#or at least normal in the vein of what I was taught was normal growing up

[neganium]

Things I dream of constantly (mostly regarding a house that I'll probably never get to own):

A spacious walk-closet.

My own bathroom.

A big-ass bedroom, or a bedroom and a sizeable, connected office-type room, with walls that I can paint (a nice, pale purple, with some cream accents, maybe).

Big round furry rug in an open space on the floor.

Cleaning materials, like vacuums and shit. If I'm gonna start being clean, it better be fuckin' as easy as possible.

U-shaped desk with actual depth, and not built like it was made of fuckin' sticks or smth. I want all my shit to fit onto it, with room to spare.

Nice desk chair with foot rest; I feel like I actually need smth like that.

Desk mat. I saw one on Etsy once that was themed around fat, round cartoon frogs in a lily pond! <3

U know what, make that multiple desk mats, and a rotating selection of mousepads, too.

Ourple keyboard..........

Ourple mouse, too. They don't make those in ergonomic shapes, tho... and most of them are shitty wireless battery-powered fucks, or else the most expensive thing you ever saw. Or both, in the case of Logitech. Like, they're good mice, but wireless and battery-operated, not even plug in to recharge, tiny as fuck, and for that price??

Screen tablet. Also multiple monitors. I work better with distractions.

Nice speakers. Also nice headphones and/or earbuds. Headphones do sound better, but they hurt my ears bc they press against the arms of my glasses while I'm wearing them...

Purely indulgent, but microphone. I want to branch out some.

Reinforced floors. I cannot emphasize this enough. Our floors are fuckin' sagging, and it's making some of our furniture lean in a little, which can be very dangerous for tall things. Not to mention, they're also a bit wobbly.

Big, deep windowsills, set in nice, thick walls. Partially bc I love having extra space to put decorative shit, and partially bc gun violence is a real concern in this country; I don't want one of us to get got bc of paper-thin walls in a spontaneous drive-by peppering by way of car chase. (This fear is brought to you by an old anecdote that's floating around Tumblr somewhere.)

Single story. We're tired of fuckin' stairs; my mom and her cat are both too old for it, and my knees are pretty fucked from when I used to sit on the floor before I had actual chairs to watch TV in.

Full-sized bed with nice clean sheets and a downy comforter, complete with one of those fluffy, colorful duvets I see sometimes when I windowshop on Amazon.

Curtains. Love of god, I miss having curtains; I want different ones that I can cycle in and out with the seasons, too...

Mudroom. More than one, ideally. We need a place to hang wet raincoats and place muddy boots. I'd also like boots.

Shoes! Multiple pairs and kinds of shoes. Not heels or any shit like that, but just nice, workable shoes. Especially something a little more weather resistant, and some good house slippers with grippy soles.

An entire new wardrobe full of clothes that comfortably fit my weird, round, bloated stomach, suiting whatever aesthetic I may be feeling that day without looking like shit. I ain't shaped right, y'all.

[edgeray]

Peruere is a Person.

Inspired by my blurb series, "Arlecchino is a Person."

A/N - I did not write this. This was written by my wonderful friend @myfriendscallmebun. However, she didn't want to post it on her blog, so I'm posting it for her. All I did was some minor editing a little bit but almost every single word (minus like 2 or 3 words) was written by her. Every single like, comment, or reblog on this post is for her. I claim no ownership over this piece.

Arlecchino is not a person.

The Knave, Arlecchino, Father of the House of the Hearth, Fourth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers is not a person: she is a personification of lies and deceit spread amongst the populace, a conglomeration of exaggerated half-truths spread by veteran Fatui to scare the new recruits. Made of misconceptions and inferred information that paints a picture of a crazed and ruthless assassin–a wolf in sheep's clothing in essence; a bloodthirsty and manipulative patriarch whose tongue draws as much blood as the blade she so rarely uses. 

She’s a woman whose title alone carries a reputation that paralyzes opponents who catch just a whisper of her name. A woman whose flames scorch at the heels of those who were frozen in place by her ice cold presence alone. Arlecchino is a name that has people moving aside to let her pass by, a name that mothers hear and pull their children back into the houses from. She’s everything they say: a boogeyman–an icy breath you feel down your neck in your last waking moments, the shadows lurking around corners when you least expect; the thin veneer of an aloof diplomat that barely conceals the true mania beneath its surface. Arlecchino is at once everything she is made out to be, and nothing at all. Because Arlecchino is not a person, nor has she ever been.

Peruere is a person. She’s a woman, about 30 years old and 5’7”, although you wouldn’t realize it because she’s always wearing heels. She’s a woman who took on a title and responsibility far too young, a woman who was thrust into adulthood and the brutal world of the Fatui too early. She’s a woman who keeps few friends, and keeps her own children at an arm's length. She’s someone who has seen those around her–friend, ally, foe, and bystanders–be scorched and burned away to ash by her own hands. 

She’s someone who keeps her kids on a tight leash and strict discipline regiment, but the leash she keeps on herself is tighter. She allows her children to reprieve from the rules every now and then–turning a blind eye when they take a cookie before dinner, allowing them to keep a lizard they found as a pet for a while–but she does not afford herself the same. She’s harsh on herself, keeping every moment of her day regimented and as strict as the schedule she had growing up. Her children will live and experience far better than what she had, but she will still silently carry the burden of that time with her. 

Peruere is a person who is willing to look Dottore in the eyes–a man who she has watched take away what remaining, broken and mangled siblings she had, and knew full well what would be happening to them once they left with him- she is willing to look him in the eyes and allow him to experiment with her, with the balemoon bloodfire that curses her veins, on the hope that something good may come of it, something that can help her children.

She’s a woman who loves her kids, no matter how she can’t seem to show it. She’s a woman whose affection lies in the unspoken words behind what she actually says. 

“You’re home late.” (“I was worried about you.”) 

“Impulsiveness leads to failure.” (“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”)

“Your defense was weak, I know I’ve taught you better.” (“I cannot bear to lose another child out in the field. Please.”) 

