together certain layers of his history with Orin. In this scenario too, as soon as he understood what his relationship with Orin was like (and, in his mind, that Gortash took her from him), he'd want to restore his relationship with her.

He sees Orin as not just a lover or a companion, but also the only one in the world like him—his other self. In his mind, they were created by Bhaal for one another, the same in all the ways they needed to be, and different in all the ways they needed to be. Losing her was like losing part of him; the moment he becomes aware of what he's lost, its absence aches like a yawning void.

I think that whether or not she would take him back would strongly hinge on exactly how he approached her. She had been thoroughly manipulated into what she did to him, and in the time since, she'd had plenty of time to justify the betrayal to herself. If he led with an attempt to convince her that she had actually been manipulated, he'd have no chance in hell of getting her to listen to him for more than a solid 30 seconds. She's simply unable to deal with the possibility that the beliefs that led her to nearly murder the one person she ever truly cared about were wrong, which would force her to accept that she'd betrayed him for nothing. She couldn't handle being so badly wrong, so she'd never believe that she was. It wouldn't matter if he had signed papers from Gortash explaining his manipulation campaign in detail; if that was Ghost's strategy, he'd end up a head on a pike out in front of the Temple of Bhaal.

In a world in which he did successfully return to Orin, he'd have to take a different tack. (As an aside, I think I consider this world to be his actual canon. The BG3-adhering storyline in which he ends up with Astarion is great too, and I enjoy it quite a bit because, well, that's my BG3 run with him, but separate from the constraints of the game's storytelling, I do think he'd end up back with Orin.)

The winning strategy—not that he'd think of it as a strategic move, really—would be for him to go in with very little knowledge of what happened. Perhaps all he remembered was that he was powerfully, irrevocably devoted to Orin, and that something terrible had happened between them. Without a distinct recollection of the betrayal, unwilling to believe that Orin would attack him for no reason, Ghost assumed whatever had happened was his fault. He seeks her out hoping for forgiveness for some grave sin he can't remember committing.

His return would have been an overwhelming experience for Orin. She hated him still, for all the reasons Gortash had encouraged her to hate him, and she hated him more for making her need to do what she did. And she was frightened of him—he'd always been terrifyingly strong and powerful, and with the tadpole, he was weaker than he used to be, but absolutely still a threat. But there was a part of her that was relieved, too. Her brother, her love, her other self had come home again, even after all she'd done.

In his lack of memory, Orin saw an opportunity. He thought he'd done something to deserve her attack and the subsequent tadpoling; she was more than happy to let him believe that, because it meant that she could continue to believe that. It also gave her a distinct advantage over him: he was seeking her favor, her approval, her forgiveness. Their interactions would be entirely on her terms.

In the end, it was perhaps easier to reunite than either of them would have expected it to be. He felt directionless, without a sense of purpose greater than the gnawing need for violence. What greater purpose could there be than earning his place at her side? And when it came to how exactly he could earn her forgiveness, Orin certainly had plenty of ideas.

Their relationship was never like it was before. Before, he saw her as his equal, though the rest of the world barely looked beyond him. When he came crawling back to her, his body wracked by the struggle to survive the tadpole gnawing away at his brain matter, his mind dulled, his will sapped, it could never be like that again, for by that point, he was convinced she'd always been far superior to him, and he was ready to fall in line.

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 37

From this prompt list. If you've read this far, I'm not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn't written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here

Days 35-36 here

***

135. "I'll be honest; I get off to the thought of you."

***

The spaceship's sleep/wake cycle had been reset at some point while Tim was traveling, probably an automatic function of being planetside, and was completely opposite to Gotham. Tim discovered this fact as soon as sunset began to color the sky the distinct mixture of furious greens, reds, and oranges unique to his hometown. His body informed him that it was ready for a decent day's work—he'd actually caught up on sleep while the autopilot was in charge, and now he regretted it.

Jason arrived first, and Tim refused to examine the wave of relief that swamped him at the realization that he wouldn't have to be alone with Damian.

"Hey, Jason," he greeted as he swung open the door.

"What's up, Timber." Jason unlaced his boots and took them off before stepping past the foyer, unshakeable habit left over from his time in the League. "How was space?"

"You know. The usual. Food I couldn't eat, languages I couldn't speak, idiots who needed rescuing."

"That's not a very nice way to talk about Rayner," Jason said in mock reproval, heading for the couch.

Tim snorted. "He was actually really helpful this time. It's not his fault—" A knock interrupted, and he swallowed the rest of the words as something lurched in his gut.

"Whoa. You still spacesick or something?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. "We can reschedule. I'd rather come back later than watch you puke in a trashcan."

Tim forced a smile and headed to the door. "Nah, everything feels like it weighs fifty pounds more than normal and I'm going to be awake for the next 24 hours trying to get back on Gotham time but I'm fine."

He opened the door and nearly choked on his tongue at the sight of Damian in the flesh. Time away had mitigated his recollection so he had sort of mentally combined annoying preteen Damian with his more recent memories. That had . . . probably been an error in judgment, he was realizing, as Damian walked past him, cologne wafting over Tim like a caress, and sat in the most uncomfortable chair like he was making a point.

"Let's make this fast, Todd. I don't wish to spend any more time here than is necessary." Damian's voice was deeper than Tim had remembered. He rested one foot on the opposite knee and leaned back as if he were totally relaxed, but the set of his shoulders told a different tale.

Tim barely remembered to shut the door as Jason chastised Damian for keeping his shoes on—"who raised you, I know Ra’s wouldn't have let you fuck up his floors like this"—and drifted to sit on the couch next to Jason.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Jason's tirade but made no response, and Jason apparently gave it up as a bad job because he opened his laptop without further comment. "So here's what these assholes are up to," he began, rotating the computer so they could see the pictures on the screen.

By the time he was done showing the evidence he'd gathered, Tim had forgotten about anything but the sheer rage throbbing in his temples. "Some of the kids are practically babies. Do their parents know what happened to them? Are they part of it or would it be safe to return the kids home?"

"That's what I need your help to figure out," Jason replied. "I can't find their transfer points, take out their operation heads, root out the lieutenants, and check into the home lives of these kids without you. Hell, I'm not even sure where they're coming from exactly. I didn't take the pictures of the kids, that was one of my contacts in Tulsa, and by the time he got backup to show the kids had been moved on. He did say they weren't speaking Spanish or Portuguese, though, so even though they're coming up through the southern border they're from a place that has a different language. He just didn't recognize it."

Damian hadn't moved during the entire discussion, and anyone who didn't know him would have assumed he was unaffected by its contents, but Tim noticed how his knuckles had gone white where they gripped the arms of his chair. "I will take the job of finding their transfer points. Our previous lack of thoroughness will be remedied."

They hammered out the rest of the details without much more discussion, and then Jason stood. "I've got patrol tonight so I'm gonna head to the Cave. See you, Timmers. Damian, you heading back?"

Damian opened his mouth to answer, but sudden impulse had Tim interrupting, "I've got something for Bruce, Damian, if you can wait for a second."

Damian's gaze flew to his face in obvious surprise, an emotion which Tim completely shared. Why did he always just babble shit out when he was around Damian? This had never been a problem before they fucked, so what was the connection between his dick and his inability to just shut his mouth?

Jason, oblivious, said, "Bye, then," and slammed the door behind him.

Tim spun on his heel and headed for his bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "Be right back. I ran into this Tamaranean who said she knew Bruce while I was on one of the places I made planet-fall, and she wanted me to give him this bottle of liquor I didn't recognize, but Kyle said it was okay and almost definitely not poisonous so I've got it in my bag."

He half-expected Damian to be gone by the time he returned, but instead he was just standing next to the door, looking bored. Tim was so determined to prove to himself that this entire interaction was normal that by the time he stopped in front of Damian, he realized he'd gotten too close. Damian's cologne once again floated over to him and wrapped around his throat like a leash, yanking him still closer.

"Here." He shoved the wrapped bottle into Damian's unresistant hands. "I'll be over at the Cave tomorrow. See you."

He would have made a run for it and let Damian show himself out, but Damian's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow. Tim froze and slowly looked up, making eye contact with some nervousness. That ache in his chest was back, along with the painful cramping in his stomach. Maybe he really was spacesick.

"What's up?" he managed, when no words from Damian seemed forthcoming.

Damian tilted his head, a gleam in his eyes that looked like green ice. "Why are you behaving in this fashion? Have you suffered brain damage in your absence? Oxygen deprivation, perhaps?"

Stung, Tim tried to wrench his elbow out of Damian's grip, but Damian didn't release him. He could have exerted more finesse and broken free with ease, but it wasn't worth the effort. "I didn't know that having a normal conversation was a sign of mental incapacitation. You can go now."

Damian stepped even closer. The heat from his body radiated into Tim's front. "I'm not leaving until you explain your erratic actions. Before you left you had barely said two words to me in months unless I forced the issue. I was actually there at Colu’s demise and you still didn't bother telling me where you were going. And now you're blabbering like someone poured truth serum into your water bottle."

The words hurt, but not as much as the tiny downward twist of Damian's mouth that was a greater sign of distress than he usually allowed himself. Without his conscious approval, Tim's free hand drifted up to cover Damian's where it held his arm. "I hadn’t said two words to you in months?" He had assumed their relationship would naturally return to its previous distant cordiality once Damian no longer required his services, but he hadn't intended to freeze Damian out. He'd let the pendulum of his behavior swing way too far if that were the case.

Damian didn't answer for a long moment, still examining Tim's face like he was trying to read a text in a language he barely spoke. "No. But I supposed that was to be expected, given my childishness. What I don't understand is why you've changed the status quo now."

"You weren't—you weren't childish," Tim said, forcing the words past a lump in his throat. Damn, his body was just falling apart. He needed to never go to space again. "I only—I thought we were done? You asked me for a favor and I delivered and so after that I figured the transaction was finished. We both had a lot on our plates and I guess I thought you were going to go broaden your horizons, work your way down your team’s roster or whatever. They're a lot more age-appropriate than me, anyway."

Damian rolled his eyes and dropped his elbow, though he didn't move away. "I would honestly wonder if you know me at all, if that's what you truly thought I wanted or needed. You don't, though. You should simply admit you weren't attracted to me and took pity on a virgin who begged for help. The truth is preferable to pretending the handful of years between us is an insurmountable gap."

Tim furrowed his brows in confusion. "It's not the truth, though."

Damian scoffed and turned away toward the door. "I've heard enough. Please return to not speaking to me if all you'll do is spout nonsense."

"No, wait!" Tim lunged for him, but Damian caught him by the shoulder and spun him to face him again, slamming up against the door with force that made his shoulder blades sing with pain.

"That is enough," he growled, but his eyes had begun to glitter and his nose was red and it hurt, it hurt to look at him feeling this way. Tim needed a ten-step plan and some advice from his friends but it felt like all he had was ten seconds and his gut, which was churning worse than ever.

"I really am attracted to you," he blurted. Damian straightened, eyes narrowed in guarded skepticism, his hand slipping off Tim's shoulder. "You want the truth? I'll be honest; I get off to the thought of you."

Damian stood immobile for a long second, and Tim stepped aside so he could finally walk out, face burning with embarrassment.

Instead of leaving, though, Damian leaned down and kissed his mouth.

days thirty-eight and thirty-nine here

[rocorambles]

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.  

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult. 

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for! 

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step. 

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line. 

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity. 

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor. 

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder. 

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing. 

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes. 

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think. 

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate. 

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place. 

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission. 

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm? 

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have? 

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes. 

Or so you believe. 

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds. 

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods. 

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path. 

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.” 

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.  

 You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers. 

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.” 

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd. 

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants. 

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place. 

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable. 

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

 “So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

 “Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face. 

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you. 

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right? 

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.  

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home. 

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of. 

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you. 

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru. 

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.  

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries. 

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.    

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”. 

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips. 

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame. 

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.  

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing. 

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch. 

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”. 

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four. 

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting. 

And history repeats itself. Over and over again. 

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you. 

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock? 

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth. 

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint. 

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of. 

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy. 

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases. 

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.” 

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with. 

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it. 

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him. 

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you? 

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use. 

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose. 

Anything, huh? 

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him. 

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly. 

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary. 

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast. 

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.” 

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face. 

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim. 

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy. 

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.” 

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll. 

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.” 

[wotanidiott]

maybe some draco angst with prompts 20, 17 & 15 (angst ones)? thank you 🤎

—————————————————

The Other Potter

summary - after a heated argument, draco finally confesses, or rather shows you, his hidden feelings

pairing - draco x fem reader, mentions of ron x fem reader

house - gryffindor

time period - 7th year

word count - 2.6k

warnings - very angsty, violence and a whole lot of swearing

a/n - ahhh this is my first official post skdjkssjskksjssk !!!! i hope it’s okay i made the reader harry’s sister? i just randomly came up with the storyline and thought it would fit well with your request ... anyways i hope yall like it <3

prompts

“are you going to cry now?”

“you’re scaring me”

“you’re nothing. you hear me? nothing”

"Y/N!" You heard the distant calling of your name amongst the chatter of the mass of students in the Great Hall. Cocking your head slightly forward from your seat at the Gryffindor table, you found the source of the noise as they barrelled into the entrance with a frantic look in their eyes.

"Neville, what's wrong?" You question him, as he flops onto Seamus Finnigan, seated adjacent from you. Seamus furrows his eyebrows at his friend's breathless state, then looking at you with the same confused expression on your face.

Neville audibly heaves for a good minute, catching his breath from the seemingly long run he underwent.

"Harry, he—" His sentence is interrupted by a lengthy inhale of oxygen.

You perk up at your brother's name. A plethora of questions surfacing in your mind. "Harry? What happened? What did he do now?" You stand up, placing both hands on the table as you peer over at the short-winded boy now laying flat on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“He ... he—”

"He what?" You persist.

"Courtyard. He's— A-And Malfoy. "

That's all you needed to snatch your bag off the floor and bolt for the courtyard.

You realised you had developed some sort of attraction to the infamous Slytherin Prince around the start of 5th year. Although, you had assumed it was just a phase. In what world could you ever be attracted to the one guy that makes you and your brother's lives a living hell?

So that's what you had concluded it was. Just a phase. One that had seemingly fizzled out once you started dating Ron and now call a silly mishap.

But that wasn't true at all, was it?

A series of scenarios flickered through your head as you begun to wonder just exactly what had happened for poor Neville to nearly faint from shortness of breath to fetch you.

It must've been urgent.

As you reach the Courtyard, a crowd has formed around the oak tree, most likely watching the interaction between the two boys. Your hand finds the wand tucked in the pocket of your robes, gripping it tightly as you push through the cluster of people to get to the front.

He sees you before you see him.

"Ahhh, how nice of you to join us. Now the other Potter's here, we can really have some fun" Malfoy announces. Sniggers erupt from the group of Slytherins behind him as you finally reach the centre of the circle.

Your eyebrows knit together in perplexity. Malfoy is stood in the middle, surrounded by his goons but there's no sight of Harry.

"Where is he?" You snap at Malfoy, hostility lacing your words as you look around the gathered students agitated.

"Y/N, I'm here!" Harry's voice calls from above. At first your skeptic but as you look up, there he was. Floating in mid-air. Along with Hermione and Ron.

"You bloody git. I'll get you back for this Malfoy. I swear—" Ron is cut off by the single wave of Blaise Zabini's wand, effectively silencing him.

"They look rather comfy up there, Potter. Don't you think? Care to join them?" Malfoy pulls his signature smirk, eyeing you up and down.

The hold on your wand tightens as you whip it out and point it at him, stepping forward. "Oh, I wouldn't if I were you. Unless you want a repeat of fourth year? Don't think we all forgot about you running stark naked around the corridors after your little ferret incident."

The crowd bursts into laughter at your witty comeback. Even Theodore Nott couldn't contain his laughter and eventually gave in when he saw the humiliated look gracing Malfoy's face.

Malfoy's gaze on you hardens, his upper lip curling in contempt as he too takes a step forward. If looks could kill, this would be it. He flicks his wand upwards, still maintaining eye contact and you hear the thud of 3 bodies on your left, followed by grunts from the hard contact as he relinquished the golden trio from his spell.

"Yeah? No wonder Weasel left you for the Mudblood. I would too considering what a bitch you are." He hisses with no remorse.

Gasps emit from the crowd at his harsh riposte.

As much as you'd hate to admit it, the comment hit a nerve. You remained civil with Hermione and Ron after having found out he cheated on you with her but the pain was still there. A guilty expression flickered over the couple's faces as they shot you an apologetic look.

"Awww, are you going to cry now?"

Your wand lowers slightly from the impact of Malfoy's insult and he takes this as an opportunity to cast a leg-locking curse.

However, he underestimated you. You managed to block the spell with a simple protection charm before quickly shouting "Expelliarmus!" Malfoy's wand jumped into your open hand in a fleet of a moment and he was left defenceless.

"I may be a bitch but at least I'm not a disappointment. It's obvious that your Father would rather have anyone— hell, he'd even have Harry rather than you as a son" you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him.

You felt a surge of satisfaction when an emotion that resembled hurt flashed across his face. But it went as soon as it came.

Something in Draco snapped. It was one thing to ridicule him in front of his peers but to bring up his Father? Now that was a whole different ball game. Before he could even stop himself, a barrage of insults came pouring out.

"Are you even hearing yourself? At least I have a Father. And I have a Mother. You? You have no one. Your parents are fucking dead, Potter. You don't even have any recollection of them—"

"MALFOY—"

"Shut the fuck up, Potter" He snaps at Harry then instantly directs his attention to you again. "And as for your sorry brother, I don't even see you two together anymore. He'd rather be around the two people that betrayed you—"

"Draco, mate, I think that's enoug—" Theo tugs on Malfoy's sleeve to get him to stop but he's persistent on speaking his mind.

"Piss off, Nott. A-Around the two people that betrayed you than— than a pathetic excuse for a witch. No one likes nor cares about you. You're nothing, Potter. You hear me? Nothing."

Malfoy appeared deranged in the way he lashed out at you, chest heaving from his rant and wild eyes that looked as if he could kill you right at that moment.

But you didn't care.

You were past the point of caring. You knew all the things he said to you were true, you sometimes even thought it. But it felt like a whole new revelation when he stated it aloud. In front of everyone. Soon the whole school would be talking about this.

But you didn't care.

It was then, Draco knew. He knew he messed up. He took in the wide eyes and gaping mouths of his peers around him. Harry's enraged expression. His friends' guilty body language; despite the fact they played no part in the insult.

Then his eyes swept over to you. He had knocked the life right out of you. You looked ... numb. With your faintly quivering lip and glassy eyes, he realised he had overstepped. Usually, you'd retaliate and he would too until you were both separated by your friends or the professors.

Though, this was different. This was overdoing it.

"R-Right." You managed to say flatly but the distress was clear in your words. The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill and you felt sick. Sick to the stomach about the fact everyone had heard and were most likely going to realise that about you too if they hadn't already.

You had to leave. Bolt out of there before you became a weeping mess.

You turned on your heel and made a beeline for the closest abandoned corridor you knew by heart. You couldn't go to your dorm because Harry would find you there and you wanted to be alone for the time being.

You ignored your brother's calls to come back aswell as Hermione's and a few other fellow Gryffindors you had befriended over the years.

Tear after tear came rolling down your flushed cheeks. Each one representing a time you had bottled up those feelings and refused to give into the 'let it all go' mechanism.

The past 2-3 years had been a blur of pain and heartbreak. Ron and Hermione's betrayal had hit you worse than you thought, combined with Harry's absence and the pitiful treatment your friends had been giving you.

"Potter, wait!"

You whirled round so fast at the all so familiar voice. Out of all people, you hadn't expected him to be the one to follow you.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy. Please— Just .... just please leave me alone" Your plead came out in splutters, unable to fully form a sentence with the state your mind was in.

You swivel back round and begin to continue further down the hallway but you don't get far as Malfoy calls after you again.

"Potter, stop."

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT? YOU WANT TO HUMILIATE ME EVEN MORE? IS THAT IT? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT, MALFOY?" You turn, snapping at him.

Through the swelling anger and haze of your tears, you couldn't make out his expression as he stared intently at your face.

"I— I just wanted to—" Malfoy pauses for a second, struggling to find the right words. After a moment, he simply sighs, eyes travelling to your hand. "My wand. You have my wand." He points at your clenched fists that have both his and your wand in it's tight grip.

At that, you feel immensely stupid for lashing out at him. Huffing, you shove it in his hands and collapse against the vacant corridor's wall out of frustration.

You bury your head in your hands and replay the scene that had just occurred. It was humiliating. Utterly humiliating ... but it was the truth.

"Potter."

You started slightly at the sound of Malfoy's voice. You had expected him to go running back to his goons to ridicule your breakdown yet here he was.

"Wh-What are y-you still doing here?" You managed to reply in between hiccups as you kept your eyes wired shut to cease the ever flowing stream of tears. "Would h-have thought you'd ran off and celebrated this v-victory of yours with the other Slytherins."

"Potter, I—"

"No, you know what, I don't even care anymore." You get to your feet and push yourself off the wall. This would only satisfy Malfoy even further; watching every piece of the facade you managed to maintain, crack and fracture. He didn't deserve to see you like this.

As you swivel round, about to make a run to your dorm, you're pulled back by a harsh grip on your wrist. Cold rings digging into your skin as he spins you back round.

"Well, I do." Malfoy says in almost a whisper.

You shoot him a bemused look at his vague and random words.

He takes in your confused expression and further elaborates. "...Care. I mean." He says, flatly whilst looking around you as if he were avoiding your eyes.

You can't help the scoff that passes through your mouth as you yank your wrist free of his grasp. "You? Care? Yeah, right."

You go to turn again but he stops you once more. "Look, Potter—"

"Malfoy—"

"If you would just—"

"No—"

"Listen to me—"

"Why would—"

In a fleet of a moment, Malfoy shoves you against the wall. His large hand wrapped around the back of your head to mitigate the impact. And the other squeezing your hip to hold you in place.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, STOP INTERRUPTING ME. IS IT SO HARD TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY?"

You open your mouth to protest but you're quickly cut off by his hand leaving your head as it drives into the stone wall right next to your face.

"STOP IT. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT LISTEN MEANS, POTTER?"

You jump at the abrupt act of violence combined with the volume and harshness of his words.

"LISTEN."

His fist rams into the wall again.

"TO."

And again.

"ME."

And again.

Your eyes screw shut as you let out a small whimper from the proximity of his punches between the wall and your face. Tears escaping and falling rapidly from the fear he had elicited out of you combined with the occurrence that had put you in this mess in the first place.

Malfoy is pulled out of his momentary ballistic rage at the sound of your small and helpless sounding whimper. He had yet again let his temper get the better of him. Culpability overcame him as he took in your cowering state and he instantly regretted spinning out of control.

"Potter." His voice, eyes and grip had softened drastically, completely contrasting his aura just seconds ago.

"Y-You're scaring me." You murmur.

Malfoy instantaneously takes a step back, releasing you from his hold.

Your eyes fly open and immediately register the immense shame etched on his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—" He pauses momentarily, sighing to himself before continuing. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or hurt you. I didn't mean the things I said earlier."

It was an understatement to say you were taken aback by Malfoy apologising. You didn't think he even knew how to.

"You're sorry?" You reply, dubiously.

"Yes. I am."

You squint your eyes at him in suspicion, "No, you're not. Why would you be sorry? You don't even care—"

"Fuck's sake, not again." He cuts you off, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose out of irritation.

You don't understand. What's his angle? Surely, he doesn't really care. Right?

"What? You don't. Or else you wouldn't have—" You attempt to explain your point of view but he interrupts you once more.

"FUCKING HELL, POTTER. I AM SORRY, OKAY? IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I'M APOLOGISING FOR HURTING YOUR FEELINGS?"

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as you stare at each other.

"Yes." You breathe. "I-I just don't understand why you would—"

Before you could even process what was happening, Malfoy has you pinned to the wall anew but this time with his lips pressed against yours.

You undergo a mixture of all sorts of emotions in the time span of a second. Shock, confusion, disbelief and most of all a tiny spark of exuberance.

He gives you little time to melt into the kiss before he's pulling away already and holding your face in his hands.

You've never been this close to Malfoy before, so needless to say you wouldn't have believed anyone if they said Malfoy actually had the most entrancing eyes. Like a storm brewing behind grey clouds, you thought.

"Does that answer your question?" He asks, a smirk creeping up his face.

You can't help the little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you attempt to mirror his smirk. "Partly, yes."

Without a second thought, you smash your lips against his, hands travelling to his hair as you lightly tug on the ends.

He slightly moans at this and mumbles in between kisses, "You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You both suddenly pull away from each other as you meet Harry's eyes from the end of the hallway.

Shit.

———————————————————————

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[laeorinel]

Day 4 - FFXIVWrite2022

Extra credit day so I made my own prompt for this. Sods law this will be one of the words that comes up later this month.

Word prompt: Heavy

No spoilers as such. Takes place late Heavensward/Patch 3.2.

----

One foot moves past the other, slow and clumsy. The frigid snow was nearly up to her knees now. Her axe carved a path through the snow next to her, it practically being held in a death grip. 

"Just keep moving." A mantra Samara has been telling herself for the last...hour? Two hours? She lost track of how much time had passed a while ago. Her limbs grew heavier and heavier as she walked. Looking ahead, all she saw were snow-covered hills— no signs of civilisation or life for malms. 

It was her own damn fault. Her gut told her not to accept that hunt job, but naturally, she ignored that instinct, the thrill of the hunt and battle overriding what common sense she had. Now she was stuck in the arse end of Coerthas with no mount, few supplies, and more than a few wounds that needed tending to soon. The real kick in the teeth was that she had nothing to show for it. She had failed to kill the beast. 

A Meracydian Dragon had found its way to the outer reaches of Coerthas, and she had been tasked to track and kill it. A challenging job, even for her, but doable, she thought. That is until it proved surprisingly sturdy; her arrows nor axe could pierce the beast's hide. It had even been able to shrug off what magic she had thrown in its direction before it closed the distance between them and started lashing out with wicked claws and teeth that made quick work of her armour. Then came the lightning. 

It did not take long for her to realise she was in over her head, so she retreated the first chance she got, using most of her food rations to distract the creature long enough to make an opening. 

She wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed she was missing. She was still trying to repair things with many of the Scions after her...lapse in judgement. The power of a Dark Knight came with risks, many that she purposefully ignored until her other half decided it was time to take a bit more control over things. While she did not kill anyone while in that state, she had lashed out at the Scions, even coming to blows with Thancred. 

She had no real recollection of what had happened, no idea of what was said or done. Injuries were minor, or so she was told, but Thancred still refused to look her in the eyes or be in her presence for overly long. The others also gave her a somewhat wide berth. Who could blame them? The fragile fantasy they had built around her that she was some fairytale figure come to save Eorzea, and the world beyond, crumbled around them like sand. 

Perhaps it would be better if they never found her at all. Just another soul buried beneath the snow. Surely they could find another hero to replace her? It is not like she was a good one to begin with or the only one with the Echo. 

It would be so, so easy to just...stop. So she did. She fell to her knees in the snow, her feet feeling as though they were encased in ice. Her teeth chattered, and her body trembled. She felt exhausted. She just wanted to rest, but a voice in her mind broke through the haze. Her voice. She sounded furious. Frightened. Desperate. 

"Don't. You. Dare." 

"We have not come this far to die now."

"If you keep up with this nonsense, I'll take over again just to shut you up."

"Get. Up."

She let out a strangled cry as she tried to move again, putting a hand on her side just beneath her ribs and was mildly confused when she felt something wet. Pulling her hand away, she saw her hand stained a deep crimson. Oh...another wound. A bad one. How had she missed that? 

She swayed before falling to her side, crimson rivulets pouring from her wound and staining the snow beneath her; her hand still remained curled possessively around her axe. She could feel her mind and body slowing down, thoughts becoming muddled and confused. Even the ranting and raving of her shadow became little more than noise until all she could hear was the wind whistling overhead and the slowing of her own heartbeat. She closed her eyes and wavered in and out of consciousness. 

Until that is, she thought she could hear someone calling her name. Then another, and another. Her daze is broken by someone grasping her by the shoulders, shaking her awake. Another throws something over her, a cloak? 

She could make out the vague shapes of three people with white hair in her blurred vision, a Hyur, Miqo'te and an Elezen. The Hyur was holding her, half cradled to his chest; she could practically feel his rapid heartbeat next to her horn. The other two are already channelling healing spells into her broken body. They talk among themselves and at her, a panicked edge to their voices. Not that she responds, her mind can just about process what is happening.

A part of her does not believe this is real. Why would anyone come for her? This has to be a creation of her exhausted mind. A kind dream to send her off to her eternal sleep. 

Another part hopes that it is real. Not because this means she will survive, but because it was preferable to the thought of dying alone.  

[yoonia]

About Time // Part 20

➬ Character | Jungkook x reader / Jimin x reader (feat. BTS)

↳ Type/Genre/words | Angst, Fluff, Alternate Universe (Time Travel!au/Time Leap!au, Soulmate!au), Eventual Smut / 18,5k words

↳ Prompts | “What if you find your soulmate… at the wrong time?” - Lauren Kate, Passion

↳ Summary | Be careful for what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true. What would you do when your wish for a second chance actually came true? But was it really a fulfilled wish? Too many questions lie when it actually happened. Were they real memories? Or perhaps a part of a past life? Was it only a dream all along? Will everything be different this time?

↳ Ratings | Mature/+18 and up

↳ Warnings | mentions of alcoholism, mentions of cancer, (probably) inaccurate medical and law terms

↳ Author’s Note | This chapter took me forever to finish, but I’m glad that it’s finally out. I want to thank my girls, @randombtsprincessa and @softyoongiionly​ who have been hyping me out and yelling at me each time I came close to giving up and when I stop writing, and as always my second set of eyes, @theodea​. I hope you’ll enjoy this one as we slowly unravel the story between our characters. Please make sure not to miss the second note at the end of the chapter. Thank you!

↳ ⤎ Previous Chapter | Series Index: About Time | Next Chapter ⇢

Song Companion | Shah - Can't Leave You | Oleg Byonic - Wait For You

—First life. St. Vincent’s Hospital, year 2027—

Subtle movements happening around me were the ones that had woken me up.

Whoever it was that had been moving around while I was still asleep, they had tried to do things stealthily, moving about carefully enough not to disturb my sleep.

But when a person had been stuck in one place for so long the way I did, their senses would easily become familiar to their surroundings the same way mine had. I didn’t need much to recognise the sounds that had been constantly happening around me, allowing me to identify the foreign ones when they appeared. I would be able to feel every movement, be it from any unanimated object or simply random movements that took place, and I could sense the changes in the air around me as it happened. So it was easy for me to catch their presence even before I had my eyes opened when they kept on moving, the low thud of their footsteps and the things they were moving around followed each move they made.

And then there were also the scents. It was his cologne that allowed me to recognise him without me seeing him. And it was a good thing too, because it allowed my heartbeat to settle down from its frantic pace and prevent me from waking up in fear, startled to find a random stranger invading my space.

I finally opened my eyes slowly. He was nothing but a blurry blob of a person moving around my room when I looked at him through my bleary eyes. The way he was still pacing back and forth around the bedside drawers told me that he had yet to realise that I was awake. So I continued watching him, blinking my eyes until the sight of him gradually grew clearer and I was finally able to see just what he was doing in my hospital room.

Of course, cleaning up my mess would be the first thing he would do the moment he got here, I wondered with a smile.

This man could never settle with a messy space. He could not even settle in patience without finding something to do, no matter how often he would complain or whine whenever he felt like he had been doing too many things at once.

I barely moved when Yoongi reached out to grab a bouquet of fresh flowers that had been left on top of the small table near the doorway. It looked new, and I had no recollection of seeing it before I fell asleep after my treatment this morning, so it must have arrived just a while ago. I saw Yoongi opening the card that came with it and tutted to himself, muttering low as he shook his head.

The moment I realised what he was saying, I could no longer stay silent. “Bastard? Did the sender really sign the card with that name?”

My voice seemed to startle Yoongi that he nearly jumped. He turned with his hand on his chest, looking almost ghastly grey that quickly faded when he chuckled. “Fucking hell, you scared me,” he said, tossing the flowers away. Though they only landed back not so gracefully on the table instead of into the trashcan placed on the floor right beside it, where he was probably aiming to throw them in before I caught him.

“Sorry,” I said, pushing myself up from the bed the best I could to sit upright while he handed me a glass of water and helped me drink. As I drank, my chest felt hollow. I had been in this place for too long that this simple gesture had become some sort of a routine. And that he had become so familiar with everything that he knew easily just what I needed. It made me feel relieved to have him with me, but I felt the guilt gnawing inside me just the same.

I hated feeling miserable and weak. And I hated it more to see the pitying look he gave me as he read me so easily. “Have you been here long?” I asked him before he ever had a chance to bring it up. Because there was no way he didn't notice it when he had grown used to my moods already. Thankfully, Yoongi had chosen not to say a thing about my condition and only shrugged.

“Not really,” he looked around, rubbing the back of his head as he followed my eyes to see the things he had been tidying up before I woke. “I wasn’t sure if it was alright to wake you up, so I tried to find some things to do while I waited. Sorry if I woke you up.”

I waved him off. “No, you didn’t. It’s just time for me to wake up. It’s almost lunchtime,” I told him, not that I was excited for lunch in any way. Not when I was not completely capable of eating properly. The blisters on my lips and inside my mouth had been increasing rapidly that I couldn’t taste anything without feeling pain. It had been coming and going, sometimes getting better after getting some vitamins or once I began drinking all those herb drinks Kara had been making for me. But whenever they came back, they always left me feeling miserable. And terribly hungry.

And hunger made me feel even more miserable.

If Yoongi had noticed the discomfort look I was making just by thinking about the food, he showed none of it. But he did scrunch his nose and gave a distasteful scoff. “You’re actually excited for the hospital food? Man, you’ve been here for too long.”

I scoffed. “Nope, I’m just excited for their pudding,” I said, without bothering to elaborate the fact that it would probably be the only thing I could manage to eat.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head almost too dramatically. “I was hoping that I could steal your pudding while you eat.”

I knew that he was only trying to make me feel better, but that was enough to have me laughing. But only for a short while, because any kind of tension happening on my torso gave me pain. As I winced, my eyes fell on the flowers he left behind. It was not hard to recognise them. Jungkook had known me for a long time to remember just what kind of flowers I loved most, and he had gotten me the same kinds ever since we had been together.

Fresh white roses, mixed with a handful of blooming white baby’s breath—just like the ones I had in the flower bouquet that I carried on our wedding day—and with a simple white ribbon wrapped around the footstalks. He had known me well enough to know that I only enjoyed simple things, and it hurt to know that he still remembered everything to the T.

I didn’t really need to ask, but I could not help it. “Those flowers—Jungkook sent them, didn’t he?”

Yoongi clenched his jaw and nodded. “I heard that he’s making amends.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, he just promised to stay around. Be a friend,” I told him, to which he gave me a sceptical look through his eyes. “He wants to be involved but not so much to disturb my life or to get in the way of my recovery process.”

Yoongi started shaking his head. I knew that I didn’t have to explain things on Jungkook’s behalf or to defend him right in front of my friend. But what Yoongi did not know was that Jungkook was not the only one making amends. If he was willing to try and make peace with everything that had been going on, then I should do just the same. It was the only way I could do to let the pain of his betrayal go away and to be able to look at my future without any resentment of the past.

It may have been far too late for me to realise it, and I hated the fact that I needed Jimin there to open my eyes, but the only reason why I have yet to be able to move forward entirely had been due to my anger. Letting my resentment grow freely inside my chest would only blind me from the beautiful things waiting for me in the future.

That is, if there was still any hope for me out there.

“I was almost sure you’re going to forgive that son of a bitch again,” Yoongi finally said with a sigh.

“Oh, I have forgiven him.”

Yoongi sat back with a jolt. “What?”

Chuckling, I waved him off. “No, I meant to say that I have forgiven him, just so we could move on. It has been too exhausting to keep being angry. If he really meant it when he said he wanted us to be friends, that he wanted to support me, then I should stop being so hostile with him. It’s actually pretty relieving to not be angry with him all the time,” I explained, and Yoongi slowly relaxed, while I had to clench my teeth together at the memory of all those passing moments we have had where we were too busy battling each other instead of moving forward. “Not to mention, the last altercation he caused had hurt Jimin. I don’t think I would have any more to give if I’m going to continue fighting him.”

Yoongi sat in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Sighing, he nodded his head after a while. “I still regretted not being here at the time to punch his face. Not to defend your boyfriend, but for stressing you out.”

I gave him a wry smile. Our relationship had always been a bit more cordial before this point, when we were just two people running a freelance business together. Back in college, he was nothing more but a stranger since we both ran with different crowds. He was more a part of Jungkook’s circle than he was in mine. But to have him on my side this time around, to have him as a part of my support system both as a friend and a second brother to me was gratifying.

“You haven’t been around much. I was starting to miss you,” I told him, making him chuckle. It was not a lie, I did miss him. His absence had never felt so strong before, but even with the overwhelming change happening in my life lately, I have missed his presence around me.

“And you really want me to believe that you actually have been thinking of me?” he jokingly asked me. “I thought you already have someone to keep you company. And I know that he’s been keeping you busy.” He said this while waggling his eyebrows, and I felt my face flushing with heat. He may not have fully supported my new relationship with Jimin at first, stating that I was risking my heart by being close to someone who was fighting the same battle as I was, but he seemed pretty okay with it now.

“What have you been up to?” I asked him. “Come on, tell me anything. I’m bored, and anxious.” Because the days were moving closer to the day for my surgery, was what I couldn’t tell him. Thinking about it only made me tremble in fear, so I tried to avoid bringing it up unless it was necessary. “Tell me that the world outside still exists.”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Oh, the world outside still exists, all right,” he said, before he began updating me about everything that had been going on lately. Not everything in the world that I could keep up on my own through the news or the things I saw on the television, however, but the things around us that I had left behind. He updated on things regarding work, since I had left behind a bunch of unfinished projects on his hands when I got sick. I had tried my best to help him while I still could, until I had no more energy and he stopped bringing files on our projects to the hospital so he could stop me from trying to force myself to stay active.

Then he suddenly fell silent, just when I was asking him about what had been going on in his life. He looked a bit embarrassed for a moment, looking everywhere but my eyes until he finally took a deep breath and spoke.

“I’m seeing someone,” Yoongi finally admitted. “It’s new and nothing really serious yet, so Hoseok told me to take my time for myself with—you know.”

“No, I totally understand. I don’t ever want to be in the way for you or Hoseok on whatever is happening with your lives,” I told him, before realising something else. “Did you think I would say something about it? Is that why you never said anything to me at first? You know I wouldn’t, right? You’ve done so much for me. I already told you and my brother that I don’t want to have you both putting lives on hold for me. I know Hoseok is starting to.”

And I meant it. I have noticed it for a while but my brother had never wanted to talk about it. Hoseok was starting to look like he was stepping back from living his life, as he struggled to be there for me the entire time I was battling my illness, all while he was doing all he could to help me get out of my broken marriage completely unscathed.

Yoongi’s smile looked a bit sad when he looked at me. “I know you wouldn’t say anything bad. You’ve always been so great when it comes to dealing with my relationships. I think you’ve handled things better than I had,” he said with a chuckle. “As for Hoseok—He’s trying to make up for lost time. You know, for all those years he had made the mistake of cutting you off.”

Shaking my head, I refused to acknowledge it. “It wasn’t completely his fault,” I said, surprising even myself for knowing how I meant it. Through all those years we have lost contact, I did blame Hoseok for pushing me away and refusing to hear what I had to say. He was the one who had shunned me when I needed him the most, but that anger was gone now. Just like how I had forgiven my ex-husband, just how I had forgiven Kara and my father, and how I was just starting to forgive myself for all the horrible things which had happened between us in the past, I had forgiven my brother.

“Yet he still blames himself,” Yoongi said to me patiently, defending my brother. “He still thinks that he deserves to be punished for his ignorance in the past, for not being there for you until it was too late. He kept telling me how hard it has been for him to forget that fact how he had turned his back on you. That you had trusted him and he had only let you down. I think he instantly regretted it when it happened but he didn’t know just how to reach out to you again.”

“Until he met you.” I gave him a wry smile, while deep inside, I was grateful for the fact that my brother had somehow met Yoongi by chance and reached out to him so he could become the bridge between the two of us. Yoongi had no obligations to do any of that, but he did. And he had made it possible for the two of us to reconcile, even if it had come a bit too late.

An orderly interrupted our talk by entering the room with my lunch. Yoongi stood up to retrieve the tray and took his time to set up my meal for me. After a while, I couldn’t help it, I just had to ask, “Why do you take such good care of me? I mean, I’m happy that you are here and to have you as a friend and a second brother. But you’ve done a lot more. Not just for me, but for Hoseok too.”

Yoongi avoided my eyes when he returned to his seat. “Because I really care about you, ______. And you also did a lot for me when I needed help and people were turning their backs on me,” he finally said. His eyes were dark, and his pain was visible when he looked up at me. “Back then, you knew my secrets and still didn’t run away,” he said, while my memory brought me back to the past, when I had met him again after a quite some time, after he had become distant to most of the people we knew back in college. None of the people around us truly knew then that his friends had left him when things were hard for him, and I had chosen to become his friend at the time because I knew what it was like to lose everyone because of all the choices we made.

“I would never turn my back on you,” I told him, while he only gave me a bitter chuckle.

“Well, most people did. They always said it didn’t matter, but then they couldn’t look at me the same way again.”

I bit my lip when I remembered those days. Those final days before I finally left college, when people were whispering things on campus. Bad rumours had always been easy to travel quickly, especially when it came to a person like Yoongi. “Did people ever find out? I thought nobody ever clarified the rumours that had been going around at campus.”

He scoffed. “No, but it happened around the same time I began cutting back from classes and partying, so I guess people took it as a confirmation to them being true. And I had no point or a reason to deny it. Especially since when the truth finally came out, it didn’t really help much to make a difference in the situation.”

I reached out to him and grabbed his hand. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? It’s in the past and you have grown far from that. And you’ll have my back as long as you have me.”

Chuckling softly, Yoongi gave me a relieved smile as he gripped my hand tighter. “Good. Cause you’ll have mine as long as I can help it.”

My heart felt full and warm with the promise that we shared, but at the same time, I also felt the weight of guilt brewing inside my chest as I said those words to him. I was grateful and glad for our friendship and knowing that we would be there for each other no matter what cause, and I had meant every word I said. But I couldn’t help but wished that I had been able to do the same and keep my promise to someone else.

I still wished that I had been able to do the same to another person who I should have never turned my back on in the past.

—Present life. Year 2018—

Winter break had barely ended when I returned to campus at the beginning of the new year.

The cold breeze still felt so strong even though spring was right in the corner that I had to tighten my coat while I paced down the slippery sidewalk towards the rendezvous spot. Taehyung had to repeatedly look over his shoulder to make sure that I was still following him close behind and that I hadn’t slipped away without him noticing. It was partly my fault that he got worried. Simply because I kept refusing his help each time he tried to hold my hand as we walked down the icy sidewalk on our not so sufficient boots. But I also knew that he could barely hold his own, which had been the reason why I didn’t want to become a burden.