Peruere is a woman who in some deep, dark part of her chest that she doesn’t like to acknowledge, allows herself to yearn for normality. She stares out her windows at the crowds of pedestrians and citizens making their way through the streets of Fontaine, “People-watching is a rather pleasant activity, in my opinion.” (“I would join them, if they would allow me.”) 

Peruere is a person who allows others to dictate what she should be–she allows the rumors and misconceptions to run freely amongst those who dare utter her name, even adding fuel to the metaphorical fire by being sure to live up to the reputation others have created for her. She allows her image to be muddy, full of contradictions and mistruths, and more than some mixing-ins of her predecessor. “It’s beneficial,” she says. (“It’s easier to be what people expect you to be, than to be yourself.”) 

Peruere is a person, even despite her best attempts to hide it.

[satrs]

ᴅᴇᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ!

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; you're interested in your mayjor professor? What a scandal.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 2.3k

Tags; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI!. age gap(reader in early 20's aki in late 30's). bit exhibitionism(risky). nicknames(sir, slut, good girl). Breeding kink. Unprotected sex.

ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ 18+!

It was one day, when you got introduced to your new major professor for your semester, and boom- you had a crush. A big one at that.

You just found everything about him enthralling, from his little ponytail to his stoic expressions and serious manner. But it was his mysterious private life that got you going.

Normally, some of your previous professors would at least be a bit open about their private lives, mentioning their kids or wives- but him? Nothing.

He came, taught his classes, and went on his merry way. It frustrated you. You wanted to know more about him, did he have a wife? Hopefully not. Or kids? You were good with kids, to be honest.

What was his type in women? Petite ones? Shy? Or was he a votary of the body? Voluptuous? Or did he prefer slim women?

You had an urgent need to know, to know what the likelihood of him being drawn to you would be. It was not like you wanted to build up a life with him- a good fuck would be satisfactory.

"Miss Y/N? If you're not paying attention to my teaching, you are free to leave this classroom."

Mr. Hayakawa's voice lets your hair stand on end, drawing your attention back to him at the very front of the class. Everyone turned their heads in your direction, non-readable expressions on their faces.

You were embarrassed. This was the second time, in one day that you got a warning from the one teacher you were trying to get into your panties.

Very well done Y/N. He must think you're some impolite brat, still stuck in your high school years. Chance blown.

"I-I'm sorry, it won't happen again", you mumbled under your breath while averting your gaze from your class, hoping they would soon recover their attention back to his teachings.

But his resistant gaze never wavered, piercing your skull. His eyes soon lifted, leaving a sour expression on his face.

Your heart was beating in your chest, hands growing sweaty the more you fumbled with the end of your pitiful short skirt.

His eyes quickly flickered to where your hands were, quickly swallowing the lump in his throat as he caught the sight of your plush tighs. Damned be those short dresses, and you unconsciously winding it up didn't help him at all.

His sense holding his thoughts by a thread, he returned his gaze to your face, "You should come to me after class. We should discuss your behavior to prevent future inconveniences."

Your breath hitched, fingers tightly gripping your skirt in anticipation and embarrassment, "Yes sir."

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as the bell rang, signaling the end of this lesson. You saw Mister Hayakawa clean the chalkboard, doing some things on his table after.

You sat on your chair, glued, unable to stand up or move, eyes inspecting your professor's movements.

More and more of your classmate left the room, the atmosphere growing more quiet with every student disappearing.

Soon, you felt your professor's blue eyes bore through yours. He motioned you to move him to the front with his index and middle finger, returning to doing something on his documents.

You gathered all your courage and stood up, making your way to the front. With every step you took, you felt excitement rushing through your veins, his attention soon on you as you stood on the opposite of where he was seated.

He rested his chin on his open palm, eyeing you up and down. Did he... just look at your skirt? Oh my god, he's still looking.

"The dress code of this University clearly states to wear the skirt over the knees, not thighs." You felt your face heat up at his comment, quickly mumbling endless apologies, and adjusting your skirt correctly.

His eyes now flew to your blouse, "Your blouse it's not how it's supposed to be, is it?"

This was the worst and best day of your life at the same time. Yes, you did get humiliated in front of your class and crush, but it was your crush who we're talking about right now.

Hands flying to your blouse to fully close the buttons, his voice made you halt your movements and glance at him through your lashes.

"Do you think I'm some dumb fuck? I know what you're doing, miss Y/N."

You bit the inside of your cheek, slyly looking anywhere but at him, "I don't know what you're talking about sir."

He let out a pity laugh at your answer, telling you to take a seat in front of him. He stood up, walking around the table until he stood right next to you, eyes glaring down at your form.

"Your skirt is always rilled up so high, blouse barely buttoned up," his fingers made contact with the wooden table, your eyes following the way his fingers neared you.

"I don't mind. I'm flattered, really.", his hand was mere inches from your face, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, "but do you know what I do mind?"

You were completely at his mercy, unable to protest nor look him in the eye. "N-no sir, I don't."

His movements stopped, hand softly taking hold of your chin, making your eyes meet his tempting ones. His gaze flickered between your eyes and mouth, unable to find rest in just one feature.

"Being rock hard during lessons because of your dirty little antics."

Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes slowly lowering to look at his pants, the imprint of his aching length visible through the fabric.

As he noticed where your eyes were fixated on, his hand slid down to the back of your neck, thumb sensually brushing it. "Be a good girl and help me out, yeah?"

You nodded and complied, hands making quick work to undo the belt on his pants, placing yourself on your knees before him while looking up at him with those eyes of yours.

Fuck, he was about to lose it. If you would continue looking at him like that, he would take you right there and then on this table. Your professor's mouth was slightly agape as you undid the last piece of his clothing, cock springing free.

You were quick to open your mouth and close it around his leaking tip. The feral growl he let out made you clench your thighs together, eager to hear more of him.

Your tongue flicked over his sensitive tip, causing the man above you to slightly hiss at your action. "Quit the teasing naughty girl. We don't got that much time."

His reminder caused you to speed up the bopping of your head, hand stroking what your mouth couldn't take in any more. His tip repeatedly hit the back of your throat, causing low moans to erupt from his lungs and you to choke around his length.

He soon was growing impatient, hand taking a firm hold of your hair, nails scraping your scalp. Your professor moved your head to a speed of his liking, throwing his head back as he steadied himself on the desk with his other hand.