Not when I was supposed to be here to give him the support he needed.

I looked up to notice that we were getting close to the east side plaza, where the largest park in the campus’ vicinity was located and also where people were gathering for the event. Loud voices and excited chatters were heard just when we were coming up around the corner, while Taehyung’s gaze looked both amused and nervous when he looked over to me for the last time.

He waited for me right before we went there. This time, I reached out for his hand and held on tightly. “You okay?”

“Fine, just nerves,” he said, shrugging, acting like it was no big deal. But I knew him, both in this lifetime and in the previous one, enough to know that he was blanketing his emotions and thoughts from me. And yet, I only chose not to push him too much about it and tried to have him think of other things instead.

“Okay, now remind me again why we came all the way here? Classes won’t start until the end of the month,” I asked him, just when a series of laughter was heard from the plaza. “And why the hell did they choose to meet up out here anyway? It’s fucking cold.”

Taehyung chuckled as he watched me wrapped my arms around myself and tugged me to come and walk with him, huddling close to keep our bodies warm. “These people are volunteers who are interested to join the spring project. I heard that they wanted to gather as many volunteers as they could get before everyone gets swamped with classes and assignments,” he began talking as he guided the two of us to join the crowd.

As we came up to the plaza, the place had already been filled with students, all wrapped up in thick winter coats and sweaters, all rubbing their hands together to keep themselves warm. But everyone shared the same wide eyes and bright, excited faces as they waited for the event to start. Everyone was standing together, facing the stage at the center. I kept on watching the people around us as Taehyung led us to the middle ground, all while sharing everything there was to know about the event.

This project was held by the local social acts group formed by students from the Social Studies and Medical Faculty, with some of Taehyung’s seniors whom he had grown close to leading the group. They always held their annual community service to help children or elders in need, and Taehyung had been involved in them a few times through the past year that he had probably grown accustomed to all of this.

Most of the work that he had done had mostly involved children, since that had been his main interest for his studies. But early winter, he had joined the service to provide coals and firewoods for elders and poor families who lived in isolated areas. For the past year, Taehyung had enjoyed doing this service and charity work because it had made him happy, it had given him a purpose and new goals to achieve, while opening a way for his future career.

In a different lifetime, being involved with this cause had only served as a form of escape.

And it was what had brought him far, far away from me until the day the bridge between us finally burned for good. All driven from the hurt that I had caused him.

“What’s the goal for the spring project, then?” I asked him just when he found us an empty spot with the perfect view towards the stage. The cold didn’t feel as harsh now as we stood between these people, but Taehyung still wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to keep me warm.

“That’s what we’re all here for. The group always chooses their project from the ideas that they collect from their members or other volunteers, then chooses a captain to lead according to what kind of social service or charity they are doing. They haven’t decided what they were going to be working on this spring. Looking from all of these people gathering here, I’m guessing it’s going to be a big one. They’ve never had this many people being interested to join.”

“Maybe this is for the project that you wanted to sign up so badly before? The one they said they were going to send volunteers to the southern hemisphere?” I asked him, reminded of his wish to join the volunteer work that may give him a chance to travel to places while continuing his study.

Taehyung shook his head. “I don’t know. It could be. They haven’t really announced anything for that one either.”

I was about to say something, asking him more about this group and the organisation behind its cause, when a few people stepped up to the stage. One of the female leaders took the microphone and began to greet everyone who was present, applauding people who had come even in the cold. But I barely paid any attention to a word she said when I followed Taehyung’s gaze and saw him standing there with the other members of the volunteer group.

“There he is. Namjoon is always there with them. He’s been made captain on the last few projects that we’ve worked on,” he said, sounding almost distractedly as he watched Namjoon conversing with his friends on stage. I had to admit, the man really was attractive. His whole presence oozed confidence and his demeanour showed me that he was a smart man. Smart enough to be extremely persuasive. A dimple showed on his face when he smiled, and his laughter echoed through the stage, almost rivalling the MC’s voice as she continued to speak.

“Has he approached you yet?” I asked.

Taehyung shrugged. “He’s been a bit friendly, but that’s about it.”

“Is that why I’m here? To make sure that you would have someone to remind you to consider things before signing up?” I turn to look at him, waggling my brow to tease him a little.

This time, Taehyung turned to me and snickered. “Well, you know what they said. The only way for someone to avoid getting swayed by a handsome looking guy who happens to be an extremely persuasive man is to have your childhood crush standing right with you.”

“Whatever you say,” I said, chuckling as he tightened his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. Neither of us said a thing as we listened to the MC spoke, before she finally handed the microphone to Namjoon, who became the one to talk about the project and let the volunteers learn more about the system, the plans, and how to sign up.

We shared nothing more but a bittersweet feeling while we were entranced as we listened to Namjoon speak, holding each other the way we never could in another life we shared.

We didn’t only come here to admire this man or to only see what today was all about, but to simply find answers. To slowly connect the dots and put the puzzle pieces together to fill the blanks, just so we could lay down every part of that other lifetime for us to understand where did everything went wrong.

There had been parts of the past, faces and names of the people that had become a part of my previous life that I could not recall or draw from my jumbled memory so easily. I may have seen or felt their presence in those memories, but some of them had appeared in my dreams merely as blurry shadows, faceless figures, people whose voice only came to me as if they had been submerged underwater.

Kim Namjoon was one of the missing pieces of the puzzle that had caused a rift in my friendship with Taehyung in another lifetime. In my memory, he was nothing but a nameless shadow, one that I feared and hated almost as much as the painful parts I shared with Jungkook from the past life. It took Taehyung finding him to help me remember everything—who he was, what he had done, and everything that happened then—all the broken memories had been unravelled the day Taehyung had first introduced me to this man sometime last semester.

And the reminder of who he was had come in the right time, because he had already become a part of Taehyung’s life through these activities he had been involved in. Because just like how it happened in the past life, Kim Namjoon was the one who had convinced Taehyung to join their movement.

The only difference now was that Taehyung had me by his side. That Taehyung had not been wounded when they first met.

In the past life, Kim Namjoon had come into Taehyung’s life when Taehyung needed someone to look up to, when Taehyung needed a friend and guidance while I kept on pushing him away, leaving him in the blind and completely alone. In that part of our lives, the man had come in at the right time, right when my best friend was completely vulnerable. And he had eased his way in so easily, filling the void in Taehyung’s life, saying all the right words and showing all the right things to have Taehyung follow him wherever he would go. What had started as a good cause to give Taehyung a purpose in life, it had ended leading him to get involved with the bad crowd, to join the bad business that Namjoon was secretly building behind his gentle smile and manipulative ways of making people around him feel special.

Taehyung had loved him with his wounded heart, and he had given the man everything. Only to have Namjoon suck his heart and soul dry, before tossing him away once he was done with him.

And I was not there to catch him when he fell.

“So what do you think? Are you going to join this one?”

The gathering event had ended two hours ago, and now we were heading towards the coffee shop where I had been working part-time for the past few months. Taehyung had insisted to walk me there despite his dorm being located in the opposite direction, saying that he was worried that I would slip if I had gone alone. After all the trouble we had by walking through the icy road and the slippery sidewalks this morning, I had no reason to argue. And I also knew that he only wanted to spend some more time with me before he had to leave for his part-time job, so I just let him be.

Ever since we watched Namjoon’s speech, Taehyung had been left in a daze. He had always reacted this way whenever he saw Namjoon. I was never quite sure whether it was due to my warnings regarding the man or if he had truly developed some sort of a crush or perhaps grown the same hero worship that he had for the man the same way he did in the different lifetime.

“I’m not sure yet,” he finally said. “Even if the cause is going to be just around the city, I don’t think I can make it if they’re starting around the same time my classes are starting over.”

His reasoning had made complete sense. But deep down, I also knew that he was lying. He was conflicted. I could feel it. And he was trying so much to hold back from whatever it was that had been bothering him.

Once Namjoon was done with his speech and the event presentation on stage, he had come down to approach Taehyung while the other students had started lining up to join the cause. He had pulled us both to the side, persuading us personally.

“It wouldn’t be as tiring as the one we did last time. We’re only visiting some of the schools at the neighbouring towns. We’re going to give classes, lend some care for the kids, do some health check-up, while the group from the Engineering Faculty will be there to help with technicalities, like building new facilities or fix old structures that didn’t survive the winter,” Namjoon had told the both of us, pretty much summarising his own presentation on stage to make sure that he would point out all the compelling factors to appeal Taehyung. “You’ve always enjoyed working on any causes that involve children, so I’m sure this would be perfect for you. Not to mention, we’ll be getting extra credits for each movement we make this semester with the faculty supporting us through funds and getting us sponsors.”

I could tell that he was getting through to Taehyung when I saw my best friend watching him with wide eyes. But I had been focusing more on Namjoon, letting my own curiosity and wonder get to me. And for someone who appeared so open, so enticing, and one whose main job was to approach people, Kim Namjoon was hard to read.

My memories of him had been nothing but scraps. It had seemed that in my other life, I had no opportunity to know him in person as he was merely a part of Taehyung’s world once our friendship fell apart and we became worlds apart. This time, I had more opportunities to know this man in person. Still, the only things I had come to know about him had only come from Taehyung.

The only thing I knew about him was that he was a year senior from us, focusing on Medical Studies to become a neurosurgeon. He was a brilliant student, had always come with the highest grade in his year, and he had been active in great causes to help people.

None of that information had ever told us the reason why everything fell apart for Taehyung when they began doing all of their causes together. We only knew that in the past life, Taehyung had gone away with him to a place far away, never to return until everything had been much too late. We just never knew when and how, and I knew that this was the reason why Taehyung had been so afraid to take the risk.

“Remember what you said to me back then, before I met Jimin? Back when I was too scared to even go out and have fun?” I asked him as we continued to walk in silence. The coffee shop had appeared on sight, so I knew that this would be the only chance I could ever be able to say this.

“No, I don’t. What did I say?”

I turned to him. “You told me to be cautious, but not too cautious that I don’t get to live and enjoy the present,” I said. “I know you’re worried about the risk of getting close to him without knowing what exactly happened to you in the past after you got together with him, but I know that you enjoy doing these things. So just go for it. If you do it, I’ll be there to join you so you won’t have to be there alone.”

Taehyung smiled at me as he listened to my promises. I could tell that he was relieved to hear it. “You would?”

“Didn’t I promise that I would never let anything come between us? Not this time,” I told him, reminding him all the promises that I had made back then when we found out that one of the many reasons why our lives had fallen apart was because neither of us was there for the other.

I had made a promise that I would never let that happen again. That I would never let him stray away from my life. No matter what. In a different life, I may have left him to fend for himself. This life had to be different. This time, we had each other.

“Right, okay,” he said, nodding to himself while sighing deeply. The frown that he had carried with him ever since we left the campus’ plaza disappeared when he looked at me. In its place came a smile, and a pair of eyes so bright it made me believe that he would be able to conquer everything if he wanted to.

“Thanks for coming with me this morning,” he said, giving me a side hug as we continued our walk.

“You know I don’t mind it. We haven’t been spending too much time together lately,” I told him as I leaned to him.

For the past few months, both of us had been busy focusing on our own lives. While my relationship with Jimin was blossoming, Taehyung was busy tackling different challenges in his life. We haven’t been spending a lot of time with each other the way we used to aside from the time we spent when we went back to our hometown together during the holidays, yet another reason why I had wanted to do this with him.

Despite our busy lives, things had been completely different still.

At least this time, he was still there, and he had yet to disappear from my life. Even if we couldn’t see each other, all we needed to do was to pick up the phone and we would be there for each other even through the distance.

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” he asked me just as we arrived at the coffee shop.

“Absolutely. Are you picking me up here once my shift ends?”

“Yeah. I might stop by at the library to drop some books, but I’ll come to get you right after,” he said, before giving me a hug as he said goodbye.

“Alright then. See you later.”

I stood in front of the coffee shop for a while longer, watching him walk away until he disappeared right around the corner on his way to the daycare center he had been working at. The coffee shop wasn’t too crowded when I walked in, with the majority of the students had yet to return on campus after the long winter break.

But that soon changed the moment my shift began, right when the rush of the lunch hour started. Students and workers from the nearby offices came in, forming a long line only minutes after I had taken over the cashier. The rush lasted for a little over an hour, much shorter than the regular hustle that would no doubt begin the moment the next term started at the end of the month.

Even if I had been out and active since early morning, I served the patrons with a smile on my face. Before I knew it, the line of customer started to dwindle. By the time I served the last patron, my back was sore and my legs were tight, but something was telling me that I wasn’t supposed to take a break yet. So I stayed behind the counter while my co-worker for the day—the only one there since many of the other staff had yet to return from their holiday—turned to ask if he could take a quick break while there was no customer coming in.

“I’m going to take a quick smoke break, is that okay? We can switch once I’m back,” he said, already in the middle of untying his apron to avoid getting some smoke on it.

“Sure, no problem. I got it handled.”

I turned back to check on my phone once he was gone, taking my time to reply to some messages that I got from Jimin who was asking about my day and my plans for the night. I had just pressed the send button when the bell at the front door chimed behind me, but it took me a few seconds too long to put my phone away before a deep voice called out.

“Excuse me. Can I make an order?”

I turned around to greet the new customer. But the moment I saw him, my body went frozen stiff and my head began to spin.

I had never met this person before. And yet, I remembered him.

Each time I tried to reclaim my memories, there was a void where someone was supposed to be a part of. There was a presence that was constant in almost every part of my painful memories. Yet aside from everyone that I had remembered so far, this person had always been nothing but a shadow, a faceless entity that was there, but never completely solid.

But the moment I saw him standing there, right on the other side of the counter, waiting for me to take his orders, his face brought all the missing pieces together. All the blurry images I had been seeing in my dreams came to me in flashing moments, so quick, so random, but far more clearly than how they all had been. His face filled all of those empty voids. His face, his eyes, his small smile, they replaced the faceless man who had been there by my side through all of the hurt, through all of my journeys.

In those dreams, in those flashing memories that I had been getting, I could never see the face of the man who was holding my hand while I was fighting for my life. And at that moment, as I was looking straight into this customer’s eyes, his face was all I see being there by my side.

He was there.

He was always there.

“Um—hello?”

The man waved his hand right in front of my face with an amused look, snapping me right out of my stupor.

“Oh, uh—yes, hi. Sorry, what can I get you?” I questioned him, unable to hold back the nervous chuckle that came bubbling out. Thankfully, he only smiled.

“I’ll have a cup of espresso and a bagel,” he said, only after taking a moment perusing through the menu placed above the counter.

My fingers were shaking when I was placing his orders into the cashier machine, so I kept my eyes down to make sure I wasn’t making a mistake. “Right. To go?”

He hummed softly and looked around. “Um—no, I think I’ll take them here.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a moment to finish up his orders. “Thank you. You can take a seat or wait on the counter. We’ll call your name once your order is ready.”

“Yeah, okay. My name is—”

“Yoongi,” I blurted out before he could even finish. For some reason, just like how his face filled all the missing puzzle, his name just came into my head as if I had known him my whole life.

When I saw his eyebrows came up to his forehead, I knew then that he was just as surprised as I was. “What? Have we met?”

“Um, well—” I began to stutter while my brain seemed to just stop working indefinitely. So I only said the first thing I could think of as an excuse, “You’re pretty well known. I mean, my friends know you. I just suddenly remember your name.”

Well, at least that was not a complete lie. I was pretty sure that perhaps some of my friends would know him, and I did just remember his name.

He looked at me with a frown, not looking entirely convinced, but he said nothing of it when he handed me his cash to pay for his orders. “Right, well. That’s me. I’m Yoongi.”

“Of course,” I said, avoiding his gaze as I put his money in. “I’ll call you when your coffee is ready.”

His eyes lingered on me for a few seconds, filled with curiosity and probably a bunch of other questions, but he only nodded. “Thanks,” he said to me as he walked to the other side of the counter, leaving me feeling lightheaded.

Everything seemed to be colliding together right at the same time. The final missing pieces of the puzzle were coming to place one at a time. As if the whole universe was trying to shove everything to my face, though I really had no idea just what it was trying to tell me.

—Present life. Hot and Spicy Grill. Year 2018—

As promised, Taehyung had picked me up at work right the moment my shift was up.

There was nothing much to say between us as we drove away in his small city car from the coffee shop, since I was still trying to process the shock of having the unexpected meeting during work earlier while Taehyung seemed like he was having his own turmoil to deal with. He was silent during the drive, looking distracted but thankfully not enough to derail him from driving the car properly. But his silence had made it hard for me to question it when he suddenly started leading the car away from the campus grounds and he kept going further until the car entered the freeway.

It took a few turns before the sight around me changed, the suburbs getting further away behind us, when I finally grew wary and curious that I simply had to speak up. “Are you sure we’re still going to dinner? You’re not planning on kidnapping me, are you?”

Taehyung’s eyes grew wide before he chuckled. “Sorry, it’s a surprise,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t go crazy and take you to any place with no civilisation like what Jimin did.”

Smiling, I looked away from him when my face began to flush. I had told him once about the surprise trip that Jimin had taken me to—which I had to spill because I had completely forgotten to call him back that night after we had just parted way minutes before Jimin came to pick me up. I had told him about how Jimin planned out an outdoor picnic with a thousand stars above us and the view of the valley everywhere I looked, though I had to skip telling him about the ‘dessert’ Jimin gave me under the same stars which had sent me flying to heavenly bliss.

Judging from the sly smirk he was making now, I supposed he had made his own guess to what had happened on the date once the food was left forgotten.

As I looked out the window, I finally realised that he was right. He was not taking me towards the same area that Jimin had taken me to. On the outer lane of the freeway, I saw buildings and dense trees instead of hills and valleys. And to my relief, what I was seeing was the kind of trees I would normally see packed up in the city. The lanes were getting more and more packed with cars as we went further, so I wasn’t quite surprised to see him turning to the exit heading downtown.

“Sorry for the long trip,” he said. “I just found out about this place a while ago and wanted to check it out. I figured if I want to take anyone here to try it then it should be you since we haven’t done this for a while.”

“Aww—that’s so nice that you’re thinking of me. You are truly the best friend every girl needs. The man after my own heart. Or, in this case, stomach,” I teased him, earning his laugh.

It didn’t take much longer than fifteen minutes after we were out of the freeway before he pulled into a small spaced parking lot, and my gaze fell on the small restaurant that seemed like it had only opened pretty recently. “Is it a barbecue and grill place? Awesome!”

“Figured you’ll love it,” he said, turning the car engine off. “Let’s go before the place gets packed with the dinner crowd.”

It didn’t take us long to be seated. But Taehyung was right. Not too long after we made our orders, more and more people started coming in and the place was full within minutes.

“I hope this place is good. People keep talking about this place so I bet these people came from everywhere around the city. I don’t even doubt that we would see some familiar faces from campus,” Taehyung told me after taking a quick look around.

“I’m really hungry I can eat anything at this point,” I said, smiling at him. It really didn’t matter where we were or if the trip here had been worth it. It was spending the time with my best friend during all of the things that had been going on in our lives which I had been most excited about.

The tables around us had started grilling and Taehyung seemed giddy in his seat, looking excited as he looked at the meal with a deep longing in his eyes and he licked his lips at the roasted beef cooking beside us. This was something that I had missed, enjoying our time together and to see him loosening up. Each time we were together, I would look at him and wonder how we ever came apart.

How much different was it back then between us compared to us now? Would we still have this if I had never learned all the mistakes we made in the past life?

Taehyung was picking on the welcome snacks when I felt my phone vibrating in my bag. Remembering that I had promised Jimin to text him the moment Taehyung had succeeded in picking me up at work while he couldn’t, I pulled out the phone and smiled when I noticed that he had messaged me first.

From Jimin: Hey, babe. Are you out with Taehyung?

From Jimin: I’m taking a break atm and I thought about you. Hope he didn’t decide to steal you away from me :(

A smile came to my face as I was reading through his messages. I could picture him sitting down in the middle of his dance practice, all sweaty and breathless while he was typing these words. My heart jumped and it made me realise how much I missed him, even if we had only been apart for a day thanks to our schedules.

To Jimin: I’m safe. He’s not kidnapping me or whatever, but you did give him an idea of taking me far away from campus

From Jimin: Sorry, my bad :p

To Jimin: How’s practice?

From Jimin: These guys are relentless. I’ll probably wake up all sore and bruised tomorrow

To Jimin: But you love it

From Jimin: I do :)

To Jimin: What time will you be done?

From Jimin: We’re doing one more round of practice then I’ll be on my way home

Home. The way he had said it made my heart stir. Ever since we became official, Jimin had repeatedly asked me to move in with him. But I have yet to give an answer, thinking that perhaps things had been going on too fast. If there was anything that I learned from putting all the pieces from my other life together was that moving too fast could lead to a disaster.

Would I dare risk it and say yes? I knew that it was something that my previous self—the other ’me’—had wished for. I saw her dreams as some broken fragments of memories in my dreams, had even mistaken them as actual memories until I managed to decipher them as parts of imaginations instead, and many of those images had shown me various types of white picket fence houses. The settings and everything else around them would be a blurry mess and they had kept changing each time they came to me, but there had always been one part of it that had been consistent, an invariable factor from all of these dreams—Jimin.

“Is that Jimin?” Taehyung questioned me the moment he noticed the expressions I was making as I was messaging my boyfriend back, not realising that my mind had started to wander. “Is he still at practice?”

Putting away my phone, I smiled at him. “Yeah. That’s him. He was checking on me. Kinda. I told him that I’d be with you while he’s busy with his dance.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Doesn’t he bring you to his practices?”

“No,” I said, snickering to myself when I remembered how adamant Jimin had been to stop me when I insisted to come to his practice. “Jimin said it’s better for me to just watch the actual performance. I think he’s still a bit embarrassed to show me all the process behind his work.”

Taehyung chuckled. Shaking his head, he only commented lightly, “He probably didn’t want you distracting him. Or worse, have his friends coming on to you while he’s busy dancing.”

I rolled my eyes at him. Both of us knew that Jimin had a bit of a jealousy streak, but not so much that it made me feel suffocated just to be with him, or to feel like I was constantly walking on eggshells. The only way he had been showing it was to playfully complain or he would sometimes poke fun on me, acting sulky but never too much.

There was only one person in this world who could tick him off the wrong way. And honestly, Jimin was not the only one who was against this same person.

Looking up at Taehyung, I realised that he had never been kind to each time Jungkook’s name was mentioned. Out of everyone in my life, he was the only person who knew why I had to stay away from Jungkook. He was the only one who had heard all the stories, everything that I remembered from the other ’me’ and all that I felt when the memories returned.

Just like how I was the only person who knew what would happen to both of us if we would ever make another mistake.

Taehyung glanced towards the table next to us one last time, growing impatient while he was completely oblivious to where my mind had been wandering to. Watching him like this reminded me of how distracted he had been when he first came to pick me up, suggesting that something must have happened to him between the moment when we parted ways to the time he came by at the coffee shop. I had been waiting for him to talk about it, only to have him constantly acting as if I had yet to notice his odd behaviour.

“So how was your day?” I finally asked him when his gaze turned blank and he was suddenly becoming more interested in the paper napkin which he had placed on his lap. “You haven’t told me much about your work and your trip to the library.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine.”

That got me raising my brows. It was becoming more obvious to me now that he was trying to avoid talking about it. “Really?”

Taehyung looked up to me, pressing his lips before he released a defeated sigh. “I hate you,” he said, catching me off guard before he suddenly chuckled. “I hate that I can never lie to you.”

Smiling to him, I merely shrugged my shoulders the way he often did. “We’ve been friends since forever. If there’s one person in this world who knows you better than yourself, it would be me,” I said teasingly, before I added, “Second to Hoseok. Sometimes I wonder if he’s secretly your brother, not mine.”

Taehyung chuckled at that. There was no lie that he had come to grow close to Hoseok as we grew up together. Our friendship had started from a play date held by our Moms that happened when we were kids, only because our houses were located in the same block and I was the only one in the neighbourhood who was at the same age as he was. Then our friendship grew in elementary school when we promised to have each other’s backs, and we stayed close as we kept on going to the same school, doing the same things together growing up, then he stayed with me when I got sick and while I was recovering in the hospital years ago. But, as a boy, he had looked up to Hoseok as if he was his own older brother, and Hoseok had taken a liking to him especially because he had always wanted a brother.

“True. Though he wouldn’t be subtle if he wants to know stuff about me. He’d probably be snapping at me—Come on! Spill!” Taehyung jokingly imitated Hoseok’s tone of voice, which made me laugh when I saw his face and I could actually imagine my brother’s voice coming out of him.

“Seriously, though. What is it?” I asked again before he ever had a chance to change the topic around and avoid answering your question. “You came to the coffee shop looking like someone had just hurt your dog. And you’ve been pretty quiet when you’re not talking about this place and the food.”

Once again, he pressed his lips together. “Nothing much, really,” he started, though he suddenly grew restless in his seat and he began to look away, finding it hard to look into my eyes. He suddenly seemed nervous, yet I still felt a hint of relief when I didn’t see any guilt in his eyes, it would probably be worse if he was hiding something big from me.

“It’s just—” he said, clearing his throat. “I stumbled upon Namjoon at the library earlier.”

“You did?”

Are you sure that he was not stalking you? —Was what I had originally wanted to say, but I kept them to myself.

Taehyung looked down briefly before facing me again. “Right, so—he kept on asking me to join the cause and the rest of their spring activities cause they needed more people. Then he started asking me about my classes, the professors I’ve gotten this semester, before he suddenly asked if we could grab a coffee sometime.”

I blinked. He had spoken so quickly during the last part of his sentence that I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things right until it finally clicked for me a few milliseconds too long. “He asked you to go out for coffee?” I asked, to which he nodded. “Like—casually? Or—”

“Like—he just literally said, ‘Hey, why don’t we grab some coffee sometime and talk more?’, in a friendly kind of way,” he said, imitating Namjoon’s voice in his own way.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging sheepishly. “I was kind of shocked and he only patted me in the back and walked away.”

I blinked again. “Funny how he seems to insist having you around a lot,” I muttered, before looking at him suspiciously. “He even came to you this morning while the gathering was clearing up. And you said he wasn’t interested to make a move on you.”

The waiter came in just then to drop our drinks and Taehyung took his time to take a sip of his cold beer before answering, “I don’t know either. He didn’t seem like he even noticed me that much in the past year.”

“How did you feel about his offer then?”

He raised his brows. “How I felt? Well—I certainly didn’t have all the goosebumps, the fireworks, or my heart beating fast cause I have no jumbled memories mixing in between the good and the bad, so—”

“Hey, watch it—” I warned him while pointing a straw at him. “No, I’m just asking cause it seemed to bother you a little.”

“It’s not. It’s just—” he seemed to contemplate his answers for a moment, like he was trying to find the best way to explain his trail of thoughts even while he was having trouble understanding it himself.

“I guess I was just wondering, why me?” he finally said. “I mean, I kind of understand why he would be approaching me—another ’me’—in the alter life. It must have been compelling to come on to someone who seemed broken and lost and I had probably seen him as my saviour, the light of my life after the darkness, the white knight.”

His overly dramatic expression had you raising your brows. “He’s kind of a heartthrob too.”

“Yeah—” he hummed. “I won’t even deny the fact that he’s attractive. But normal me? This me? I wouldn’t have picked him as the type of guy I’d be dating if I would—” he stopped and started glancing around, as if he was afraid that someone might be listening in. “You know.”

And I did know what he was trying to tell me. For someone who had been open about his sexual preferences, he was still wary about the world around us, not too sure on how they would perceive him.

He leaned back on his seat when he added, “He seems so put together too. But after knowing what would have happened if I had just let things be, I can somehow look past his false act of composure and find him seem a bit unhinged.”

“Seriously?” I questioned him, laughing. “Unhinged? Have you been reading criminal fiction novels in your Psych classes?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I laughed at him, but then stopped myself as I watched him closely. While a part of me was relieved that he believed me enough to tread things carefully, I was also feeling the guilt for allowing him to build his own boundaries by giving him all the warnings on what was supposed to be our future. Even though he was giving it the best he could, I still worried that he might not be living his life to the fullest potential just because he was afraid to make any decision that could lead to the end of our friendship.

Taehyung looked at me when I fell silent. “What? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Sighing, I had no choice but to share my thoughts on this. “Just wondering if I’ve made the right decision on letting you know about your supposed future. What if my memories had been wrong this whole time and it wasn’t Namjoon that I saw? What if he’s just a good guy with his mind on his good cause who happens to have an innocent crush on my best friend?”

Taehyung seemed to ponder on it briefly before shaking his head. “I’ve been talking shit and making long speeches about you risking things by not staying away from this dude who had supposedly ruined your life and your trust to other human beings—”

I rolled my eyes. “His name is Jungkook.”

But he continued on, ignoring me completely. “—so I’ve decided not to risk mine. Second chances, remember?”

His words made me stop. I bit my lip and nodded. “Second chances.”

Taehyung gave me a grim smile when he nodded back, but it also appeared to me that there was a huge weight being pulled away from his shoulders. As if being honest with each other had been freeing for him, something that I was feeling too.

Noticing that our meal order had yet to arrive at our table, Taehyung looked around and pushed himself out of his seat. “The food’s going to be here any minute but I’m going to need the restrooms. I’ll be right back,” he said, before he left his seat to make a quick run to the restrooms at the back.

I watched him leave just in time for my phone to vibrate in my hand. I looked down, opening the messaging app immediately for thinking that Jimin had texted some more before his practice would start again, only to stop when I saw Jungkook’s name flashing on the screen instead.

From Jungkook: Hey, I hope I’m not texting you with your boyfriend around :p

From Jungkook: It’s been a while since I’ve seen you at the pub

From Jungkook: Is everything okay?

Biting my lips, I looked over to where I saw Taehyung had disappeared to and breathed a sigh of relief that the message had come in while he was gone. Taehyung would have only needed to take one look at my face before he would start asking questions, including why I had been texting with Jungkook from time to time.

To Jungkook: everything’s fine

To Jungkook: Been a bit busy, that’s all. How are you?

From Jungkook: doing okay

From Jungkook: I’m finally back on campus and I just got my schedules at the pub. Will be performing on stage next Friday night

From Jungkook: Will you come?

I lowered the phone to my lap, having no idea how to respond. While most of our texts had been about keeping up with each other’s lives, there had been a few times when he would invite me to his show at the pub. I had only come to watch him a couple of times, most of them without even saying hello to him directly and leaving before giving him a chance to sit with me. I knew it was wrong to keep in touch and talk to him like this after what I had promised my best friend before, but it had not been easy for me to ignore him.

And he was not someone who would give up so easily either that ignoring his text messages was never a choice. Not when he would often try to find me or even call me until he could talk to me.

From Jungkook: ________?

Another message came in, letting me know that he was waiting for my response. Biting my lip, I pondered over the options. What was I supposed to say? And would he be happy to hear what my answers if I had refused to come?

And why on earth was I already wondering what clothes to wear for the night at the pub?

To Jungkook: Sorry

To Jungkook: I’ll try to be there. What time?

From Jungkook: the second stage of the night. 8 PM

From Jungkook: I’ll be waiting :)

Reading through his response, my stomach turned and my chest grew tight with guilt. There was no way out of this now. And I really had no idea what I was doing either, knowing that Friday night would be the night I would usually come to stay at Jimin’s place so we could spend the weekend together.

“Fuck,” I cursed at myself, before tossing my phone into my bag to avoid looking through his messages again.

The meal we ordered had just arrived at the table when Taehyung returned, with the waiter apologising to the two of us repeatedly about the long wait, explaining to us overwhelmed they were as the restaurant was a full house for the night. As Taehyung returned to his seat, the waiter walked away from our table, and my eyes were drawn to follow him as he weaved through the floor between the tables to return to the kitchen area.

That was when I saw him. His head bobbing over the other seated guests as he walked across the room until he found the table that seemed to have been reserved for him.

“What?” Taehyung questioned me when he noticed, his voice drawing my attention when I was still looking far away. “What is it?” he asked again when he got no answer, then he began looking around the seating area to find what I was looking at.

“I saw someone. From campus. Though it seems a bit odd that he had come all the way to this place to eat,” I said, disregarding the fact that it had been the same case for us since Taehyung and I had driven far to be there too. “There, he’s on the table at the corner. Wearing a black shirt and a black cap.”

He followed the direction I was subtly pointing to, taking a few seconds before his eyes grew with recognition when he finally found Yoongi at the other side of the restaurant.

“You know him?” he asked, raising his brows at me when he turned to me again. “I thought the only people you know on campus are just me, Jimin, and his cousin.”

“Ha, ha, funny,” I sneered at him while rolling my eyes while he enjoyed having been able to mock me about it. But then my eyes went back to his table, seeing Yoongi with another man who looked like him, but a bit older.

“He came to the coffee shop earlier today on my shift,” I told him, finding him looking at Yoongi again as if he wanted to make sure. “You know who he is?”

He turned back to you with wide eyes. “Min Yoongi? Everyone knows him. He’s pretty popular among the frat boys. He’s always leading his friends on the stuff they always organise in their frat houses, though he hasn’t really been in the scene that much lately.”

“And you have?”

He scoffed at me. “Hey, unlike you, I still have a reputation to uphold,” he teased me, snickering when I gave him a scowl. “My dorm mate gets invited to their parties a lot and I always go with him when I can.”

I looked over to Yoongi again, noticing the broody look that he was wearing even as he was chatting with his companion. His brother, more likely, since they looked pretty similar from this distance. Except that when Yoongi was wearing a dark shirt, his brother was wearing something lighter and a bit too formal for a grill house. “So, why hasn’t he been around?”

“Seems like he’s graduating this year, and rumours said he had already taken a job at his brother’s company so he no longer spends much time on campus unless necessary,” he explained slowly before he began glancing around warily the way he did previously. “But, um—there’s also this rumour going around.”

I snapped my head to look at him. “What kind of rumour?”

Taehyung took another quick glance at Yoongi before leaning closer so he could whisper, “Someone said they caught him kissing a TA. A male TA. It happened at a dorm party.”

My eyes grew instantly wide and I had to lean closer as I whispered angrily, “And people just—what? Stay away from him?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it seems like his friends are beginning to dwindle. I don’t think it’s because they’re afraid of the repercussions from sticking around or if it’s because there’s a possibility that he’s queer if the rumours are true, it’s just—” he swallowed hard, looking sympathetic as he glanced one more time towards Yoongi’s table before looking at me again, and I knew that the look he was giving me was there only due to the fact that he had once been in his shoes. “He’s been hiding this for so long, if it’s really true. Maybe they’re just pissed cause he’s been keeping a secret. You know how those frat boys are, they hold secrets like a treasure.”

They sure did.

Because according to one of my strongest memories of all, one of the biggest secrets that had been painful enough for me to remember from my past life was how Jungkook’s friends had also had a hand in hiding his sins from me.

Shaking my head, I chose to look away from Yoongi. “Still seems so stupid to just turn their backs on him like that just because of some rumours,” I wondered out loud, when the bitter truth of how he was left abandoned by the same people who were supposed to support him through it truly sunk in.

“It makes you think. Doesn’t it?” he asked me, though it sounded more like he was wondering out loud just like I was.

“About what?” I asked him.

“How you can’t always depend on others to stay in your life forever,” he said to me with an as-matter-factly tone, though it also sounded bitter, because he had experienced it too. Meeting his eyes, I was suddenly glad that I had been able to show him that he deserved the kind of support he needed too.

As we continued with our dinner, talking about all the silly and mundane things from our daily lives, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought still hanging in the back of my head. Too many coincidences happening on the same day. Right at that moment, just when I recounted that I had met Yoongi coincidentally twice in the same day after not being able to remember him for so long, something in my head clicked.

I just didn’t know what to do about it. And I had no idea how I could make it all possible to even happen.

—First life. St. Vincent’s Hospital, year 2027—

As the final weeks before the surgery slowly started creeping up on me, I was slowly becoming a complete nervous wreck.

The fact that I was having an on and off fever also did not help my case at all. I was feeling like crap, was constantly exhausted, without knowing if the reason I kept on falling asleep was due to the overwhelming dose of painkillers that still remained in my blood or if my body had succumbed to the lingering pain that had only been intensifying, as if the masses in my body knew that they were about to be torn to pieces and they were giving their last fight.

My family, which mainly included Hoseok and Kara with the additional help from Yoongi, had been coming and going to stay with me and nurse me whenever needed. I knew that they were trying to ease my mind by staying positive whenever they were around, lifting my spirit while distracting me with things that they knew would make me happy. They would do everything they could, from bringing me movies, books, sometimes food or snacks that I could take without breaking the doctors’ rules and ones that I could swallow easily, to telling me stories or life updates that would be able to stop me from thinking about all the negative things I was facing.

But as the days were coming closer to the day of the surgery, not a single thing could help ease my mind. It was then when I finally realised that the fear had never truly sunk in, and it was only then that my brain was finally processing the fact that I was about to face a high-risk procedure that—according to some of the things I had been reading while I was preparing for it—also had a high chance of failure. And every illusion that I had let itself grow inside my mind, the false hope and optimism shattered like a glass wall and I was faced with the reality that perhaps all of what I was about to go through would be nothing but a fruitless attempt of getting me out of my bind.

It was even worse because I also knew that the people around me were doing all they could to hide the fact that Jimin had been absent.

The emptiness I felt without him there had seemed like a void, a black hole that was growing larger inside me, as if it would be strong enough to swallow me from within. That was when I realised how much I needed him, and I could never imagine how life would be if I no longer had him by my side.

The last time I came to see him, he had been recovering from a long day of tests and treatments, and I had stayed in his room until he was feeling better, only after I had made sure that he was strong enough to go through the days without constantly being under watch.

Not too long after we parted ways, I was getting prepared for the surgery that I was no longer allowed to leave the room or to roam the hospital as freely as I had before. Though the reason why I had not been able to come and see him was not only due to the restrictions given to me, but also because my body had simply given up. I had no energy, and the pain was getting too unbearable as I was getting less painkillers to allow my body to take in more of my new meds.

The last time I saw him again was when I was under heavy medication. I was having a high fever that day and I heard his voice talking to my brother and the residing nurse to ask about my condition. I felt him holding my hand and kissing my forehead each time I woke up, barely able to speak, but seeing his face through my bleary eyes felt like a breath of fresh air. When I woke up feeling much better later that night, he was no longer there, but his warmth remained.

The only thing that had been making me worried was knowing that there had to be a reason why he had yet to come and visit me ever since. In other—more regular—days, he would appear in my room to each time I was unable to visit. He had also promised to stay by my side through this surgery, and yet, only a couple of days left and there was still no sign of him, letting me wondering if there was something wrong.

“I can check on him if you want,” Yoongi finally offered after noticing how anxious I had been the whole day. He must have caught me glancing towards the door even as we were sitting there, watching the movie playing from his laptop together. Perhaps he knew that my head had never been on the movie, just like it had always been.

I looked at him and sighed. “Could you?” I finally relented and asked him. “I asked Soyeon about him but she didn’t say much except that Jimin is still recovering. We text at night before bed, but he’d never answer when I ask how he’s doing.”

Yoongi simply nodded. “You know, it’d probably be easier if you guys just share a room together, huh?” he wryly said.

“I wish,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes before I realised just how tempting the idea had sounded. “Is something like that even possible though?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I’ve heard of family members or spouses with terminal illnesses being put together in the same room, but I don’t know if it’s possible on your case. I could have Hoseok or Kara to ask around. They’re the ones who are listed as your family.”

Shaking my head, I turned to look at the laptop again. “I don’t even know if Jimin would agree.”

“I’m sure he’s just as devastated as you are that he can’t come to see you.”

“You really think so?” I questioned him, finding him frowning when I looked up. “Thanks for trying to lift up my spirits. I feel like you’re treating me like I’m your teenage younger sister or something.”

Looking at me, Yoongi merely scoffed. “I never had any teenage younger sister to take care of so I wouldn’t know.”

When a visitor finally came by to my room later in the night, it was not Jimin.

Yoongi was putting his coat on to leave for the night after staying with me all day when Jungkook appeared in the doorway. There was another bouquet of white flowers in his hand—the same as the ones he had been sending me every day—and a deep scowl on his face when he exchanged gazes with Yoongi.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, obvious enough to show his dislike at Jungkook’s appearance. He didn’t even bother to greet my ex-husband as he turned to me. “Do you want me to stay a bit longer?”

I looked back and forth between them, only to have Jungkook looked away when I met his eyes, though his gaze softened just a little when he saw how uncomfortable I felt at the tension that was rising from them together. Sighing to myself, I could only choose to diffuse the situation by letting Yoongi go on his way.

“It’s okay. You have that date to go to and it won’t be long before Kara gets here anyway,” I told Yoongi, though it was clear that he didn’t exactly enjoy accepting my choice.

“You sure?” he asked again, to which I only nodded. He came to my bed while shaking his head, but he chose not to say a thing when he kissed my forehead aside from telling me to call him if I needed anything. “Promise me to let me know if anything happens.”

“I promise.”

He gave me a final nod before turning to the doorway, where Jungkook was still standing. Both of them stood facing each other for a few awkward seconds before Jungkook finally stepped aside to allow him to pass without saying a word to each other.

The moment Yoongi left, the air between us rippled into a different kind of tension. When it was only between him and Yoongi, all I could feel was their rage, their hostility against each other. But now, as Jungkook was making his way slowly towards the bed, there was a sense of awkwardness that grew between us.

Only a year ago, he was the only man that I had ever loved. Though our marriage was not perfect, he was still a huge part of me that I called home, no matter how lonely that ‘home’ would feel like at times. Tonight, it felt like he was a stranger. There was still a pull inside my chest that felt so tight I could hardly breathe, but it was not enough to have me opening my arms to welcome him with a warm embrace.

Jungkook looked around the room with a wry smile on his face. “You’ve kept the flowers,” he murmured softly as he saw all the white flowers that still remained, finding each one being kept in different vases in all sizes before looking back at me.

“Kara and my nurse, Soyeon, took care of them. If the boys had been the ones who received them, they’d end up somewhere else,” I told him with a chuckle, choosing not to tell him that there had been some that had only ended being tossed into the trash. Mostly on Yoongi’s doing, because Hoseok had always opted on passing them on to the other female nurses who had slowly grown into becoming his admirers.

Jungkook nodded as he listened, and I noticed that his grip on the bouquet had somehow tightened. “May I?” he asked, pointing at the empty chair next to my bed which Yoongi had been using all day.

“Sure,” I said, as I watched him take his seat.

“Here, these are for you,” he said to me as he handed the small bouquet of white roses to me, forcing me to peel my fingers away from the sheets that I had been clutching tightly ever since the moment he appeared at the door.

“Thank you,” I whispered. My fingers felt cold when I took the flowers from his hands. My skin crawled when our fingers touched. It was an odd feeling, when in the past, each of his gentle touches would be able to send my heart racing and my body would shudder in pleasure. It truly felt like he was no longer a part of me, as if the years we shared together had been a distant memory that was no longer mine.

I instantly pulled my hand away and kept the flowers on my lap. I didn’t miss the way he flinched when I avoided his touch, nor did I miss the look of hurt and disappointment that lingered in his eyes when he saw me clutching the flowers tightly on my lap, as if I was using them as a shield to protect me from him.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked after a brief moment of silence. He cleared his throat and blushed when he noticed me looking up. “I, uh—I heard the surgery is in a couple of days.”