And as he looked down at your form, tears welling at your eyes and brows frowning in concentration, he was about to burst right then and there. "Shit, you never look so concentrated in my lessons. What a dirty little slut."

Your mind was filled with pleasure, desperate for the man above you. You tore your mouth from his length, looking up at him with a desperate look on your face. "For you. Only for you professor. Please, I need you in me. Now."

Fuck. You'll be the death of him. His breathing was ragged, taking a glance at the clock while his chest heaved up and down from your actions. Only 25 more minutes before his new class came in. The both of you would need to be quick, or he would lose his job and you, your scholarship if anyone were to walk in on you both in such a scandalous act.

His eyes returned to your face, motioning you to get up to your feet. "We need to be quick alright?" You nodded quickly, understanding his intentions as you jumped onto his desk, quick to spread your legs.

He stood right between them, admiring your state for a second. Hair out of place and face completely drenched in utter desire- for him. Oh how long he had longed to have you like this. He could finally touch those thighs he always gawked at, the panties he only always caught a glips off now fully laid on display for him.

His hand was quick to lift your thigh, his still hard tip coming in contact with your aching clit in the process, causing you to let out a desperate mewl.

He cursed under his breath at the feeling, hand squeezing your thigh lightly.

He knew that he shouldn't do this-hell, the both of you knew. But this was what the both of you longed for for so so long. And now that you and he were able to give into your sinful thoughts and make them a reality, you couldn't find the strength to think about right and wrong.

His eyes were fixated between your legs, wet puddle on your panties, the outline of your glistening pussy visible through the thin fabric.

"Sir." your voice made him look up at you, eyes hanging low in pleasure. "Please." That was all it took him to slide your panties to the side, taking in the view of your aching heat, motioning his tip through your folds.

You bit your lip at the feeling, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you threw your head back at the feeling of his cock against your desperate cunt.

"Oh fuck.", he muttered, eyes closed as he pushed his cock into your warm heat, walls wrapping tightly around him as he bottomed out. "So fucking tight. Should've done this- fuck! earlier."

His hips began to move at a steady pace, his hand tightly gripping your thigh while his other hand was occupied with the bottom of your blouse, tearing it down before foundling your breasts.

You failed at the attempt of hiding your moans of pleasure, loud whines, and mewls filling the classroom alongside the slapping of skin.

"So good! s' so good!" you were a mess. Hair disheveled and face a complete filth sight: drool escaping the sides of your mouth while your tongue threatened to hang out of your mouth.

„Good, huh? Who‘s making this filthy pussy feel good?“ the man above you questioned, still hitting every spot imaginable inside of you, walls molding around his cock. The hand on your thigh placed a stinging slap on it, causing you to yelp in its grasp.

„You sir. Only you.“ Your legs began to betray you, turning into jelly as your trembling body reached its limit. Your orgasm hit you in an intense wave, causing you to bite into your hand in an attempt to muffle your loud moans. „Fuckfuckfuck!“

The relentless pounding of the dark-haired male soon began to flatter, him also nearing his orgasm with every clench of your tight and desperate cunt, longing to milk him dry. „I‘m gonna cum inside you yeah pretty? Make a mess in you, stuff you full.

You whined in response, overstimulated cunt grabbing his throbbing cock like a vice. „Yes sir! Please fill me up. ‚Want it so bad!“ That was all it took, your whiny voice, desperate look, and the hold you had around his neck, mere inches apart from his lips as you desperately rutted your hips into his. „Fuck.“

His head flew into your neck, biting down onto it, not too hard, but intense enough for you to hiss at the feeling. His movements halted and you felt his hot fluid paint your walls, a satisfying sigh escaping from the both of you.

He stayed like that for a brief minute, the both of you coming down from your intense orgasms. Your grip on his shoulders eased, and heavy breathing soon calmed down.

You felt his hot breath against your neck, a tingling sensation rushing through your body at the feeling. He lifted his head, eyes landing on the clock behind you as he cursed under his breath, emptiness filling your body as he slid out of you, some of his cum decorating your folds in a glistening white color.

He retreated into his pants, clearing his throat in an attempt to catch your attention. „Fix up pretty girl. Or do you want your classmates to see you like this?“ You jumped to your feet in fear at his words, quickly wiggling yourself back into your panties and speeding up your movements as you heard the sound of the bell, signaling the next lesson incoming.

The sound of people approaching and chattering filled your ears, looking at your professor in hectic as you adjusted your skirt and hair. He only lazily smirked at you, straightening the wrinkles of his shirt. „You got lessons too, right? You better hurry, don‘t wanna come in late right?“

You were shocked by his smirk and unbothered statement, pursing your lips together as you grabbed your stuff, ready to leave the room. The first students already came in, barely acknowledging you- to your luck.

„Miss Y/N.“ The sound of your name made you turn on your heels, looking at the man behind you. His gaze was fixated on your blouse, a light bite mark from his previous actions still visible. Your eyes wandered to where his eyes where pupils widening in realization as you quickly bottomed up your blouse to hide the mark he left on your delicate skin.

„We should discuss your current grade later. Please meet me after your last lesson. I think there‘s a need for an adjustment.“

©︎𝐊-𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐒. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[duskyashe]

CAMP NANO DAY 5

[First] [Previous] [Next] [AO3]

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Phantom gestured her and Jason closer as he stood up from his spot midair. "First things first, I need to ask you both a few clarifying questions, and please answer as truthfully as possible without risking your alternate identities, I'm trying to figure out your species, not your names," he said, voice echoing slightly just like the last time she'd heard him.

"I thought you already knew what we were," she snarked before she could think better about it, her mask's modulator making her voice sound darker and more raspy while she ditched most of her natural Bowery accent, instead speaking with an accent more reminiscent of Bristol natives than anything else. She'd blame her friendship with Tim for that, but honestly, she got a kick out of learning and mimicking all the various Gotham accents, then throwing them at her victims after she got the drop on them.