I nodded. “Two days,” I said, and my heartbeat accelerated almost immediately. He must have noticed it when my skin blanched, when the rush of panic came over me.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” I quickly told him. “It’s just that it feels surreal, dealing with it. I still haven’t completely wrapped my mind around it. It felt like a long time ago when I agreed to go through with it, so I’ve tried not to think about it too much. But then, suddenly it’s only days apart.”

Jungkook nodded as he tried to understand, and the concerned look on his face remained. “You’ll get through this just fine, I know it.”

I looked up, giving him a small smile. “How can you be so sure?”

Pressing his lips, Jungkook avoided my gaze for a moment. “Because you’re strong,” he finally said to me. “You’re always the stronger one between us. You’ve gotten through everything and still came out of it in one piece, whereas I could only burn things to dust and destroy everything I touched.”

Shaking my head, my words slipped out of me before I could stop them. “Not everything.”

His gaze found me, looking surprised to hear what I said, while I had to look away when once again all of the good memories that we had shared together went through my mind. My fingers clenched tighter around the flowers when I wondered just how everything fell into pieces, though what was left inside me was nothing but a numbing rage, when all the hurt he had given me had seized to give me pain since a long time ago.

Jungkook shifted in his seat, pulling my attention back to him. He was still avoiding my gaze, giving me a chance to finally take him all in. There were a lot of changes going on with him. He had always looked pristine, even when he was hiding his pain inside him. But there were also those moments in time, especially while we were battling for our divorce, when he looked terribly broken. He had stopped taking care of himself, leaving his hair constantly messy and his face looking dark and gloomy. I remembered seeing his eyes red and swollen, with deep, dark bags under them growing darker each time with all the sleepless nights he went through and all the drinking that he had resorted to just to escape from everything.

Now, he had looked much better, making good of his words to take care of himself while I was battling my own illness. His body had grown toned and broader, a sign that he had reserved back to working out and eating healthy again. His eyes were much brighter than how I had seen him last, as he had promised me time and time again that he would stop drinking so he could always be in his clear mind while he was supporting me. And then I caught the sight of his hair, looking thicker and longer as he styled them to the back of his head.

“You look good,” I said, making him look at me again. “Healthier. And you’ve kept your hair longer.”

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Not on purpose,” he admitted with a shrug. “I used to have my wife reminding me to go to the barbershop. Sometimes she would do it herself, have me sit down in the kitchen as she would cut my hair for me. Now, I can’t even decide what style of hair to choose for myself because I’d never know what would look good for me.”

I looked down just as my eyes started burning. There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from building up, threatening to flow like a river.

“Sorry, fuck—” I heard Jungkook’s voice cursing at himself before he leaned forward, catching my wrist and holding it gently in his hold. His thumb began rubbing gently on my skin and the dam of tears just broke apart. “I really need to learn how to shut up, but I just cannot help myself.”

I laughed nervously, though they came out with a round of sobbing when I continued crying. It took a moment before I calmed down. As much as I hated to admit it, the way he was softly holding my hand truly helped put myself together.

“I do miss you. That’s not a lie,” he whispered softly, meeting my eyes when I looked up. He reached out with his free hand, brushing my tears away. “You might not see it, but it feels so empty without you. I tried. I promise you, I have tried. Not to move on by seeing anyone else, because other women always remind me of you, but I try to live my life the best I could, to take care of myself the way you would do it for me, but nothing could fill up the empty space you left behind.”

Shaking my head, I tried to pull away from him. “Jungkook—”

His grip tightened, and he refused to let me go. “No, I’m not doing this to beg you to come back. I swear. I just want to tell you how I feel before I’d explode.”

Drawing a shaky breath, I tried my best to calm my heartbeat before I looked at him again. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

Jungkook looked at me for a moment longer then nodded his head. “Sure,” he said, before he proceeded in telling me things about what he had been doing lately. He made me laugh when he talked about meeting up with his friends, reuniting with his mates from college and spending the whole night playing pool.

“No, I didn’t drink,” he said to me when I asked him about it. “Been sober for almost six months now. There’s no way I can break that promise to you now,” he added, making me smile wider with relief brewing in my chest. “Eunwoo got a bit crazy though. Seconds after he agreed to join me on the next AA meeting, he ordered a full bottle of a 12 years-old Macallan and finished almost three-quarters of it on his own.”

“And the only thing you drank was Coke?”

Nodding his head, he smiled proudly. “Yes, Ma’am. I was on my best behaviour the whole night,” he said, and I felt instantly proud of him. The feeling was bittersweet, however, because I couldn’t stop wondering what our lives would have been like if he had as much control back then when we were together.

“I’m glad,” was all that I could say to him. “I’m happy to know that you’re living a better life.”

Pressing his lips together, he reached out to grab my hand. “And you are going to be there to continue watching me as I make better changes in my life, so you can witness me as I grow to be the man that you can feel proud of,” he said to me, and another set of tears escaped from me. Tightening his hold on my hand, he reached out to my chin and turned my face so I could look at him.

“Listen to me. You’re going to get through this, be stronger and healthier. I know you would. I know it’s scary, but I’m here. As much as I want to beg for you to come back to me, the only thing I need for you is to fight a good fight. We’ll get through this, and we will both have a much better life. We’ll watch each other as we both move on and find our happiness, to make the most of the rest of our lives, whether we’re doing it together or apart. Okay?”

At this point, I was a sobbing mess. The fear was still clawing from within. But his words gave me a new strength that I never knew I could still feel. It probably wouldn’t be enough to make sure that I could make it through, but it was enough to help me look at what was beyond me with a different kind of light.

As I looked into his eyes, I found a new kind of calmness that I had thought I had lost. What I saw in his eyes then would never be the same as what I had seen from him in the past, when he was the reason for me to carry on. But for now, this was more than enough. Taking one last deep, shaky breath, I looked straight into his eyes and nodded. I knew it was wrong to take comfort from the same man that had caused me a lot of pain, the same man that had also caused all the darkest times of my life.

But I knew that he was right and I needed to engulf myself in the comfort of his warmth just as long as I could find strength in them. No matter how scary it would be, I knew that I had to fight it. I needed to. And I had to survive through this no matter what.

“Okay.”

Jimin finally came to see me on the last day I had before the surgery.

It only took waking up to his smile to feel like I was coming alive again, even though I had to take a moment to make sure that I was not dreaming, that he was actually there.

I looked over his shoulder, noticing that the sky outside the window was still dark. the sun had barely come up, which meant that he came in way before the first round of nurses started. On the couch across the room, I saw Kara still deep in her sleep. She had come around the time Jungkook was ready to leave last night, and she had stayed all night to keep me company.

Out of everyone, Kara had been the one who would stay with me overnight. She has admitted once that she was worried that I would feel lonely should I ever wake up in the middle of the night without anyone by my side.

Another reason for her to stay was because of the memory we shared about my Mom. At one of the conversations that we have had where we talked about my mother, I had told her about the late-night phone calls that my Mom made while she was ill. Her eyes instantly lost their light, knowing that one of the many reasons why my mother had been left in the hospital all by herself during those times were because of her. Because my father had chosen to spend the night with his mistress instead of staying by my mother’s side.

“I would remember her whenever I think about you sleeping alone at night in this lousy hospital, afraid and lonely,” she said once after she had asked for a cot and an extra blanket for her to sleep in. “I won’t be able to sleep well at night when it happens. Take it as my redemption. I can’t change the past, but I sure as hell won’t let the same thing happen to you.”

Gentle kisses along my knuckles brought me back to the man sitting next to my bed. Jimin smiled at me when I looked at him. He had my hand in his grip, his lips pressing on my skin as he trailed soft kisses that sent delicate shivers through my body. His touches were enough to warm me up against the cold air conditioner blasting in the room.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, making sure to keep it down so he wouldn’t wake Kara.

“Morning,” I answered him, still completely in a daze as I took in the sight of him. “You’re really here.”

His gaze softened as he gave me a wry smile. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to come and see you again,” he said, and only then did I realise that his voice was hoarse and weak, hidden in his whispers.

And then it took him pulling away for me to notice everything that I had missed—the wheelchair he was sitting on, the thinning hair under his beanie hat, the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, the sunken cheeks, the blisters on his lips—and my heart dropped.

“Jimin—” I choked, to which he quickly pressed a finger on my lips to stop me from talking.

“Sshh—I know, I look like hell,” he said, chuckling softly. Though the sound immediately turned into a set of coughs until he managed to take a deep breath and hold it in. “And I’ve been through hell.”

My eyes burned with tears, but I did all I could to stop them from falling. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from questioning him, “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t anyone—”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry about me when you already have so much to worry about on yourself,” he said to me with a sad smile. “I asked the nurses to not tell you anything. I couldn’t leave my room and let you see me when I was at my worse. You need to focus on yourself, on what’s happening tomorrow. I should be the last thing in your mind to worry about.”

Shaking my head, I leaned towards him and let him took my hand in his once again. “It’s not fair.”

He smiled at me and said, “It’s only fair. I shouldn’t be in the way of your recovery.”

“You never were. I need you, and I want to be there to support you too.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here now. I’ve done all I could to get strong enough to be here today so I could see you,” he said, pulling my hand in his so he could place my palm on his cheek, giving me a chance to feel him. “You know that I will always be here to support you.”

“Always? Promise?” He only answered me with a nod of his head, but it was enough for now. “Can you stay here with me?”

Jimin glanced over his shoulder and tipped his head. “Will your guardian let me?”

I looked over to Kara’s sleeping form and smiled. “She has to.”

And indeed she did. Kara knew how much I had missed Jimin and how his presence helped make a lot of changes that she even let Jimin use the cot that she had neglected the night before so he could rest once in a while. Even the nurses had come to let Jimin take his medicines without him returning to his room.

“Told you that things would be easier if we had just been placed in the same room,” Jimin joked at Soyeon when she came into the room while shaking her head at him. His comment surprised me as I had never thought he would even consider it.

“You asked them for a room transfer?”

Jimin shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Hey, I tried. I’ve thought about it ever since you got sick from your trips down the halls at night to see me.”

I looked at him, not believing what I just heard. Never once in my mind I had considered it possible for us to share a room that I had pushed away every hope of making it happen. I was completely speechless that all I could do was hold his hand. It was Soyeon who spoke next, breaking the moment we were sharing.

“If you want, I can submit another request once you’ve gone through the surgery,” she said, while Jimin and I exchanged looks.

“Can you do that?”

Soyeon glanced at Kara who was now giving her a hopeful look and smiled. “I can ask your doctor to have permission for transfer,” she answered me with a wink.

“If Doctor Kim agrees, then it’ll leave only one last hurdle that might get in the way,” Jimin said, breaking whatever spell we were in before either one of us even had a chance to celebrate the possible good news.

“What is it?”

Jimin gave me a sad smile and said, “Your ex-husband.”

It was finally the day of the surgery.

Everyone had been here with me since this morning, waiting in the room with me. While my anxiety had peaked through the roof the day before, I was surprisingly calm ever since I had woken up this morning. Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to be on the edge since the moment I woke up and it even got worse when the nurse came in just one hour before I was supposed to be taken to the operating room, handing me the last medicine for the day.

The frown on Hoseok’s face kept on slipping out no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind his smile. Even the years that had passed during the period of time when we fell apart couldn’t change the fact that I knew my brother. That I would be able to catch on to his emotions so easily despite his efforts of hiding them from me.

He was not the only one who was restless, as Yoongi kept fidgeting in his seat. He had been silent all day, tension continued to roll out of his shoulders as he sat with Hoseok across the room.

As I was forbidden to consume any food or water, Kara found nothing to do to distract herself and she had opted to stay by my side. I had to respect her for trying her best to stay calm, though the moment she held my hand and she started praying for the two of us, it almost felt like I was the one calming her down until her fingers stopped shaking.

“It’ll be okay,” I finally said to her when she gave me yet another forced smile the moment our eyes met. But everyone in the room knew that I was speaking for all of us, especially myself, when I added, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Jimin came to my room just when it was almost time for me to go. He came in on his wheelchair, with Nurse Soyeon pushing him into the room. Everyone instantly stepped aside to give us space, allowing Jimin to settle down next to the bed, where he took my hand to hold and he could lean in just close enough to give me a kiss.

“I’ll be here until the moment they come to pick you up,” he whispered to me between his gentle kisses, then gave me another promise before he pulled away, “And I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

After that moment, time seemed to stand still. Neither of my family dared to speak, afraid that any word they said would burst any bubble that we found ourselves in, to allow the reality to sink in and take over the serene feeling we were having. But they kept hovering around me, making sure that I was calm and ready, though I felt more numb than I was probably supposed to.

It wasn’t until the moment when Soyeon returned with another nurse from our floor, pushing a gurney into the room with the help of an orderly, when the silent tension in the room broke apart.

“It’s time,” Soyeon said to me with a calm voice that did nothing to stop my heartbeat from pacing rapidly in my chest. Jimin must have sensed the change in my mood, because he immediately pulled me to him and held me tight, whispering sweet words to calm me down.

“It’s okay, baby. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes and focus on me,” he kept telling me, making sure that I followed his words until I was breathing calmly again.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I nodded at Soyeon after giving Jimin one last kiss and sending one last smile to my family.

As everyone stepped back and I was carefully transferred from the bed to the gurney, the numbness returned to me and I let myself to be engulfed in it. Even the pain that came piercing through my spine during the transfer couldn’t snap me out of it. The sense of calm felt even stronger as Jimin grabbed my hand and gave me one last squeeze only moments before the orderly began pushing me out of the room.

“I’ll come with you,” I heard Hoseok said, as if watching me leave the room had snapped him out of his trance and he quickly rushed to walk alongside the gurney as we left our family behind. The last thing I saw when I took one last glance was Yoongi placing his arm around Kara’s shoulders as she cried soundlessly, and Jimin smiling at me as he placed his palm over Kara’s hand that was resting on his shoulder.

The trip from my room towards the operating section on our floor felt like an eternity. I barely paid attention to our surroundings as we made a few turns down the hallways, focusing more on my breathing pattern as I kept myself calm, until I suddenly saw him standing not too far from the doorways leading to the operating area.

“Jungkook,” I called out to him as the gurney slowed down to a stop right where he was waiting for me. He nodded briefly at Hoseok before he turned to me, giving me a warm smile despite the way his eyes were watching me closely as if he was afraid I would disappear.

“You came,” I said, and he nodded.

“I decided I’d wait for you out here so you could have a moment with your family,” he told me, and my eyes moved to his hands, where I found yet another bouquet of white flowers, and his smile widened as he followed my gaze.

“These flowers will be waiting for you in your room to greet you once you return,” Jungkook said, before he leaned down, pressing his lips on my forehead as he whispered. “You’re going to be alright.”

His eyes were glassy with tears when he straightened up, but he forced himself to smile as he brushed gently at my cheek for one last time before he stepped back, allowing the gurney to pass. I kept my eyes on him until I could no longer see him, and Hoseok pulled my attention right before he had to let me go.

“We’ll be waiting for you out here,” he said to me while squeezing my shoulder gently. I could tell that he was trying his best not to cry in front of me, so I put on my brave face and smiled.

“Make sure to buy me some of my favourite ice creams when I come back, will you?”

He nodded and chuckled softly. “I’ll fill up the fridge with them for you.”

“Ready?”

The nurse that was going to assist the surgeons was the one I was not familiar with, but she was friendly and nice that I stayed calm despite the complicated preparations that would have scared me away. I already felt slightly intimidated just minutes ago, when I was pushed into this room with only strangers standing around me. But the thought of my family who would be waiting right outside those doors, and knowing that Dr. Kim would also be here to assist the procedure, all had done more than calm my nerves that all I had to do was wait until this moment would come.

“I’m going to put this mask on you. Just breathe in normally, and you will feel sleepy in no time. Just don’t panic, and focus on counting down or just think of good things, okay?”

“Okay,” I told her, nodding my head before I let her put the breathing mask on my face.

She gave me a smile that was hidden under her mask as I settled back down on the bed, while she carried on with the preparations, helping the surgeons and welcoming Dr. Kim as he came into my line of sight.

His voice was calm, but I barely paid attention to any word he said to me as he introduced the other doctors that had come in with him. I only responded with a nod to each time he spoke, until he instructed me to continue breathing as the only thing they needed to do was to wait until the anaesthetic drugs they had given me would take effect.

Everything around me seemed to move in slow motion afterwards. It felt as if I had left my body and I was watching things unfolding from the outside looking in. I followed the nurse’s instruction as I began breathing normally, taking deep breaths while counting down slowly, until I started to feel heavy with sleep. It didn’t take long until I finally gave in as there was never a fight in me to stop me from getting under, and I felt myself drifting away merely seconds after.

That was when everything happened.

They had all said that when you went under, your whole senses would not be able to tell you about anything happening around you, leaving you completely oblivious to what they were doing to your body.

That was not what seemed to be happening to me.

My senses were completely numb, but I was still there. I was still present. My body was no longer moving, but I was terribly aware. A thick blanket of darkness folded around me, cloaking me from the world that still existed around me. I had lost the ability to feel a thing. There was no pain, not a hint of the slightest of touches they made on me, but I knew they were all there.

My mind registered their presence in the form of shadows. Looming, hovering, moving around me while I was rooted as their center. I could feel their movements even through the fog of darkness, but I could feel none of their touch. I heard nothing but a steady hum, drowning me deeper into the darkness, though some of the voices I heard made it seem more like I was drowning underwater.

And then it happened, and suddenly, I could hear it all almost too clearly.

It started with a steady beep, before it began to rise, sounding louder by the second, and then it went faster. The humming sound around me began to rise as well, growing steadily intense. They sounded almost similar to voices of people shouting, only that everything was muffled, like everything was happening under the current of water. The beeping noise grew louder, breaking through the fog, and then louder, turning into an alarming sound as the shouting continued.

An odd feeling of chill washed over me.

And then everything went still.

Author’s note:

I’m sorry this took a long time, and I know that you must be hating me for that ending lol

Don’t worry, every single question you may have at the moment will be answered soon. We’re so close to the final chapters and I am terribly nervous about it, not going to lie. But, before we can finally get there, we’ll be having an extra chapter coming in the way.

Yes, your requests have been answered. We’ll be getting into Taehyung’s side of the story on the next chapter before we can find more answers to what had happened to all of them in the past.

Stay tuned for the next update. Thank you for all of your support!

—  © 2021 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. translations are not allowed.

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[lesetoilesfous]

sensory overload with fenders for the bad things bingo? (specifically fenris, if you’re up for it)

Godddd I had too much fun with this and I very much hope you enjoy it. Also I hate with a burning passion the fact that Hawke can give Fenris back to Danarius. I hate it so, so much.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Sensory Overload

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Sensory Overload, Slavery, Panic Attack, Vomiting

Pairing: Fenders (pre-relationship)

Characters: Evil/Red Marian Hawke, Fenris, Anders, Varric Tethras, Isabela, Danarius

Additional Tags: Hawke tries to give Fenris back and the KWC says no thank you, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 1,503

“Take him.”

Fenris feels as if he’s been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. “What?”

Danarius smiles: a slow, creeping sort of smile that Fenris has seen him wear a thousand times. “Interesting. I’ll make it worth your while, of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal.”

Feeling dizzy, Fenris stares at Hawke. Her pale features are set and rigid with cold disdain. “Don’t do this, Hawke. I need you.” The words fall out of his mouth like pulled teeth, dragging at his insides with a sharp ache.

Hawke's lips curl back in a sneer. “You’re on your own, Fenris.”

Everything inside of Fenris collapses. It reminds him of something he’d read, recently - a book by a Qunari philosopher about the stars - a woman who hypothesised that sometimes, when a star died, it collapsed into an inverse of itself, dragging everything around it into darkness. Behind him, Danarius’ voice sounds both far, far too close and impossibly far away.

“What shall it be, Fenris? Will you throw your life away?”

Fenris can’t breathe. He feels is if the floor is swaying beneath him, shaking like a ship at sea. He remembers dancing on these floorboards, with Isabela...Fenris looks up, but the gold and brown and cream of the Hanged Man’s interior is a spinning kaleidoscope of colour. His mouth moves, and his tongue feels numb and fuzzy with static. “No, I will go with you.”

One of the guards moves, and the clanking scrape of their armour sounds painfully loud. Fenris sways away from them as they drop a purse heavy with coins into Hawke’s hand. Danarius speaks again, his voice cutting through the fog of sound and colour, weaving through Fenris’ ears like a thread pulled through his brain. “Lovely! Here’s a token of my appreciation, Champion. I’m sure I can arrange to have something more...appropriate sent along soon.”

The wooden floorboards beneath Fenris tilt, and he finds himself stumbling forwards toward his master and the red-headed elvhen woman, Varania, his sister. Fenris stares at his feet, which seem far too far away from him, and tries to remember how to breathe. His face feels hot, and his lungs are aching, desperate for more air. Danarius smiles, and the hairs on the back of Fenris’ arms and neck lift. “Come along, everyone! The boat leaves for Minrathous within the hour.”

The group begins to move, and Fenris feels as if the entire tavern is folding around him like a Rivaini paper flower. His vision tunnels, surrounded by darkness, but everything is still too loud and too bright and too hot and how had he never noticed the smell in here? Every time he breathes he feels as if he’s inhaling a thick stew of sweat and leather and steel polish and sex and alcohol and piss. He gags, falling forward. Behind him, Hawke doesn’t even move. Beside her, Fenris can’t make out Anders, Isabela and Varric in the blur of colour and noise. He still can’t breathe. The past ten years feel unreal, rapidly fading from his memory like a dwindling dream.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Varric’s drawl is immediately preceded by the familiar thunking of his crossbow, and Fenris thinks for a moment with relief that the rogue is going to shoot him in the head and end this nightmare before it begins. But the bolt doesn’t hit him, or Danarius, and he turns - slowly, too slowly, as if he’s moving in treacle - to see Hawke’s eyes rolling up into the back of her head as she collapses like a sack of potatoes.