Phantom just shook his head with a small smile. "I'm only about ninety-seven percent sure I'm correct about the two of you, which is a lot, but I want to be at least ninety-nine percent sure before we go any further. This is for both your safety and for my reputation. It can be really dangerous to treat one being like someone from a species not their own, dangerous for everyone involved, and it doesn't reflect well on me if I don't do my due diligence in making sure I'm teaching you the things that will actually help you grow and improve as the beings and entities you are. It also doesn't reflect well on the beings that taught me if I don't do my due diligence, and I really respect my tutors, and I really respect you guys, so I'm going to do my due diligence. Does that make sense?"

She and Jason shared a quick look, exchanging rapid quick signs just out of Phantom's view, before Jay responded. "Yes, that seems acceptable. Who would you like to question first?"

Steph had to admit, every time she heard Jay's Condor voice, she snickered slightly in her head. He'd very carefully designed Condor's vocal patterns and responses, as well as the voice modulator that he'd installed in his own mask, so that Condor was as audibly distinct from Jason's normal speech as possible without sounding outlandish, but hearing such highbrow vocabulary from Jason outside of dramatic readings of his favorite books would never not be funny to her. She did applaud his use of vocal layering technology, though, the effect was intense.

"I figured I'd start with Starling, if you don't mind?"

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"— and then he started asking his questions. Have I ever gotten a really horrible migraine that started dying down after I screamed? Have I ever screamed while working on a case and suddenly all the information clicked together? Have I ever met someone whose vibes just did not mesh with what I was expecting? Stuff like that. After a bunch of questions along that vein, Phantom just nodded thoughtfully before grinning and saying, I kid you not, "Congratulations, it's a banshee!" The kid is hilarious, I'm telling you," she finished with a grin.

Jay nodded and added his own two cents. "He then turned to me and started a similar Q&A, though the questions were very different. Have I ever died and mysteriously come back to life? Has my relationship with fire been different since I came back to life? Different how? Have I ever felt the urge to vocalize my emotions, and if so, did anyone within hearing range start to exhibit similar emotions? He concluded that with a triumphant smile and declared me a phoenix."

They were all sitting around the debrief table in the Batcave after everyone had returned for the night. B had started the nightly debrief like always, starting with Dick and working his way down the ages, but tonight he'd saved hers and Jason's reports for last. While her brain was feeling more than a little stuffed full with everything she'd learned by the rooftop shrine, both about herself and about Jason, she couldn't deny she was excited to share it all with her family, her clan.

Tim let out a small noise before leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. He looked back and forth between her and Jay for a quick moment before settling his gaze on their older brother. "Phoenixes in mythology are said to be immortal birds made of fire, is that true? How does that affect you?"

Jay nodded with a smirk. "Oh, that's actually kinda cool, so phoenixes have regular burning days that basically reset them back to their prime. Each Phoenix has a different burning day interval, some have five year intervals while others have ten, twelve, or even fifteen year intervals, but until they have their first burning day after their initial revival, most orphan phoenixes actually think they're something else, like maybe a hell hound, or even the apparently notorious phoenix mimics known simply as firebirds. If a phoenix gets injured severely enough between burning days, they can force an early burning day, though apparently those are more intense and take longer to physically recover from than the regular burning days. Any injuries, up to and including scars, that a phoenix acquires between burning days will be gone after the next burning day, too, so that's pretty awesome, too."

"Okay wait," Duke said, waving a hand slightly. "Hold on. One of the questions Phantom asked you was about your relationship with fire, could you explain more about that, please?"

Steph and Jay shared grins. "Fire doesn't burn me anymore. I technically have pyrokinesis, and eventually I'll be able to pull my little "appearing out of a fireball" shtick for real," he said.

"Yeah, and he can express and share his emotions through specific sounds that apparently sound like bird songs and calls. Apparently it's a key form of communication for phoenixes, and it can be damaging to their mental health to go for too long without doing so, so Phantom said to let everyone know to expect some random fluctuations in emotions while Jay gets used to actually following his instinctual need to connect with us in that way," Steph added, bumping shoulders with Jay in a show of support.

B nodded in thought before gazing knowingly at the two of them. "I notice a lot of emphasis has been placed on Jason's phoenix status, but what about your banshee status, Stephanie? What can you tell us about that?"

She grinned as Jason trilled in excitement. "Oh, can I explain this bit?" He asked her, and she waved him on. "Turns out a lot of myths and folklore about the fae, the Seelie and Unseelie courts, are wildly out of date. There's been peace between both courts for centuries now, their governing systems are both complex and extremely easy to understand, and they have agreements on how to deal with humans and others who have offended them in one way or another. Banshees, who have pretty much always been associated with the Unseelie court, are basically fae PIs. They have an instinctual knowledge of the beings and entities around them and can tell if someone is human or not based on their aura, or vibes as Phantom put it. They use their screams to magically obtain information on a person of interest, usually someone who's been declared wanted for questioning by one of the fae courts but sometimes it's someone wanted by human courts, from beyond the veil of morality, which they can then use to either track the person of interest down or to officially convict them."

"I thought a banshee's scream signaled someone's eminent death," Dick mused.

Steph shook her head. "In olden times, sure, but the death penalty isn't exactly used much anymore, so a banshee's scream doesn't immediately mean death. I don't even have to scream in front of the person I'm screaming about, I just have to know some kind of basic information about them. I also don't have to scream when I first get the urge to, I can hold it in so I can get to a more appropriate place to let it out." She shrugged. "Apparently, though, the longer I choke it back, the more painful it will become, until I just have to scream, which I'm sure none of us want to test too thoroughly."

Babs cringed and shook her head. "Definitely not, that sounds extremely unpleasant and almost entirely impractical. We'll have to do some testing for future reference, but not to the point you potentially injure yourself," the redhead said before changing the topic. "So are we in agreement? We're going to continue these tutoring sessions with Phantom?"

Steph watched B as he looked at each of them in turn, getting various forms of confirmation from them all, before turning back to Babs. "Yes, I think we will. Steph, Jaylad, if Phantom gave either of you homework, I ask that you keep up with it. Just one session with him has settled the two of you in a way I hadn't noticed you weren't until you got back. I don't want that progress lost, and I'm sure neither of you do, either."

She looked at Jason, who was looking at her, and she knew Bruce was more right than he could possibly know.

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Jazz looked up from her textbook when she felt Danny phase into their apartment at almost midnight. He popped into view with a beaming smile that caused some of the tension in her shoulders to relax. "I take it things went well?" Jazz asked as she set her pencil down and turned her whole attention to her little brother.

"Did it ever! Oh my ghost, Jazz, despite not having had his first burning day since reviving, Condor is already really in tune with his instincts. He's been struggling with explaining them to the others, he didn't have the vocabulary to explain them at the time, but he soaked up everything I taught him like a sponge! He took to vocalized emotional expression like a fish to water, and has already been dabbling with his pyrokinesis on his own!" Danny exclaimed, running a hand through his hair with a slightly hysterical laugh. "And Starling, Jazz, she's already had the five initial screams all banshees go through. She's been using her screams unintentionally for the past six months without even realizing it, she honestly thought she'd just been screaming in frustration and then having lightbulb moments of everything clicking together. Pandora said most banshees struggle with assimilating the information they gain from their screams that quickly until they've been screaming for years, but Starling's been doing it instinctually for months without problem!" Suddenly, he clenched his hair in both hands and tugged slightly. "Gah , I can't believe they've been left floundering like this for so long! Just from this first meeting, I can see the potential in all of them. If they're this good at what they do without knowing what they are and what they can do, I can't even begin to imagine how much more effective they'll be with that knowledge. But the kicker is, they could have been that good from the start if only they'd known sooner!"

"Hey," Jazz said as she got up and walked over to her little brother, gently grabbing his hands and working them free from his hair. "It'll be okay. They have you in their corner now. Sure, they should have known sooner, and it really sucks that they didn't, but they do now. Can you imagine how much worse it'd be if they never knew? I can, and honestly, it's kind of scary. You're doing the right thing, baby brother. Don't ever forget that, okay?"

Danny drew her into a tight hug. "Thank you for being here, for helping me keep my head on straight," he said into her shoulder.

Jazz smiled sadly into his hair. "I'll always be here for you, Danny. You don't need to worry about that," she replied as she tightened the hug. No matter what happens, I will never leave you, she thought fiercely.

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FIRST STEPH POV! AND FIRST JAZZ POV! PLUS LORE! ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧ I hope y'all enjoyed lol I had a lot of fun with this one. I legit couldn't wait to write it and had to orally take notes via audio recording while I was driving around running errands ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ good news is I now have concrete plans for chapter three!

I would also like to say that my takes on all beings, creatures, and entities based on real myths and folklore are exactly that, my takes. I have cherry picked myths, folklore, and canon for the bits and pieces I find cool or interesting, and threw out the rest. If that offends you in any way, I apologize but respectfully ask that you just don't continue to read this series. I write primarily for mine and my mother's enjoyment, and what we enjoy is taking apart and piecing together things that realistically don't go together. I understand that my writing isn't for everyone, but I sincerely enjoy reading the comments of those who also enjoy my writing.

Also, I've finally figured out how to do the "keep reading" thing on mobile! Let me know if you guys like it or not, and if I should keep doing it or not, please? 乁⁠|⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠〰⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠|⁠ㄏ

Also also, I've decided that, since I'm modding the Patrol Partners event as well as doing Camp NaNoWriMo this month, I'm taking Sundays off from writing. I'll post fics on AO3 that haven't been posted yet, I'll answer replies, asks, and DMs, but I won't be doing any writing on Sundays. Therefore, there's no day 2 fic that y'all missed, I just didn't write one (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ (I'm going to post this at the end of my author's note tomorrow as well so more of my readers see it, but I wanted to put it here now while I'm thinking about it)

[lateniterecycling]

What Peyronie's Disease Taught Me About Hair Loss. (And How To Remove Peyronie's Plaque)

You're going to need a pair of hair clippers with an adjustment screw slot. If you're suffering from Peyronie's and feel as though you can't manage the pain, use this method. Adjust your hair clippers to its near MAX vibration setting. Now there are two sides to a pair of clippers, the side that you use to trim hair and the flat blunt side. You're going to trace along the portion of your shaft that has plaque buildup with the blunt edge, slowly. (You may need to use the side instead of the flat blunt side, but never use the trimming edge for obvious reasons) You're going to feel a slight tingling, but this just means that the plaque is breaking up and being filtered through your lymph nodes. Make sure to remove all of the plaque evenly, because with Peyronie's if you have any extra movement after breaking the initial "mold", say after getting an erection; you run the risk of tearing the soft tissue. As you "mow away" at the plaque, you'll feel the remnants of it trickle down through the channels that are interconnected with your testes; this is just the "foreign material" being filtered, so don't worry. No need for invasive surgery or injections. P.S you'll have to remove any buildup the accumulates at the base of your shaft every few minutes, or else it'll all settle at the bottom. Just use the blunt edge of your clippers in this case too

Now what this taught me about hair loss. Peyronie's is often associated with inflammation. After attempting to utilize PRP in order to grow thicker hair, I noticed that some areas of my head were much more sensitive to the micro needling than others. At first I'd merely thought that they were areas that received more blood/had more concentrated nerve endings but in fact; my scalp was suffering from something called 'Silent Inflammation'. Silent Inflammation is a type of inflammation that you do not feel, and can last for years, maybe even decades without you feeling anything. And while you may not experience any pain with this chronic ailment, your immune system still acts in response to: and in the associated areas; the scalp, this natural reaction can cause hair loss ( I presume). So back to the clippers, you're going to need a coin that can fit into the adjustment screw slot. Any coin will do as long as it fits. Now turn your clippers on and trace along your scalp, using the coin as a guiding plow in a fashion similar to the pattern of Cornrow braids(straight from front to back). You'll want to leave the coin in place (on your scalp) for at least 5 seconds before trying to guide it to the next spot. What you're essentially doing by performing this, is providing a drainage path for all of the accumulated toxins and bacteria that has been building up since the initial blockage of your lymph nodes. Similar to how the plaque builds up in the base of your penis(male), as you may or may not have used the method above: refer to post script, there is a buildup somewhere along the nape of your neck where either the natural passages in which your body would normally dispose of bacteria, white blood cells etc are too constricted to allow an efficient removal of waste from the "infection" site, or are just completely blocked. (It's similar to how plaque may block blood vessels in a vein or artery, so you need to clear those passages.) So your immune system is in a form of overdrive where, it keeps sending cells to fight in a silent war if you will, where the cells do their job, expire, accumulate and are then devoured by the bacteria; Very Very slowly expanding the region in which they thrive. But by using the "coin plow" method, you're able to essentially "squeeze" the inflammation into your lymph nodes, and your lymph nodes will do the rest. I know personally that my scalp went through a change, because upon physical examination the next morning, more noticably in the crown area: an ALMOST dorsal(fish) like protrusion replaced what used to be the flat plane on the top of my head. And my scalp has actual feeling to it. Give it a try if you want, I don't know you people like that though, so approach it how you see fit to your situation.