Isabela draws her knives. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

Anders swings his staff from behind his back, twirling it in a wreath of blue fire that leaves burning imprints on Fenris’ irises. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Fenris turns back, forcing himself to lift his head despite the ten tonne weight that feels as if it’s resting on him, and sees Danarius’ face twist into a mask of fury. He sees Danarius’ hands claw, and the mercenaries charge, and shades bleed up from between the floorboards of the tavern like oil dragged from the earth. Then everything shatters into a swirling kaleidoscope of shattered stained glass and colour. Fenris can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear. Everything is too much: too loud, too bright, every movement feels like a needle in his eyes, every sound like a knife stabbed into his ears. His tongue feels heavy and burning with the overload of spice and salt in the air, and his nose is thick and choking on smoke and sulphur. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest, Fenris thinks he must be trembling with it. Blindly, he moves towards what he thinks might be the door, and doesn’t care if someone stabs him in the back for it.

Fenris makes it three feet into the cool Kirkwall night before he crumples to his knees and vomits, retching again and again until his stomach is spasming and his eyes are burning with useless, burning tears as if he’d pressed his face into a chimney full of smoke. Arms shaking, dripping with cold sweat, he kneels on the cold white sandstone of the street, washed silver by the moon, and shudders until the world stops spinning. It stops slowly, the brightness in his eyes turned unnaturally light, every colour too saturated and too vivid, even out here in the dark. The barking of Fereldan mabari, normally a strange kind of comfort, punches his skull every time they break the night, leaving Fenris shuddering with recollections of Hawke and her mabari and every time he’d saved her life, every time she’d saved his. He’d trusted her.

The sea breeze is too salty on Fenris’ tongue, which feels as if it’s been coated with grease and spices. He spits until his mouth is dry and his throat is sore, and doesn’t know how long it takes before he can breathe easily again.

When, at last, the world is no longer a Fade-saturated parody of itself, Fenris realises two things. First: the sounds of combat from inside the tavern have long since faded. Second: he is not alone.

Slowly, he forces himself to look up from the familiar sets of black and brown boots to Anders and Isabela. Isabela looks uncharacteristically sincere, and Anders’ wrinkled features are creased with worry. Twenty feet away, Varric is talking to a small huddle of Carta dwarves next to a cart with Hawke’s unconscious body. Fenris nearly throws up again, and Anders starts forward, totally ignoring the puddle of bile and vomit on the stone in front of him. Fenris flinches back, violently, and Anders freezes.

Finally, Fenris finds his voice. “Danarius?”

Anders’ jaw tenses, and some of the worry clears from his features. “Unconscious, in chains, supervised by Merrill and Aveline. We drugged him with magebane, too.” Anders hesitates, and glances at Isabela before going on. “We thought - we wanted you to have the final say. On what we do with him.”

Fenris nods, and breathes, pushing himself further away from the sick to sit on the stone. He glances towards Varric and the carta. “Hawke?”

Isabela’s lips purse into a thin line. “Varric drugged her. I say we slit her throat. Varric’s keeping her drugged in a safehouse until we come to a group decision.”

Fenris nods again. The breeze pulls across the open stone courtyard, tugging at Anders’ and Isabela’s hair, and cooling the sweat on the back of his neck. He looks at the pirate, and then the mage. Varric is walking over to them, now, too, Bianca loose in his arms. “Why?”

Isabela’s features flicker, briefly. Anders’ expression crumples. “Andraste, Fenris, because we love you.” He says it so easily. As if it’s something they’ve said to each other before. And then he keeps talking, because it’s Anders, and he always has more to say. “Also, I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me at all for the past ten years but, "the right of every man, woman and child to freedom in Thedas" does, in fact, include slaves. I know, I know, a manifesto about freedom being anti-slavery, it’s improbable right? You’d think I was healing all those elvhen slaves over the past decade with my own sweat and blood and tears for some secret evil agenda. But no, it’s actually pretty simple. Slavery’s one of the foulest, most cursed, pus-infected tumorous boils on the Maker’s taint, and so’s anyone who fucking supports it.”

Fenris thinks it’s a strange world, indeed, that he finds himself comforted by the mage’s rambling. Varric steps forward and reaches out, offering a hand. “What Blondie’s trying to say, Fenris, is that we’ve got your back.”

Fenris hesitates, staring at Varric’s hand, his mind full of Hawke’s bright blue eyes and strong jaw. Isabela unfolds her arms from where they’d been tightening across her chest. “No slaves, no masters.”

Fenris takes Varric’s hand.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me's spn advent calendar 2020. prompt: carols.

dedicated to @one-more-offbeat-anthem!! happy birthday <3

After Chuck's defeated, and Billie's gone, and the Empty has been bargained with (semantics, any of the Winchesters would say if you asked one of the four to elaborate) into returning Cas in exchange for eternal sleep, there's peace.

After they're done, and really done, there's time.

A moment to breathe, a minute to look at the clouds, and hours stretching endless, days on end, resonating with something resembling quiet.

And then, there's a guitar.

*

"Nope." Dean declares. "Never seen that thing in here before. And I once did Christmas inventory by myself, so I should know."

Sam snickers at Dean's cavalier tone. He'd been content to examine the instrument from a distance, unlike his brother, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. "You had to do it yourself, Dean. Those were the exact words of the bet."

"I was drunk, and you hustled me!"

"You've known I play poker my entire life!"

"Well, yeah." Dean flashes his best shit-eating grin. "But you've sucked, your entire life, so —"

"— sure I have —"

"— your entire life has really just been a very long, very lame hustle!" Dean spreads his arms in a display of triumph. "And ergo, you hustled me into Christmas inventory-ing. The case is rested, your honor."

"That's not how you say —"

"Sam. Dean." Cas interjects, loud and exasperated. Sam shuts up immediately, eyes falling to his lap, while Dean exchanges a sheepish look with Cas (and Jack, who to his credit, seemed to be unaffected by the mini-feud. But that's less the part about him being God-Lite and more about him being himself. A kid who grew up watching his dads bicker endlessly and mostly, uneventfully, and has come to terms with it as a primary aspect of (at least, his) family.)

Cas, as usual, puts up with less of their crap. "Is this really necessary right now?"

Dean loves him for it, except when it's targeted at Dean and since that's kind of a lot, he isn't sure he loves it, or just loves Cas and generalises the things he does under the wider bracket of Cas.

"And if it's not," Cas goes on, using what is probably his I-led-garrisons-in-heaven voice, which automatically sends a shiver up Dean's spine. "Can we agree the guitar is, somehow, a recent addition and leave it at that?"

Sam nods slightly, apologetic. Dean just rolls his eyes, but it's a yes. (Everyone there knows it's a yes.)

"It's not cursed." Jack cuts in brightly. "Or out of the ordinary at all."

"So," Dean blinks. "We just happen to have an awesome new guitar show up, completely randomly, in this top secret Bunker no one know about, minus any ulterior motives or death curses?"

Jack grins. "Yes."

"Cool." Dean says immediately, and Sam huffs an amused laugh. He thinks he sees Cas smile as well, and a smirk grows on his face.

"Dibs."

*

Unsurprisingly, nobody counters his dibs, and Dean ends up taking the guitar to his room.

It's after a few days of insecurity, leading right into embarrassment, leading further to ignoring its existence, and further still to a mostly depressive array of memories — before it circles back to insecurity, and is about to repeat all over again, when he stops himself in his proverbial spiral, and decides to just friggin' do it.

That night, he picks up the pick.

Fiddles with it in his hands for a minute, and proceeds to abandon the idea again, because it does not feel right. Different shape, different weight.

And Dean Winchester's already enough of a misfit for this project, for his guitar pick to be a poor goddamn fit in his hand too.

But there's something about being so close that stirs up motivation in his heart, similar to the first day they found the damn thing, and next morning, he's out looking for a music shop in town.

That night, he finally plays.

It's uncertain — experimental — and he soon realizes why nobody ever says a damn thing about guitars when they say you never forget how to ride a bike.

But then, slowly, and really slowly at that, music seems to return to his fingers.

It isn't smooth by any chance, or even really accurate, but there's a faint tug in his brain that leads him to the next chord, and a twitch in his wrist that tells him when to strum, and he's awful, he's really friggin' awful, but even repeatedly saying so in his head refuses to dampen the overwhelming feeling that lights him up from the inside to start to feel like maybe he can play again. There's hope, and there's terrible, off-timed, broken music, and there's Dean in the middle of it, and maybe he can actually do this.

Recollection of how to play had come to his hands as they trembled, and tried, but the exhilaration of it, and the joy, only come back to his heart once he'd stopped, heart racing, adrenaline high, and unexplainable tears pricking his eyes.

Dean Winchester goes to bed that night, giddy in a way he hasn't been in years.

And outside his bedroom, his family of three exchange confused glances when the playing stopped abruptly, and then smiles when a sound that can only be said to bear semblance to a squeal, follows the silence.

(The first song Dean had played in over twenty five years had been Joy to the World.

It had also been the first song he'd ever learned — Cassie's choice, not his. Sam, Cas and Jack didn't know any of that. To them, it had just been a christmas carol. But there was also something so moving about that, soft in a way each of them knew Dean would fight against being, that they didn't realize they hadn't budged from Dean's door, long until faint snores replaced the quiet, and they left for their own beds, wordlessly already having decided on a plan for the next day.)

*

Cas knocks first on Dean's bedroom door, and all music immediately ceases. There's a yell from inside after ten seconds of a shuffling kind of silence.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Cas asks.

Another pause.

Cas wonders worriedly if Sam and Jack were mistaken when they said that Cas had to be first, that he was their best shot at getting Dean to open up — the easiest past Dean's line of defense.

Then Dean says, a little quieter. "Yeah, sure."

Cas enters, gently closing the door behind himself before his eyes land on Dean — and he fights the urge to smile, because Dean hasn't kept away the guitar or anything. It's still on his lap, not in playing stance, with his arms folded over it — but he's not trying to hide it from Cas.

"Is everything okay?" Dean interrupts his reverie. Cas nods.

Neither of them say anything for a minute.

"Can I listen?"

Cas surprises himself with his own courage to ask — no twisted words or excuses to stay, just a simple question. Things were so rarely simple for them, but this wasn't a common occurrence either so it evened out.

"Y-yeah." Dean mutters.

Cas lights up.

"I suck, by the way." Dean adds, almost immediately. "But I'll suck less with time, I'm hoping. I mean, I'm supposed to, you know, but I — uh, I mean — maybe I —"

Cas realizes that he hadn't stopped smiling at Dean and that's what had made Dean falter, and he looks away, embarrassed.

"I'll just play, I guess." Dean manages smally, sounding as embarrassed as him.

"Please."

Dean clears his throat instead of playing.

"Yeah."

Cas can tell he's nervous. Even if he weren't good at, and very used to reading Dean, he could've gauged as much. And he wishes he had the right words, he really does, but he's aware a sincere speech of how much it means that Dean let him stay, and listen, would have the opposite effect of calming.

Then there's another knock on the door, and Cas relaxes.

"Dean?"

Sure enough, it's Jack.

Sam had explained how Dean was most likely, unfortunately, to deflect if he was there — "his denial fires up, Cas. I associate it with a parenting complex of some kind, and he just won't let go of it." — so the order had been decided as Cas, Jack and Sam. No overwhelming by arriving all three at once, or one after the other as if it were planned. No, they'd enter after some time, giving the previous person time to make Dean comfortable to them before the next enters.

Cas thinks it's a rather brilliant plan, and wonders if he should ask Sam to formulate a similar one to get Dean to open up about other things too. He doesn't, ultimately.

"Yeah?" Dean yells back.

"Have you seen Cas?"

That had been the plan.

"Yeah," Dean raises his voice to answer. "He, uh. He's right here. Come on in."

And Jack does, and eyes Cas with probably too much meaning (he means triumph) for Dean to not have noticed, before turning to the latter. "Oh. Were you about to play for Cas?"

Dean colors at that, his ears reddening almost instantly, and Cas files it away for pondering later.

"Can I be here too?"

And Dean's eyes widen a little — sign of anxiety, maybe understanding — and he licks his lips and then he nods. "I guess. I mean, okay, fine. But didn't you need Cas for something?" He adds, confused.

"I," Jack hesitates. Oh no, Cas thinks. Sam's prepared him for this, but Jack looks like he's about to, as Dean would say, wing it. And all-powerful or not, he knows his son is a terrible liar. "No, I just wanted to know if you'd seen him."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Now I do know. That, uh, you've seen him." Jack braves on, determined to reach the bottom of the proverbial hole he'd dug for himself apparently. "So now, I don't need to know anything. Now I can stay."

Dean sighs.

"I can, right?"

There's a lightness in Dean's voice instead of tension when he says, "Yeah."

"Thank you." Jack says brightly, and all Cas can do is shake his head when Jack turns to him for feedback, and the both of them proceed to wear (nearly matching, but not on purpose) excited stares as they focus on Dean.

*

The final straw is when there's a third knock on the door, and Sam pokes his head in. One unconvincing "Where's everyone at?" later, he's joined Cas and Jack in staring with a unnecessary (and hopefully unintended) comfort-the-vic's-family smile at Dean.

God, he loves these dumbasses and would give his life for everyone present in the room, but none of them can act for shit.

It's glaringly obvious they've all respectively shown up to listen to him play.

Which is bullshit in itself, because Dean wasn't being modest when he told Cas he sucks — he does suck. But then, he doesn't think any of them would mind. Sam would probably unlock new levels of the puppy eyes if he knew how happy even playing awfully, made Dean. Jack would be blunt, of course, but undeterringly sweet. And Cas? He'd probably smile at him all the way through, just — that smile of his, that always seems to make time freeze and Dean's heart stutter.

So Dean decides magnanimously to not call them out.

Right away, anyway.

Instead, he turns to them with a question. "Any requests?"

(He can't play one of the only songs he remembers having learned without errors yet, so obviously asking for requests is the right way to go. But you see, once you've given up on impressing, it's only fair to see yourself to the end of the chaos.)

"Christmas carols." Jack answers before anyone else.

"It's May."

"Sam's," Jack swallows. Dean should really get on teaching the kid how to lie. "Sam's making me listen to carols."

"In May?" He asks his brother this time.

Sam shrugs, struggling to keep a diplomatic face.

"You're going to grow up to be the young adult who doesn't take off the Christmas lights in January." Dean informs Jack, who absorbs his words with all the seriousness Dean should have expected. "And, fine. We can do carols."

Cas speaks up. "Any carol you'd like, Dean."

"Nah," Dean shakes his head. "Jack requested it. We'll do what he says." And he insists to his conscience that he said so because he wants to make Jack happy, and not because he's well aware the kid isn't being subjected to carols by Sam in friggin' May, and probably doesn't know any.

"Oh." Jack's face falls. He looks at Sam in the most conspicuous way anyone's ever looked at anyone. "I —"

"Uhhuh?"

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" Cas blurts, on behalf of Jack, and there's a two second gap where Sam facepalms and Jack exchanges a conspirational glance with Cas, and then Dean's throwing his head back and laughing.

And soon, Sam's joining in with an exasperated kind of chuckling as if he's gotten stuck in the wrong team but he doesn't regret a thing, and then Cas starts too, mostly from looking at Dean losing his shit (Dean strictly ignores thinking about that part and focuses on imprinting Cas's laugh to memory) and probably also because the ridiculosity of the entire situation probably struck him, and of course Jack's smiling at all of them, and it's, altogether, everything Dean could ever have wished for.

The evening ends with Dean playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer (of course) for at least an hour while consistently getting better at the repeating music, and although it's him humming under his breath (like he always has while playing) that starts it off, soon all of them are offering their own awful renditions to the chaos. Cas is off-key, Sam somehow manages to screw up the lyrics, and Jack is as flat as a friggin' plateau.

And it all comes together in a wholly unmelodious kind of awesome — to Dean the same way they say a mother's love comes through for an ugly child.

After Rudolph, it's Silent Night (another song Dean's learned, it hits him, once he's trying to find the right chord) and even Cas manages to look disappointed at the lyrics Sam and he come up with to make up for not knowing the real ones, and since Jack's never heard this one, he simply listens in rapt attention leaving Dean wondering if he probably ended up learning the wrong version on account of all his concentration.

And last of all, it's We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and Dean plays the chorus enough times that he's perfect at it, because for once, no one messes up the beat or the lyrics, and everyone has the most fun.

All in all, it's an evening to remember.

What Dean learns through it all is primarily the lesson that letting your family think they tricked you into having an audience is sometimes an excellent choice to make, and that things can be crap, but still be enjoyed. That doesn't mean he's not going to practice his ass off learning to play at least the choruses of the Led Zepp tracks he gifted Cas (the idea came to him in bed last night, and Cas has always sounded like he enjoyed them, okay?) so he can play them 'for Cas' as the kid so casually put — but then, some things are different from other things, just the way some love's different too.

And while some things are about efforts, and saying the words that scare you, others are about letting go, and singing carols in bright and sunny May.

The only thing Dean's sure about is that just about all of it comes down to being free.

[beepen]

all I did was buy Hades and play it. now it’s been 3 weeks and 

than and zag are idiots, here’s a thing. i love them. fuck. 

hypnos is a little shit

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

There was something about Death that Zagreus believed should be savored, or rather, handled with great care. He didn’t know much about the ceremonies mortals held for their dead, only that Than had mentioned rituals and burials in the few conversations they’ve had about it. Thanatos wasn’t willing to give more than that, claiming he never had time to stay so long and observe the culture in which mortals laid their dead to rest. He simply followed the calling deep within his chest that led him to whatever unfortunate soul he was to take next, and afterwards, leave.

Zagreus hoped there was more to it, though. Not Than’s work—he hoped it was as simple as he described—but the mortals and how they deal with death. Did they honor it? Did they honor him? Did they understand that death was part of life, that they went hand-in-hand; that death...that Death was beautiful….

And gentle, Zagreus quietly mused, peaking around the corner to the West Hall with a bottle of Nectar carefully cradled in his arms. He didn’t even want to jostle it; it had to be in perfect condition. Nothing short of perfect should ever be gifted to Death Incarnate. It wasn’t a rule or anything, of course, just Zagreus’ own personal belief. It should be, though. It should be a rule. If he wasn’t on such bad terms with his father, he would ask that he make it so.

“You just missed him, Zagreus.”

The familiar voice lured Zagreus’ gaze from the empty spot at the end of the hall to Achilles standing at his usual place, just outside the King’s chambers. He had a knowing look about him, subdued yet piercing in his read of Zagreus’ dejected body language.

“He left moments before you arrived,” he informed, and Zagreus huffed in frustration, straightening from his little sneak position and walking towards the old warrior, still mindful of the bottle curled in his arms.

“You mean to say he left after having seen me emerge from the river.” Zagreus meant for it to be witty, but he couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone. Nonetheless, Achilles gave him a warm smile, albeit more out of pity than anything.

“Perhaps. Although he does have a rather demanding job.”

“Of course.”

Zagreus would have thought himself a narcissist for assuming Thanatos would leave in spite of him rather than because he had a duty to fulfill, but the accusation didn’t transpire simply because Chaos was feeling a little bored. Than had been avoiding him, that much was clear. If it weren’t for his obvious absences over longer-than-usual amounts of time, then it was the way in which he disappeared before Zagreus could get a single word in. Zagreus had known Than long enough to realize when the god was hiding away. And right now, Than was hiding from him.

Sighing, Zagreus loosened his hold on the bottle of Nectar and held it up to Achilles, keeping his gaze on the extravagant marbled floor. If Than was hiding from him, then it was probable he wouldn’t take too kindly to an unwanted gift. And Zagreus didn’t want to pressure him….

“For you,” Zagreus forced out, lifting the bottle higher for Achilles to take. “A token of my appreciation for everything you’ve done for me...you’re more of a father than my own—”

“Zagreus.” The interruption prompted Zag to shift his gaze from the floor to meet Achilles’ fixed stare. “I am honored, truly, but I’ve yet to find the time to drink the one you have already given me. Surely this one belongs to someone else?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to hint at something, trying to help Zagreus understand without outright saying it. The twinkle in his eyes was all-knowing.

“Yes, it was for....” Zagreus stared briefly at the little balcony, where Thanatos would be, if only he were there. He wanted more than anything to somehow find him and ravish him with gifts. Though, that would be too overwhelming for the gentle, moody god—and far too forward. Not to mention impossible, given how Zagreus is practically chained to the Underworld at the moment. There weren’t many places he could travel to in search for him.

Sighing, he shook his head and forced the strange desires to untangle their greedy threads from his heart. He nearly shoved the bottle of Nectar at Achilles.

“First come, first serve,” he joked, waiting for the old warrior to accept the bottle. Achilles didn’t bother even looking at the gift, instead reaching past it to comfort Zag’s shoulder.

“Thanatos will come back—this is his home, afterall.”

“Well, yes. But he won’t come back to me.” Zagreus immediately regretted the words the moment they slipped out, feeling unbearably selfish and exposed to his true feelings that he had, up until now, successfully avoided.. “I mean—that’s not how I meant to say it. It’s just...he’ll be back for you, for Nyx, Meg, and Hypnos, even. But not me. I’m not part of the reason he returns home.”

Not that Zagreus had any right to be. He was trying to leave the place Thanatos called home, for gods’ sake. And without telling him. Than had made it known he was upset about it based on their latest, and perhaps last, confrontation, but Zagreus knew Thanatos hardly revealed even a glimpse of what he truly felt. He couldn’t imagine how hurt Than really was….