P.S.S you may have to cut your hair in order to use the "corn plow" method, as longer hair will only dampen the vibrations and you may or may not get the full effect. Peace though.

Conspiracy: I think the Illuminati passed that law in 1743 that prevented barbers from practicing surgery in order to make money off of Peyronie's; whom coincidentally, Francois Gigot de la Peyronie (The man in which the disease is named after), was a major component in the act of passing said law. Who..ironically, was a barber surgeon. Think about it. 💈 (There was probably a ton of malpractice going on as well)

[lubdubsworld]

物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Characters : Alpha! Jungkook x Omega ! OC.

ABO Dynamics.

Genre : Arranged Marriage / Temporary contractual Marriage.

Warnings : Non- Con/ Extremely Dubious Consent . High functioning alcoholism. Genre related consent issues. Implied suicidal thoughts. 

Summary : A recently widowed Jungkook agrees to a contract marriage to keep his company afloat. His grief overwhelms him and it is hard to look at his new wife as anything other than an intruder .

[  Author’s Note :  物の哀れ ~ Mono no aware can be translated as ‘the sadness of things’. It comes from the words 物 (mono – thing) and 哀れ (aware – poignancy or pathos). The ‘sadness’ in question comes from an awareness of the transience of things, as taught by Zen Buddhism. When we view something exceptionally beautiful, we might feel sad because we know it won’t stay so beautiful forever – but appreciation only heightens the pleasure we take in the beautiful thing in that moment. ]

Chapter 1

 Chapter 2

I wrapped the white wool shawl tighter around my shoulders. The night was still chilly and the and smelt faintly of impending rain. Why they would plan a party outside while it rained, was beyond me.

After my little skirmish with Jungkook, I had found Namjoon quickly only to be told that we couldn’t leave for another hour at least because there was a  certain investor who wanted to meet Namjoon . The guy was running late and he had to wait for him. So here I stood, shivering lightly, all while keeping an eye on my husband as he got progressively drunk.

Namjoon’s words made me sigh a little.

“You can’t decide what someone else’s normal is, Namjoon. Especially when it comes to grief.  But the drinking is an issue. And you’re right about the therapist. I know she’s doing her best but I’m not sure if she has the right answers for him. Or even the right tools to help him.”

“I’ve been searching up on therapists who specialize with alphas. There’s one in Itaewon , his name is Kim Taehyung. I really think he could help. He’s an alpha himself.”

“That sounds good. Betas may not fully understand alpha mating bonds or what it’s like when one of them dies. Taehyung may have a better understanding of what Jungkook’s going through.” I nodded, a little hopeful. 

Therapy with the beta lady the hospital had recommended wasn’t really helping Jungkook the way it ought to.

Namjoon hesitated.

“Would you be willing to go with him? Taehyung insists a family member stay in the waiting room just in case...” he asked gently. I turned back to look at my husband, leaning on the mahogany countertop of the bar, fingers curled around a glass of whiskey.

“And I’m the one you want to consider for that? That’s ridiculous. Jungkook hates me.” Did I really have remind him of this salient fact? 

“I’ve offered to, before.  He doesn’t want me there." I sighed as Jungkook threw the drink back with ease.

“That was three months ago though. Things have changed now right?” Namjoon prodded.

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Not between us they haven’t. He’s spending more time with Mina and he isn’t throwing stuff around but he still loathes me.”

“He loathes what you represent: his own shortcomings and failures. Your father wasn’t kind in his approach and you are a reminder of all the things he can’t control.”

How fucking unfair,  I thought playing with the tiny  ring on my finger ( or should i say handcuff really? ), my wedding ring , the platinum band engraved with my husband’s name, a drop of his blood embossed into the metal. 

An archaic tradition, that carried no meaning in modern Seoul but the idea of it was still alive and well. The idea that what we had was a blood bond, imbued in our veins now.  An alpha’s connection with a beta or an alpha mate was usually quite fragile. But an alpha and omega mate bond. That was supposed to be powerful. 

Unless the alpha was still phantom bonded to a dead wife , that is. It was odd thing. Mate bonds had to be mutual to work. So there was no bond between Jungkook and I . We didn’t have any feelings for each other of course. But wearing someone’s blood on yourself changed that . it forced a bond that wasn’t there. It was ancient magic and it worked on my kind. Not on his. 

How fucking unfair because it wasn’t like I could control any of this either? 

I grimaced. I had thought of taking the ring off 

“Ouch.” I said with a smile. Namjoon waved off my self pity with an eye roll. 

“You know what I mean. Even for an Alpha, Jungkook has always held on to his pride. Losing his wife and his company all in the same week probably left him feeling incredibly helpless and your father browbeat him into this whole thing. Of course he isn’t going to be eager to share heart to heart talks with you. ”

I held my hand up. 

“I know all that Namjoon. I was there, remember? And I’m not blaming him for any of that. Trauma makes you do shitty things and I understand that . I also understand that if he was in his right mind he wouldn’t behave the way he does now. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t change his mind for him. If he doesn’t want to get help, I’m kind of helpless myself, you know?”

Namjoon reached out and squeezed my hand.  