Achilles’ grip on his shoulder tightened just barely, laughter twinkling in his eyes. “Prince, you are far too dramatic.” He didn’t elaborate further, almost as if the words were for his own amusement rather than to appease Zagreus’ worries. He backed off, hand slipping from Zagreus’ shoulder, and finally acknowledged the bottle still held up for his taking. “Keep that, and wait for him.”

Zagreus didn’t know what was so funny; the possible end of his friendship with Than was no laughing matter. And he didn’t want to give this bottle to Than anymore, anyway. It was all shaken up.

“Really sir,” Zagreus stepped forward, ready to shove the bottle in Achilles’ embrace if he had to. “It’s yours. I bestow it upon you.”

“I’m fine, dear Prince. In fact, I’m a little offended you would offer me a gift meant for someone else.”

Zagreus balked, interpreting Achilles’ slanted smile to be one of mockery. “Well I’m offended you won’t accept my gift! A gift I quite literally died for, might I add. Besides, I’m only going to offer you more in the future; there’s an abundance of them in Tartarus. Far too many for me to keep but enough for everyone to have multiple. I’m quite certain I will have another by the time Than shows his pretty face. Now, please sir, I demand you take this!”

He couldn’t possibly outstretch his hand farther, but he certainly tried his damned hardest, only for Achilles to cross his arms and shake his head. That slight smirk still adorned his face.

“Forgive me, Prince, but I do not accept your gift.”

Zagreus nearly growled. “Take it! I’ll stand here forever if you don’t!”

“You know as well as I that every soul, shade, and god alike are aware of your inability to stand in one place.”

“I—! I can stand in one place! I’ll do it now!”

It was only a few moments later that Zagreus was seen stomping away from the Great Achilles in humiliated anger, for the old warrior was correct: the Prince could not, for the life of him, stand still.

“Oh, shut up,” Zagreus grumbled, red hot in the face and fire at his heels (literally).

*****

Achilles was not his father, so he would not directly defy him as he did Hades, but he’d be damned if he walked away with a hurt pride and did nothing to make himself feel like a winner. So it was no surprise when he gave the wretched bottle of Nectar to Hypnos, practically announcing it to the entire House as if he were awarding a hero. Hypnos was glad to accept it, feeding off of the Prince’s drama and loudly proclaiming his thanks with a big smile until they were shouting back and forth, like kids playing pretend. That is, until Nyx urged them to be quiet, warning them that Lord Hades would be back any moment and that he did not tolerate the smuggling of Nectar.

And if Nyx heard them, then Achilles most certainly did too, and Zagreus walked back to his chambers with an inflated ego and his pride back in order, ready to tear through his father’s domain once again with the viscous intent to cause problems.

And caused problems, he did. The more chambers Zagreus tore apart, the more he began to think Achilles had purposely infuriated him. He was the one who trained Zag, afterall. He knew how to stir up trouble even better than the Prince himself, and it was a surprise to no one that the old warrior irritated Zagreus enough that the wretches of the Underworld cowered before his wrath.

Zagreus didn’t even know what he was so mad at. He was just riled up, stuck in his thoughts, so distracted he paid no mind to the aches and strains of his body from unconsciously pushing himself. He thought of nothing; just let the time pass and the monsters be slain, allowing his irritation to consume him entirely. It was almost impossible to recall the conversation he had with Meg, if any. The Fury may have said something upon his arrival, but Zagreus was in no position to respond, so they just fought.

Zagreus only acknowledged her defeat after the Lernagon Hydra crumbled to dust. By then he had ripped Asphodel a new one, with little to no recollection of how or when he got to this point.

“Must be a new record,” he mumbled to himself, the first he’d spoken since he jumped out of his window. He never made it this far….

His awareness came back to him, dragging himself down from the clouds he had been lost in. He took a second to catch his breath as he was made aware of how much his body hurt. Drinking from the fountain dulled it somewhat, but, gods, he must have been one hit away from collapsing. He wanted to collapse now, let the Styx consume him and heal him. And perhaps, now that his little fit was over and he had ransacked enough chambers to appease his emotions, apologize to Achilles for how rude he was back at the House. But up next was Elysium, and he had never been there; never was allowed to step foot in there. He wasn’t going to quit without going as far as his body physically allowed.

He didn’t expect Elysium to nearly blind him with its lush plants and sparkling sky, just as he hadn’t expected Asphodel to be so hot. It was far cooler up here, thank the gods, but he had to stay in the first chamber a few moments longer so his eyes could adjust to the brightness. He broke some precious pots too, of course. All of them, actually, and with a conniving grin on his face as he recalled his father yelling at him to stop being an ignoble brat.

Never.

Laughing almost maniacally, Zagreus dashed into the next chamber with newfound vigor, completely aware this time and not shrouded with overwhelming adrenaline. Every hit he suffered hurt more, but his focus allowed him to dodge more often and think properly, and he completed the chamber with only a few more scratches added to the ongoing list of wounds.

He was feeling good, confident. Anxious still, because he had never survived this far and had no idea what awaited him behind the next door, but what was the worst that could happen? Death? Ha.

And as he practically skipped into the next room, the toll of a bell stopped him in his tracks, draining all the warmth from his body as the already green chamber flashed an even greater, colder shade of green. Zagreus, although yielding under the sudden chill, still found himself wrapped in a blanket of familiarity, of something so beautiful he couldn’t find the words to describe it. That alone was enough to keep him from freezing to the bone.

“Thanatos…?” He whispered. He hoped. He dreaded. His heartbeat picked up, and his soul tried to rip itself from his body, drawn to the figure zapping into existence right in front of him. For a split second, wings encased Death’s godly form, dissolving as soon it appeared. A detail that was hardly noticeable, but Zagreus noticed it everytime and wished it lasted longer. He yearned to see those wings again.

“You’re easy to track down,” Than said, in a voice that was soft yet piercing, the pronunciation of every word perfect and clear. It caught Zagreus’ immediate attention, keeping his feet planted where they were. He smiled; he couldn’t help it.

“Aw, you were looking for me?”

And there it was: the slight downward twitch of his lips, the furrow of his brows, and of course, the subtle scrunch of his nose. Teasing Than was the best.

“No,” was Than’s indignant answer, and Zagreus of course didn’t believe him. “It was simply an observation of the debris you’ve left behind. I just happened to be in the area.”

“And you also just so happened to follow the trail, knowing it would lead to me?”

“No—! Ugh.” Flustered, lovingly so, Thanatos wielded his scythe. “Fight or die, Zagreus. Or, perhaps, do nothing, while I do all the work. Like how it's always been.”

Zagreus smirked. Well, he definitely wouldn’t mind sitting back and watching Death annihilate Elysium’s best warriors. He knew the god would make swift work of them. But to miss the opportunity to fight alongside the God of Death? Why, how could he decline such an offer?

Before the first shade could even materialize, Zag was on them, hacking and slashing like his body didn’t scream for him to follow Than’s advice. It was exhilarating, exciting. They worked as a team rather than competitors, Zagreus even pushing enemies into Thanatos’ dark circle of death. Than took notice, stopping to give Zagreus a confused look, before disintegrating three Brightswords at once.

Beautiful. Beautiful.

A few more Brightswords materialized, including a Greatshield and some Chariots, but they met their demise quickly before they could so much as breathe. Not that they needed to breathe; they were dead.

And now you’re deader, Zagreus mused, finishing off the last one while Than, ironically, floated and watched him do the work, perhaps giving him a pity kill. Zagreus didn’t keep track of their last competition and he wasn’t about to now; he’d let Thanatos worry about that. Though, he could estimate that he himself killed about five, while Thanatos...more than that, probably?

With the last warrior slayed, Elysium was quiet and peaceful once more, as Zagreus imagined it would be if he was sentenced to live his eternal life here. He took this opportunity to gather and absorb the dark energy a few enemies dropped, thinking about Nyx’s gift when he felt eyes watching him.

Goosebumps riddling his skin, he turned towards Thanatos, who continued staring a moment longer before offering his hand. Zagreus, confused, tilted his head and waited for an explanation. Upon receiving nothing except for Than’s unreadable expression, he took the invitation and shuffled closer.

“Your reward,” Thanatos mumbled, yet it was clear as day. Energy popped in his upturned palm, the remnants clinging to Zagreus’ skin and melting into the tissue, the bones. Zagreus watched a few scratches heal themselves. His body still ached, but his vitality grew stronger, like he could withstand more.

“Centaur heart,” Zagreus muttered, and he tilted his head back, traveling up Than’s floating form before stopping at a pair of two golden orbs. “Why?”

“It was a tie.”

“Oh.”

Zagreus was suspicious, but he didn’t speak on it. If Thanatos wanted him to stay home, like everyone else apparently, then he wouldn’t have given him something to keep his body going unless it was well-earned. Death was honorable like that.

“Ah,” Than cleared his throat, and standing this close Zagreus could see the beginnings of discoloration dusted across his cheeks. “My brother—Hypnos, that is—gave me a bottle of Nectar a little bit ago.”

Zagreus didn’t react to the random statement at first. He wondered why Thanatos was telling him, but also, how Hypnos could have gotten another bottle himself. The God of Sleep didn’t travel nearly as much as his older twin, or even Zagreus for that matter. Though, Zag supposed maybe he didn’t really know where Hypnos went when he wasn’t dozing off by the entrance to the River Styx. He always assumed the god was off sleeping somewhere more comfortably. Or maybe—

Wait. Zagreus frowned. He sensed something was amiss; something wasn’t right. The bottle, the one he gave Hypnos just before his most recent escape...he wouldn’t...couldn’t have…?

His eyes widened. No. Nonono—

“He said it was from you, Zagreus. That you asked he give it to me...as a gift.”

For the second time that day—or night, whatever—Zagreus found himself sputtering with disbelief. Irritation, embarrassment, anger, betrayal, amongst other feelings he refused to acknowledge—he couldn’t sort out which ones he felt the most.

“That—” he tried, but the words were locked in his throat, clogged together so he could hardly talk, hardly breathe. How dare Hypnos give away a gift Zagreus had given him. And how dare he thus give that same gift to Thanatos, lying in his name on top of it all!

“Zag?”

The nickname made Zagreus flinch and want to wilt away, perhaps turn into a butterfly and hide in Than’s chiton forever. At least until Than eventually ran into Hypnos, where Zagreus would then use the element of surprise to strangle the sleepy god. But to hear Than call him by his childhood nickname rather than cruelly addressing him as ‘Zagreus’ enveloped the Prince with so much nostalgia and belonging it ached. What was the point of rewarding Zagreus a centaur heart if he was only going to wound him like this moments after?!

“I...Than.” The exchange of nicknames felt natural, but Zagreus was ashamed. It was enough to zap him out of his momentary panic, and he briefly locked eyes with Death before taking in not only the concerned tilt of his brow, but also the specks of flustered gold alighting his face. Than was...flattered, to say the least. Zagreus wasn’t so oblivious he couldn’t figure out that much. But it wasn’t because of his doing; not really. He could go along with it, pretend that it was, but. That wasn’t right. Death should be honored. This was not honorable.

Upon the sigh Zagreus released from his emotionally-constricted lungs were everything he had managed to feel in less than a second after the reveal of Hypnos’ betrayal. Whatever the reason for it, Zagreus wouldn’t accept the benefits of it, if any. He wouldn’t accept the outcome if it wasn’t truthful.

“Thanatos,” he began, the name not as sweet on his tongue, “That gift...was for Hypnos, not you. I never asked him to hand it off to you.”

The look on Than’s face was hard to read at first—perhaps a mixture of confusion and horror—but Zagreus hated it. Desperately did he wish to replace it with the bashfulness from before. That feeling he had felt earlier, to bask Thanatos in gifts, was back full force.

“You mean to say…” Than’s voice trailed off before his expression hardened. “This is a prank, then.”

“No! Of course not. Not by me, at least.” When Than didn’t look convinced, Zagreus stepped closer, reaching for his dark Chiton but pulling back when he noticed Than’s shoulders stiffen. “I swear, Thanatos, on my father’s name. I gave him the bottle and that was it. Maybe...maybe there was a miscommunication? Or perhaps he overheard—”

He stopped himself there, looking past Thanatos at nothing in particular. Maybe Hypnos overheard his back and forth with Achilles? He was right around the corner, afterall. And if Nyx could hear Hypnos and Zagreus, then Hypnos would have no problem eavesdropping on the happenings of the West Hall. If that’s the case, maybe Hypnos believed he was doing a favor by giving the bottle to its original intent?

“Overheard what, Zagreus?”

With another sigh, Zagreus gave up. “Okay. The Nectar was for you.” Before Thanatos could process the words, Zagreus rushed the next sentences out, fearing the god would think it was all a joke again. “Originally! It was intended for you, at first, but you weren’t at the House. You—you’re rarely at the House, and it’s clear you’ve been avoiding me as of late, so. And the bottle, it was shaken up. I couldn’t just give something like that to you! I wasn’t sure you would even accept a gift from me anyway so I tried to give it to Achilles but he wouldn’t accept it because he said it wasn’t for him even though I was obviously giving it to him and we may have argued about it loud enough for Hypnos to hear but he didn’t say anything about it when—”

Zagreus, whose words were starting to blend together as he quickly rambled his explanation of things, abruptly stopped when something small and hard was thrusted against his chest. He was nearly pushed back from the force of it, and he scrambled to hold onto the object when Thanatos pulled his hand back. Confused, Zagreus stared down at his hands.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Zagreus had to force himself to look away from what appeared to be a butterfly, mesmerized by the intricate designs he could briefly make out before giving Thanatos his attention once more. He wasn’t looking at him, rather, his head was turned to the side, arms crossed with his scythe cradled between the bulge of his biceps. Dust of gold once again sparkled the soft glow of his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t worry about giving me anything, Zagreus. I’ve no interest in the little souvenirs you find in your futile attempts to escape this place.” Slightly, he cocked his head, fixing his golden stare on the small artefact held gently in Zagreus’ grasp. “But if you insist...you’ll have no choice but to hold onto that.”

A flash of green, a schlink, and Zagreus was alone in Elysium.

Than’s swift exits always left a hole in his chest, but this time he didn’t bother dwelling on it, the weight of the butterfly in his hands keeping his heart full and healthy and...happy. His fingers smoothed over the coolness of it, its subtle ridges and edges a fine testament to the workmanship it must have taken to create something so beautiful. And the colors—shades of purples and grays with a green tint on the outer rims of the design, giving the butterfly a glowing effect—reminded Zagreus so much of Thanatos, and the beauty of Death.

The Prince’s tendency to ramble, although grating to the ears of most in the House of Hades, seems to have avoided what would have been a terrible rift between the likes of Life and Death, courtesy of a telltale lie; but the Prince’s desire to strangle the God of Sleep still stands as is.

Blood trickled to the tips of Zagreus’ ears. “What are you talking—? Ugh, just shut up!”

[fallenrepublick]

Hello i have been enjoying you're blog for quite some time now💕 (you are a phenomenal writer), if it wasn't too much of a hastle i was curious if i could request for a small piece of writing or a few words about darth maul and a (forbidden) lover? She's from a family who forbids her from seeing him, then One night she is out on her balcony wearing a (revealing) silk nightgown. and he comes up to her, it's all erotic slow sensual bliss, then they make a plan to leave together.

Hi, thank you!! I really enjoyed this prompt. Honestly, I was getting major Romeo and Juliet vibes with this, but with a (hopefully) happy ending. Thanks for that!

Warnings: Generally NSFW, pet names, smut, all that good stuff. No kinks to my knowledge (again let me know if I missed something)

He wasn’t one to wait. Years and years seemed to pass by in seconds when he recalled any past memories. Waiting was a luxury, one that someone like Maul simply couldn’t afford.

Yet he had spent hours on this planet, his wanderings aimless, and his thoughts on only one thing, one goal that had been kept far from his grasp for months now.

You.

Even as the sun was high, the time no later than midday, he had considered seeking you out, your home a mere minute’s walk from where he had wasted away his hours. Time and time again he had to stop himself from following his desires, even as you were near enough that he could practically sense your aura.

He wondered how he could be so ridiculous, so weak, a simple interaction threatening to consume his mind each time he returned to it. But your kindness with which you spoke to him, your gentle smile, the light touch of your hand on his arm as you reassured him, it still lingered in his ears, on his skin, that sentence often being one of the only things that anchored him to the ground in the hardest moments.

“I’m so glad I know you.”

The world fell away around him as he reminisced, stone walkways turning to grass, and the crowds fading to silence, until he was simply left with you, standing across from him, that bright smile once again painted on your perfect face. It was all he had. All he knew. And though he could see it clearly as day, he feared for the time when the memory would fade, when he wouldn’t be able to recount the moment up to the last detail, when your figure would become nothing but another shadow he’d be forced to turn away from.

But what choice did he have? It was something he asked himself with every recollection. When your once daily letters had stopped, and he found through unfortunate circumstances the tight leash on which you were held, powerful parents exercising their control over a daughter desperate for freedom, he knew there was little else that could be done. Even still, the waning daylight carried with it the resolve to try. And try he did.

The last light of day illuminated the top of the large building standing before him, almost a heavenly spotlight cast over his desires, though enough to make him hesitate, if only for a moment. But it wasn’t long before all had been overshadowed by the early nighttime, the first glimmer of the stars peppering the deep blue sky.

Looking up at the once vacant balcony, he saw, finally, the single thing he’d been searching for. The sheer silver nightgown you wore did only the bare minimum to hide your figure beneath, and you stared out into the far horizon, as if searching for something precious you’d lost long ago. The moonlight reflected off of your skin, creating a halo around you as divinity does an angel, a sight of perfection standing before him.

And he stepped forward, desperation for yet another simple memory of you pushing him forward, eagerness at his heels with every rushed step he took. He called your name, hushed in a whisper that only you could hear. Shocked, you leaned forward, searching the floor for the source, and your lonely expression changed to disbelief the moment your eyes fell on him.

“Maul?” You said his name beneath a stifled breath, your voice low and gentle, hiding your happiness, yet inviting him to come to you, wrong as it might have been.

You were but a few meters away, and with little effort, he had scaled the cool stone wall, swinging himself over the ledge that separated you. And you could have protested, you had every opportunity to do so. But your body carried itself, denying the logic that might have forced you to stay away, and you found yourself in his arms, clinging to the collar of his shirt like you still didn’t believe he was real. His arms encased you, holding you tighter than his mind had held the memory of you, and he feared now that he would never be able to let go.

“You can’t be here,” you whispered against his chest, not bothering to pull away. “You could get caught, and if anyone knew you came to see me-”

“I know,” he replied simply, his words gentle hums as he placed soft kisses at the top of your head. “I had to see you. It’s been so long.”

When you raised your head, shining eyes searching his face for even a hint of regret where there was none, he wanted nothing more than to lean closer to you, to feel your beautiful lips against his. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same.

“They want me married off to someone meaningful,” you lamented, the word poison to your mouth that he would gladly drink away if asked. “Someone that will make them look good enough to the Senate for reelection. I can’t…”

As you stopped, he said nothing, only raising a hand to brush at your face, anger filling him at the thought of someone stealing you away almost immediately softened by the sight of you leaning into him, a sign that maybe, not all hope had been lost.

“Please,” you finally said, touching his wrist. “Don’t let them take me away.”

It was a simple request, one he would never dream of denying you. And it was against the better judgement that had seemed to escape the both of you that he leaned forward, lips finally touching your own, his tongue searching your mouth as you pressed against him. He could feel his pulse quicken, hearts beating at a speed they hadn’t in such a long time, every inch of him becoming warmer as his hands began roaming your ill-concealed body.

Your room was comfortable as they came, lavish furniture and ornately decorated walls meant to conceal the truth of your life all but faded to nothingness as you pulled him inside, the only hint that you were still home the feeling of the edge of the bed meeting the back of your legs. But it mattered little.

Heavy breathing filled the room, every bit of control within you fighting not to make sound as the crimson Zabrak bit and sucked at your neck, one hand lifting your leg to wrap around his waist and the other circling your breast, tracing light paths over the sensitive nipple.

“I won’t let them take you,” he growled against your skin between kisses. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine.”

You held his face, his gaze raising to meet you in response.

“Then prove it. Make me yours.”

He was back working at you in seconds, though a sense of urgency lay beneath his calm demeanor. His fingers pulled at your nightgown, which you happily tossed aside, eventually tugging at his own shirt as your hands began sliding against his chest.

His rough kisses continued, his sharp teeth moving down your chest, taking every opportunity to savor each inch of your body with his mouth. It was all you could do not to moan, and your small suppressed whines only drove him more wild. You could already feel how wet you were, ready for him to take you for himself at any moment.

“My perfect, beautiful Starlight,” he hummed, soft purrs now filling the space in the room. “Say you want me. Ask me for what you desire most.”

With effort, you managed to say, “You.” Your anticipation growing, your legs tightened, as if trying to conceal what he already knew. “I want you… I want to be yours.”

Slowly, he moved forward, kissing you gently, a stark contrast from his previous actions.

The first ridge was by far the most shocking, like a bolt of electricity being sent up your spine, the sensation causing you to instinctively clap a hand over your mouth to prevent you from crying out. Though less so, every ridge after sent waves of initial pain through you, but the almost instant pleasure that followed led you desperate for more.

You cursed under your breath, your legs completely curled around Maul’s waist, pulling him as close to you as physically possible. The first movements had you helpless, your hand doing practically nothing to hide your pleasured moans as his cock moved inside of you. And though it had been nearly no time at all, you had already begun begging for him, the initial pace only barely enough to keep you satiated.

His powerful hand held your thighs as he began pounding harder into you, his moans and calls of your name mixing with your own whines and gasps, the silent darkness now knowing only the sounds of your lover claiming you as his.

“I c-can’t…” you began, the tightening knot in your abdomen cutting your words off as Maul continued what you had asked.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Cum for me, my Starlight.”