“I’m just asking you this because , he does listen to you at times. I’ve noticed it. He doesn’t outwardly agree with you but he takes your opinions into consideration. And, Heejin you live with him and you’re the one who managed to convince him to start scenting Mina. ”

And God, how exhausting that had been. I had kept at it because Mina was so young and she needed her father’s scent to grow. And while i could be persistent when necessary,  I couldn’t work miracles. 

“Namjoon oppa, “ I said softly, trying to explain myself without sounding like a horrible human, “  I don’t hate Jungkook. Far from it. I want him to get the help he needs and I’m here for him. If you can convince him to go see Taehyung and he’s okay with me coming along, I won’t say no. Mina needs him and there’s nothing I would like more than for him to get better. ” i smiled a little, “ But he’s still going to have to be the one to make that choice. i can’t make it for him.” 

Namjoon nodded.

“ Fair enough. Well,  I’ll talk to him about it. We’ll set something up. Thank you for not refusing Heejinah. I know it can’t be easy for you either. 

I opened my mouth to respond but out of the corner of my eyes I caught a glimpse of someone, staring intently right at me.

 I turned sharply, eyes locking with those of Kim Yugyeom and I stiffened, stepping closer to Namjoon on instinct.  Yugyeom smirked, winking at me. 

I shuddered in disgust. 

Creep.

Namjoon followed my line of vision and swore.

“This motherfucker.” He made to move towards him. and I grabbed his arm, fingers digging into his forearm. The last thing i wanted to witness was an alpha alpha showdown in the middle of a party with me in the middle. 

“Please, no. Don’t make a scene. It’s what he wants.”

“Jungkook has the shittiest friends on the planet.” Namjoon shook his head and I couldn’t agree more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mina’s appointment with the doctor went about as expected. She was right on time with her milestones and I sat in the waiting office for a mere twenty minutes before being called in. The doctor, an alpha named Min Yoongi gave me a small smile of recognition before flipping through the pages of her file.

“ Jungkook didn’t come along?” He asked casually, grabbing a pen and making a note of her weight and length before plotting it on the small graph. She was a little on the smaller side but she was growing well. 

“He’s busy...” i said with a shrug, “ So I still keep giving her the polyvisol supplements?” 

Yoongi nodded, “ The nurse will fill in the prescription for you. Are you sure he’s busy? He called me last night and told me he wanted to come see me?” 

I blinked. 

“He did ? “ I couldn’t quite process this. 

“He wanted to talk about how she’s doing and I told him he could come in for her appointment today.”

I imagined a world where Jungkook actually spoke to me, instead of forcing  me to navigate stormy waters on rotten plywood. Nine more months, i told myself firmly, already digging for my phone. Nine more months and I would be out of this living hell I’d gotten trapped in. 

“Can I try calling him? He’s probably forgotten. I think he might regret missing out.” I begged and Yoongi gave me a small smile, waving me off. 

“Of course you can Heejin-ah and tell him that if he wants I can drop by at the office and talk to him as well.” 

I nodded quickly , moving out to the waiting area while the nurses held Mina, soothing her before getting her ready for her shots. I tried calling him and not surprisingly he didn’t pick up. I called his office next and Jungkook’s secretary picked up the phone .

The woman hated me. 

“He’s busy.” She said curtly.” He’s specifically asked me not to bother him with stuff that isn’t important.” 

Her whiny voice grated on my ears and i bit my lips to keep the irritation in. 

“Since when does his daughter make that list, Ms Lee?” I said calmly and she hesitated. 

“He’s in a meeting right now and-”

“I’m in the hospital with his daughter. I hope you’re willing to take the heat when he finds out that you wouldn’t let me get through to him. “ I said casually. 

It was a twisted version of the truth for sure. Meant to imply that Mina was hurt in some way. But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it much. I had enough on my plate without dealing with twenty year old secretaries who fancied themselves in love with their hot boss. 

 “I... just a moment, Mrs. Jeon.” 

I loathed the name. It wasn’t mine. It was hers and I felt like a thief every time someone addressed me that way.

After two minutes, Jungkook’s  familiarly low and perpetually exhausted voice came out ,

“Hello? Heejin?” He sounded listless and his voice just a little slurred and i groaned. 

“Please tell me you aren’t drunk.” I whispered. 

“I’m not. “ He said shortly. “ What’s wrong? What happened? Is Mina alright? ”

“Did you tell Yoongi that you were going to meet him today?” 

He was quiet for a second. 

“i’ll talk to him.”

He hung up and I stared at the phone. I realized that I shouldn’t have called him in the first place. Should have asked Yoongi to call him himself. What was wrong with me? Even a few syllables exchanged with Jungkook felt like staring into an abyss . 

I moved back to the clinic , just as Mina plaintive wail filled the room. The shots were done. It took us another thirty five minutes to finish filling her prescriptions and for Yoongi to finish examining her. She was already dozing off and I wasn’t supposed to feed her for another thirty minutes so perhaps the nap would do her good.  I had just finished settling her into her Bjorn carrier  when Jungkook’s voice came from the entryway. 

“Is this the way to Dr. Min’s office?” 

I glanced back to watch him . He looked ridiculously handsome in a three piece suit, jacket thrown over his arm and hair lightly damp from the misty drizzle outside. I saw the secretary’s mouth actually drop open and stay agape as she tried to process his questions. i could see the way his beauty had rendered her entirely witless and as someone who had experienced it first hand , i could sympathize, 

But Jungkook was beginning to look annoyed from the lack of response and i decided to give the poor girl a break. 

“He’s waiting for you.” I called out and Jungkook startled. He glanced up at me and for some reason he looked surprised. He always looked surprised when he saw me. As if i was just some monster out of his worst nightmares turning up in odd places . As if he couldn’t quite believe that i did exist in his life now. Unwelcome but impossible to avoid. 

“You’re here.” He said blankly. 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 

“Yes, i am. I’ve been here for three months now. “ i said shortly, before i could stop myself, “ Mina’s fine.  She just had her shots. I’m going to drive home and put her down for a nap. Do you want me to come with you ?” I pointed at the clinic. 

He hesitated before shaking his head. 

It was all according to script then. Jungkook would never include me in a single thing. Even if i was smack damn in the middle of the room with nowhere else to go. 

“Alright. i’ll see you after work.” 