Your release left you shaking, the feeling of both of you cumming at the same time bringing with it a euphoric relief you hadn’t before known. Your slick folds still dripping as Maul pulled away, you could barely bring yourself to move as he lowered your still trembling legs.

Even still, he lay beside you, arms at your waist as you refused to allow him to leave your side. Your breathing still quick and chest heaving, he held you to his body, the vibrations of his purrs helping to comfort the aching that lingered between your legs and the racing of your heart.

“Leave with me,” he whispered to you in the silent darkness, his forehead pressed against your own. “I can protect you. I will. I can’t bear the thought of you with another for eternity.”

“I can’t,” you said, the answer painful enough to bring you near tears. “I’d never be able to escape, you know that. They’d come looking for me.”

“Then let them.” His amber eyes shone in the shadows, the transparency of dawn held within each iris, and you knew this was no bluff. “No one would find you, not for centuries. I could take you away tomorrow night, and no one would hear from you ever again. I swear this to you.”

Even in the twilight, you could make out the faint lines of his inky tattoos, your fingers carefully following the guided paths they painted, the story that each line told making you wonder how much more there was to read. Though even then, it seemed he had given you all you needed to know.

“Find me at the last light of tomorrow,” you said finally, tears still threatening to fall, though this time from gratefulness. “I’ll be waiting.”

And when dawn came, the feeling of your touch yet again lingering on his skin, he crept away, careful not to be seen, prepared to return for you when you had asked.

No, he wasn’t one to wait. But for you, oh god, he’d wait for eternity.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Nineteen: The Embargo Line

AN: Sorry about the brief disappearance I needed to prep for a job interview and I got the job! The unemployment drought is over! Anyways, we are nearly to the end of this story, can you believe it?

Word Count: 2.1k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Twenty: The Cuban Missile Crisis 

I woke up with an acute pain in my head and the bitter of taste blood in my mouth. Letting out a shaky breath, I slowly opened my eyes and everything around me seemed to be inverted. I then realized that I was seated upside down, unbuckling myself I fell to the floor, using my hands to brace myself. I pushed myself up and looked around just as I heard a groan at the back of the jet. Flipping my head to look back I saw both Charles and Erik getting up, once Charles' eyes met mine he quickly made his way over to me.

He held his hands out to me, "Are you okay?" Charles asked softly, scanning for any injuries as I pulled myself up.

"Peachy," I answered, with a strained smile.

"Are you sure you can fight?" Charles pressed, worry clearly written on his face.

"Yes, I'm perfectly sure Charles," I replied, pushing my now messy ponytail out of my face. "Now go help the others out," I ordered lightly, pulling my hair back into a neater ponytail.

Charles nodded and flashed a small smile before he moved forward to help Hank and Moira.

Erik walked past me and lightly patted me on the back, "Nice job, Blythe," he smiled to me as he helped Alex up.

"Thanks," I groaned, massaging my neck and the back of my head.

"I read the teleporters mind," Charles prompted, as we all moved around to look out the windows at the wrecked submarine, across the beach from us with Angel, Azazel, and the other man, Riptide, standing in front. "Shaw's drawing all of the power out of his sub. He's turning himself into some kind of nuclear bomb," Charles informed, lips drawn into a thin line.

"We've got no time, the Geiger counter's going out of control!" Moira shouted, staring at the sensors and trying to make sense of them.

"All right Moira, this is what we're going to do," Charles began. "Get on the radio and send both fleet's out immediately," he ordered, and Moira went straight to work.

"I'm going in," Erik announced.

"Beast, Havok, Blythe, back him up," Charles continued and got nods back from all of us. "Erik, I can guide you through once you're in. But I need you to shut down whatever it is that's blocking me. Then we just hope to god it's not too late for me to stop him," Charles finished, looking at all of us.

"Got it," Erik nodded and turned towards the massive opening in the back where the jet had ripped apart.

The boys and I all shared a look with each other before we exited the submarine. Erik, Alex, Hank, and I all stepped out the jet, our feet finally touching the sandy beach of Cuba. Stepping out into the open, we lined up with Azazel, Riptide, and Angel as they stood in front of their submarine. The submarine was only a few hundreds yards away from our crashed jet.

We all stared down at each other. Angel fluttered her wings and flew into the air, Azazel unsheathed his two swords, and Riptide created two miniature tornadoes that hovered above his hand. Without even a slight hesitation, Alex fired an bright, red energy beam at Riptide, making him fly backwards. He smacked the submarine with a resounding thud and Azazel soon disappeared afterwards.

The battle had begun.

I let out a yelp of surprise as Azazel appeared behind me instantly swinging his sword at my neck. Luckily, I managed to jump backwards, only earning a small scratch on my neck from his sword. As Azazel lifted his other sword up into the air, Beast attacked him, stopping him from taking another swing at me. However, Azazel had another plan and quickly grabbed a hold of Alex with his red tail Hank had grabbed onto the teleporter's shoulder and all three of them were gone.

I watched as Erik ran towards the sub as I stood up. I heard the tell-tale sign of insect wings and turned just in time as Angel attacked me. Ducking and rolling I threw out my hand causing Angel to fly back. She righted herself and floated above me, just as Riptide ran out towards me.

I took a quick look around to see if I could find Angel, but she was nowhere to be seen. Well, at least I only had one person to worry about now. But, I had to move fast before he could make another one of his tornadoes and blow me away. I narrowed my eyes allowing my violet aura to flare up around my hands in a show of power, waiting for him to get a little closer.

Once he was closer, I threw sphere of violet quickly threw it at his feet, I didn't want to kill him, but unfortunately this is a war and casualties are apart of it.

The blast sent him in the air and onto his back, I charged straight at him as soon as he landed, focusing my aura into my hand I jumped up and went to land a blow on his face, but he moved out of the way, rolling next to me. He got up and grabbed a hold of my leg, easily picking me up and throwing me to the side. I was able to land on my feet and straighten myself as he made his was closer to me.

Riptide swung punches left and right and I easily dodged them, sending him a few of my own. I had to rely on my hand to hand training that Erik taught me to get me through this as it was too dangerous to try and use my powers as I too could get hurt if I tried to use another telekinetic blast. Though I would never admit it to Erik because I don't want to inflate his already large ego, but I'm very grateful for my training with him for if I hadn't had any, I would have easily been done for.

Riptide went to hit my side and I slid down under him, pushing him from behind so that he'd fall on his stomach. I took this time to send a disk of energy and throw it at a Palm tree in front of us, causing it to fall down towards us. I quickly moved out of the way so that the tree would only hit Riptide, and it completed its purpose of successfully knocking Riptide out.

I looked up at the sound of Sean's shrieking and saw him falling down towards me with none other than Alex hanging onto his arm. Although I was very happy to see that they were mostly unharmed, I was more worried that they were about to land right on me at the moment to be glad to see them. Sean seemed to have one of his wings burned so he had to resort to a crash landing. I held out my hand using my hands to slow their fall, but they were coming too hot and just as I predicted, they landed right on top me.

I let out a groan as Alex's weight was pushed onto me, not gently what-so-ever at that. Sean had landed a little bit away from us, thankfully not on me as well, as Alex had.

Alex got off from on top of me, "Thanks for the help,"

"I try," I joked, as he moved to help me up.

I looked up to see Angel coming straight for us. I quickly maneuvered us and shot bolt towards her before she can reach us, sending her off course. Angel spat acid at me and it ended up hitting my leg, causing me to cry out in pain. Alex whipped around towards Angel and fired a beam in her direction, finishing what I had started, slicing off one of her bottom wings. Flipping around out of control Angel crashed to the ground with a shout, but she was still breathing.

"We work pretty well together don't we," I smirked up at him, ignoring my pained leg with the help of the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I could hear Sean laughing from the side with relief after seeing Angel land on the ground with a thud after Alex shot her down. Alex helped put out the small flames on my leg while Sean tore away his ruined wing right.

My eye went to Alex's chest and I noticed that his plate was gone, "What happened to your chest plate?" I asked, amazed that he had been able to fire at Angel even without it.

"Angel got a hold of it," he answered gruffly, sounding very displeased as helped me to my feet.

I couldn't help but smile and laugh until a sudden, a sharp, searing pain entered my head. I collapsed to my knees, kneeling in the sand, clutching my hands to my head tightly. My screams grew louder as the pain grew stronger. It felt like something was being pushed through my skull. My screams grew louder and louder as I felt a small object float through my entire skull, it felt like my brain was being ripped right through. It had lasted for only for moment.

But it easily felt like an eternity.

"Claudia? Claudia!" someone was shaking me. "Are you alright? What's going on? What's happening?"

I blinked multiple time as my vision was blurred from the invisible pain before I was finally able to focus on Alex and Sean. The horror was over, but I still clutched my head as I still felt the lingering pain of whatever just tore through my skull. I was at a lost of words, I had no idea what had just happened.

"I don't-I-" I stammered, looking around of what could cause that amount of excruciating pain. "H-Help me up," I breathed out, and Alex and Sean quickly obliged, putting each of their arms around my waist to lift me off the ground.

My mind was clearing up, but the residual mind splitting pain was faintly pulsating in my head. As I recollected my thoughts I mentally did a headcount of everyone on the beach through their emotions. Something wasn't adding up, everyone on the team seemed a little worse for wear, but otherwise fine. Hell, even in Shaw's team were battered themselves...wait a minute.

What about Shaw himself?

"Holy shit...it's Shaw," I gasped, when it hit me not realizing that Raven and Hank were now with Sean, Alex, and I. "He's-" I started, but couldn't the finish the sentence.

The loud sound of metal creaking pierced through the air, looking over to the submarine my eyes widened to the size of saucers at the sight before me. Shaw's corpse was floating in the air, with Erik himself emerging right behind him now wearing Shaw's helmet.

"Today our fighting stops!" Erik shouted, as he levitated Shaw even higher. All of us, including Shaw's team, started walking towards him slowly. As we got closer I could see a line of blood on Shaw's forehead right as Erik let go and he fell to the ground with a sickening crush in front of us making me wince. Slowly, he descended to the ground, looking around at us. "Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters. The real enemy is out there," he pointed to where the ships of the USSR and the US were. "I feel their gun moving in the water; their metal targeting us. Americans, Soviets, Humans!" He spat out the last word in disgust, as both Charles and Moira appeared, walking up to join him by the water.

"United in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!" Erik looked over towards Charles and I, he was walking alongside him out to the shore. "Go ahead Charles, Claudia tell me I'm wrong,"

Charles narrowed his eyes at Erik, but reluctantly raised two fingers up to his temple. While I also looked to the water, probing out to sense what emotions were running through the heads of the men on the ships and sadly I felt it. I felt the ships running together and if I concentrated more I could feel the guns turning towards us.

"He's not," I whispered and felt all, Alex's, Sean's, Hank's, and Raven's eyes look to me and then to Charles.

Charles, who slowly lowered his fingers, looked to Moira and nodded. Quickly she took off to the jet, to call off the attack or something. We waited, staring out at the ships when I felt a shift in the air and automatically let out an audible gasp as missiles from every ship fired heading straight for the beach.

We would all be dead.

Chapter Twenty-One: Whose Side Are You On?

[dreamingofscully]

Gold and Silver

Rating: PG/Teen and up Words: 1355 Summary: Scully does something spontaneous to honor her sister’s memory. (Timing-wise, this is set post-D.P.O. but the episode is not referenced.)

@xfilesfanficexchange Dialogue Exchange 2021 for @baronessblixen  💞 

Thank you to @ceruleanmilieu for the beta!!

Reposting this on tumblr for those that missed the exchange/ao3 post and to have it on my blog. Read on ao3!

***

A few years ago, what seemed a lifetime now, Missy dragged her to a piercing shop. To commemorate the start of a new journey. New people to meet, old ones to leave in the past. Her sister went first, laying on the table with her loose button-up held beneath her breasts. Wide smile. Long wavy hair splayed out in a coppery halo, tinged even brighter from the shop’s red neon lights. Serenity in her eyes while the tattooed shaggy-haired owner leaned over her with the clamp and needle. Springing off to admire herself in the mirror when it was done.

“Your turn,” Missy said. Daring her but not pushing.

But, it had been one rebellion too many for Dana. After all, she hadn’t agreed, only said she would think about it. She backed out. Turned away from the look of resignation in her sister’s eyes. She wasn’t sure what was worse: letting Missy down or knowing she was so predictable. Placing the silver ring back on the shelf, she eyed the gold one that sparkled at her sister’s midsection. Missy’s disappointment was short-lived, smiling brightly and laughing as she linked her arm with Dana’s when they left the shop.

At the recollection, she was thrust back further, a memory within a memory. Back to middle school when she worshiped her sister in the haze of early adolescence. When she wanted nothing more than to be her, to escape her constant prison of worry and expectation. To be more than the ‘stick-in-the-mud’ that frowned when others broke the rules. When, despite their differences, they were a united front. Sharers and keepers of each other’s secrets.

It was a rare mistake, something that never happened when Ahab was home. Bedsheets folded imperfectly, mattress lifted. The cigarettes were discovered there. Dana’s bed, but surely they did not belong to her. Missy winked and held her finger to her mouth. She’d take the blame, let her parents believe Dana was still the perfect daughter while Missy grew freer and wilder with each punishment.

Once Dana reached college, she succumbed to her parents’ and her own expectations. She saw her sister in a new light. Reckless. No focus. Underachiever. Missy could have whatever she wanted, being equally smart and much wiser, if only she started following the rules. They drifted apart. Study and medicine and eventually, the X-Files and Mulder, consumed her life. Thoughts of her past, time with her family, reserved only for memories and holidays.

“And this is what you want?”

The bored shopkeeper’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. She was almost surprised to see the woman with short-cropped hair and long bubble-gum pink acrylic nails instead of the tattooed, shaggy-haired man who pierced Missy. The urge to find another place came and went. She knew if she didn’t take this moment and run with it, she would talk herself out of it. Practical Dana would take over, and right now she wanted to be as far away from that person as she could.

Dana handed the woman the gold ring she held before she could change her mind.

The shopkeeper nodded and gestured to a curtained area at the back of the shop. While she gathered her tools, Dana pulled back the curtain and untucked her blouse.

She stared in the mirror, framed with white instead of red. It felt like remembering a different person: the girl who shared a closeness with her sister she would never get back. Now, a woman with pale and powdered skin, instead of a scattering of endless freckles. Slender with fuller breasts. A sleek bob instead of wild curls. Not much taller though. The girl she was and woman she strived to be versus the woman she became. Miles apart.

The curtain rattled as it closed around her. Dana laid on the cot and lifted her shirt. The cool wipe of an alcohol pad. The clamp on her skin. The anticipation of sharp pain, a shared experience. Another shared secret.

The chime of the door to the studio and a familiar voice. “Scully?”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

Shuffling, something crashing to the floor, a muffled curse. The shopkeep tensed her shoulders and let out an aggravated sigh, then leaned forward. Dana held in her breath and let it out slowly.

Too quick, it was done. Not nearly painful enough, not to drown out her thoughts. Blood-covered floor. Her sister’s head wrapped like a mummy, still and quiet. Antiseptic instead of patchouli. The dread and hopelessness of never being able to take back a terrible decision.

Mulder was busy stacking boxes back on a shelf when she emerged from the alcove behind the curtain. He regarded her curiously, but she ignored him. She paid in cash, a large denomination and generous tip, fingering the few coins she held in her wallet as she placed it back in her purse. Brushed past Mulder without a word, into the noise and bustle of the mall.

“So…”

She turned towards him, raising her eyebrow. Checked her watch; too much time left. They walked towards the exit anyway, back to the airport and back to her life. He was quiet, had been like this ever since Missy passed. Shrunken down, like he wanted to disappear, despite his gangly legs and tall frame overwhelming her view whenever she looked outwards. He waited and watched.

It had been her suggestion of an outing. Prompted by restlessness and a three-hour layover in Atlanta, she caught the sign advertising a nearby mall. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but she spun around and headed for the exit before he could respond, her heels clicking on the concourse tile. He hounded behind her, too far away to rest his hand on her back.

They caught a cab, ate greasy Chinese in the food court. She wandered away while he was in a joke shop, chucking to himself at funny t-shirts and keyrings. Found herself at ‘Misty’s Piercings’. A sign? Maybe. She snatched at the thought, held it close, hoping that somewhere her sister was looking down on her. That it was Missy making the decisions, instead of herself.

Well, it was done. Whether it had been her or Missy who’d guided her path today.

The stifling humidity of an Atlantan summer tore the breath from her lungs as they stepped out of the air conditioning of the mall.

“What’d you get done?” Mulder bounced on his feet, his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“Navel piercing.”

His eyes widened and he smiled broadly at her. “Can I see?”

“Later.”

He waggled his eyebrows and she dipped her head, feeling warmth rise from her chest to color her cheeks. The butterflies she felt when he looked at her like that were short-lived nowadays. Darkness squeezed at her heart, every second thought of her sister. She remembered the last time she’d talked to her about Mulder.

‘Just do something, Danes, he’s crazy about you,’ she’d said. Dana doubted it then, doubted it now. But the way he looked at her sometimes, especially now. The warmth of his body next to hers, just a bit too close to be professional.

She slid into the seat of the cab they hailed and squeezed as far to her side as she could. Mulder crawled in next to her, knees practically pressed to his chest. Her fingers itched to reach out and swipe the stray lock of hair that covered his forehead. To lean her head against his arm, solid and real. It would be so easy.

She shook her head, gazing out the window as they drove past yet another strange cityscape.

It didn’t matter. She had a duty, even stronger now. She needed answers, her mother needed answers. Missy deserved them. She needed Mulder focused on this quest instead of herself. If it was even possible that he’d notice her in that way.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, imagining she could link her arms with her sister again. Keep their connection alive. Live two lives, for the one that was lost.

One life, one chance. She would not waste it.

[drariellevalentine]

Can you write a one-shot about mc dealing with ptsd of the attack and Ethan struggles watching her. There are fics on this topic and I want it hear from your words too💗💗

Awwwwww! Thank you, that’s really sweet!

Ookay... I turned this into a headcanon so let’s see how this goes!

Dealing with the Aftermath

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

After Arielle is cleared to go home, Ethan takes Arielle to his apartment.

Arielle doesn’t say anything the whole ride, keeping to herself. Ethan doesn’t engage in conversation either, only makes small gestures to make sure she’s comfortable and takes extra measures to make sure she isn’t triggered.

After they arrive home, Ethan breaks the silence by asking Arielle if she wants to go to the memorial.

“I want to go, Ethan. But I don’t have the proper attire and the last thing I want to do is dishonour them. But you should go.”

Ethan nods and makes her a bath and after helping her settle in, he checks his phone. There’s still a few hours until the memorial. He sends Sienna a few texts, explaining her situation. The two had become quite close during the incident.

Sienna says that she’ll stop by and bring her a dress.

He then checks on Arielle to find her having a panic attack. Ethan quickly wraps her up in a towel and manages to calm her down. Arielle’s wall crumble as she falls into his arms, all the pent up emotions inside of her finally escape.

“Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is their faces. Maybe if I had waited one second, and not have rushed inside they still might have been here, Ethan. And for that, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”

Ethan assures her as much as possible, at the same time reassuring himself that she’s in his arms and not anywhere else. Arielle finally managed to calm down and decides to watch a movie to distract herself.

Ethan is about to join her when his phone rings. He releases it’s Naveen. He answers the phone, telling him about his daughter’s current state. But what Naveen says surprises him.

“Ethan, I called you to check on you. I know Sunshine will get through this as she’s a strong woman and surrounded my many people who cherish her.”

“What about me? I’m fine.”

“Ethan, I may be old but I’m certainly not blind, nor a fool. I can see how much you care about her and how much it affected you to see her like that.”

“I-

“Sunshine is someone who is very important in all of our lives but don’t tell me she’s only a friend or a mentee.”

“...you’re right.”

Naveen is very happy his mentee finally has come to a realisation about his feelings and happily cuts the call.

Ethan knows that he’ll have to confront his feelings about her someday, but right now she needs him and that’s the most important thing for him.

Ethan and Arielle watch a movie until it’s time for Ethan to leave for the memorial.

Ethan gets ready while Arielle goes back to bed for a nap, not knowing what Ethan did. The doorbell rings, revealing Sienna with a bag. Ethan gives the two women some privacy and tells them he’s be waiting downstairs.

The two women finally meet Ethan downstairs after almost an hour. Despite their elegant black dresses and nearly done hair and makeup, he can see their tear-stained faces. The trio ride in silence to the memorial, Arielle sitting in the front with her head on Ethan’s shoulder.

The memorial goes by so slow, yet so quickly. The gang as soon as they spot each other all start crying, holding each other as they reminisce about past memories. The service was bittersweet, everyone sharing their most precious stories in hope to lighten the grief.

The reception is more jovial as everyone recollects the happy moments with the two beloved heroes.

After Arielle and Ethan’s night in his car, they go back to his apartment. Arielle has similar episodes, but has Ethan there to help her through her grief.

A few days later, Arielle goes back to her apartment as Sienna is alone. The two work through their grief with Hallmark movies, pints of icecream, yoga and morning workouts.

Ethan takes the liberty of scheduling a therapist for a few weeks for both of them.Every Monday and Friday, Ethan takes her and drops her back at her apartment, sometimes spending the night. Soon Sienna is cleared to go back to the hospital leaving Arielle all alone.

Arielle wakes up the next morning expecting to stay home all day. Then Farley arrives with a bouquet of flowers, and a surprising rash of his forearm. Deciding that she can’t stay idle anymore, Arielle decides she’s going to the hospital no matter what, even when a part of her isn’t ready to face her fears.

Author’s Note:- Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed this mess of a headcanon, it’s my first one so I apologise if it doesn’t measure up to my usual writing! Hopefully, my next one will be much better! It’s fluff so...

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Xoxo,

@drariellevalentine