“We’ll have guests for dinner today. ” He said suddenly. 

I stared at him, confused.

“For dinner??”

“ Sooah’s parents.” 

Oh, God. 

Wary of the extra nurses suddenly filling the room, the little whispers and the curious glances, i kept my smile even. 

“Of course. ” I bowed a little before turning on my heel and walking away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sooah’s parents were, for lack of a better word, selfish . 

They had lost a daughter, so of course i could understand with their need to keep their daughter’s memory alive. But the way they chose to do it was unhealthy and borderline vindictive. 

" She’s growing well.” Mrs. Kim had the same statuesque figure as her model daughter and she held her grandchild with a slightly unsure grip and Mina felt the uncertainty in her grip, breaking out into cries at once. I stayed still, my throat dry from disuse. I hadn’t said a word since they came in. 

We were seated at the table, dinner was done. 

Jungkook sat next to me, staring straight ahead while his father in law tried to engage him in conversation. 

With Jungkook, the grief came in waves. Some days, the waves were small and gentle, like the ones that lapped at your feet on the shore of a tranquil lake. on those days e went about his day as usual, spoke to his friends and signed deals.  And somedays they were big, behemoths carrying guilt and accusation, crashing over his head with a vengeance. 

On those days , he looked like he’d been run over by a two ton truck. 

Today was just one of those days and i could sense it.

The man was going on an on about some charity that Sooah had been involved in as a young girl... Could Jungkook make a contribution in her name?. Could Jungkook pay for a concert of her favorite singer in her hometown..?  Could Jungkook possibly consider contributing to opening a foundation in her name? 

I could feel the urge to scream, grow by the minute.

 Each syllable that spilled out of her father’s mouth was aggravating, the sentences began and ended with her name, over and over over again and It felt terribly like she was standing right next to me, ice cold and dead but real and relentless at the same time. He spoke of her like she was still alive and i couldn’t fathom how that was healthy. How that was going to help Jungkook move on.

 If anything it made it harder for him to move on. 

And in a moment of chilling clarity, i realized  that this is what they wanted. 

They didn’t want Jungkook to move on from her. They wanted him to be consumed by her. In the wake of that realization , i felt anger surge. 

There was just enough hurt and heartbreak and pain and grief in this room without these idiots adding to it. 

“Jungkook is tired tonight, uncle.. Perhaps we can discuss this later.” I said finally, unable to bear it any more.

The man gave me a glare.

“I wasn’t talking to you girl.” He said sharply. I frowned. 

“We’re trying to help Jungkook. “ The woman said sharply. “ Unlike you and your father we do not prey on the weak. “ 

Jungkook shifted at the phrase and I glared at her.

“He isn’t weak. “ I snapped, resisting the urge to add on a you bitch , “He’s grieving . And what he needs is space to process his grief. Not you people trying to shove your daughter into his throat with every sentence. “

“Don’t you dare talk about our daughter!” Mrs. Kim snarled and i felt a headache come on.

“I thought that was why you were here? To talk about her? Or should I say use her as an excuse to get money out of him??  What you’re doing is unfair and awful!! . Jungkook isn’t ready to talk about this and one look at his face should tell you that, if you even bothered looking at anything except his wallet.” I shouted. 

“Heejin, that’s enough.” Jungkook said hoarsely and i bit my lips. 

Of course he wasn’t going to support me even if we were on the same side. Defending him, protecting him was exhausting and it was such a thankless job. i wanted it to end. 

“I think we should call this a night. please, just leave” I said sharply, standing up and reaching for Mina. She glared at me but handed the baby over. 

“You don’t get to make that decision. My son in law is who I’m here to see. You’re just the parasite that’s attached herself to him. You sit there in my daughter’s place and you dare disrespect me this way. ” The woman snapped.

“Its still my house. “ I gritted out. “ I’m married to Jungkook whether you like it or not and so i have the right to ask you to get out of my house.” 

“Heejin, stop.” Jungkook’s voice only made me angrier. He sounded drained and empty and still these leeches wanted to suck him dry. And he was too  blind to see it. 

“I’m done with this” I stood up moving to the small pack and play that sat in the corner of the living room. i placed Mina in and watcher her eyes flutter shut gently. 

i turned back to stare at Mrs. Kim.

“i want the pair of you to leave. Get out before I call security.” 

She gaped at me. 

“you had a wedding... that doesn’t make it a fucking marriage. “ she sneered. “ Its probably not even legal until you consummate it. So go ahead, call the cops right now. You think i wouldn’t take you to court. ??!! ” 

She was spouting absolute nonsense, probably driven by her own grief  but i wasn’t feeling particularly charitable tonight. 

“Why don’t you ask your son in law that? Ask him if the marriage was consummated or not...” I smirked. 

She faltered, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“No. You’re lying ...he wouldn’t.” She turned to Jungkook who looked at me with fury in his eyes. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He said sharply and I scoffed.

“With me? What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with these idiots that they think they can come here and ask you to sign a fucking cheque when you’re still out here grieving for their daughter?!”

“You don’t know shit about them or her...” 

“I don’t have to. I don’t have to and i don’t care to either. All I know is that i married you and you’re my husband and whether you meant those vows or not, i did. I swore in front of my God and my family and I’m going to keep those promises. I’m going to protect you because I love your daughter . I’m going to protect you because you need to fucking live to be able to care for her. “ 

i turned to stare at his in-laws. They were staring at me, some of the fire dying out and in the span of a few minutes they somehow looked older . 

“You don’t deserve to be here.” Mr. Kim said finally, voice cracking and i exhaled. 

“And yet, here I am. And I’m not leaving. you are.” I said calmly. 

They stared at me for one more second before standing up and moving out of the dining space and into the hallways leading out. 

“We’ll call you later Jungkook-ah...” The man said before walking out of the door and slamming it shut behind him. 

The silence between us grew heavier as the seconds ticked. 

“We can’t decide how people grieve.” Jungkook said softly. 

I stared at him in disbelief. 

“You’re telling  me  that , Jungkook? Or did you forget all the times I indulged you when the only way you could grieve was apparently  by forcing yourself on me.” i snapped. 

His eyes widened , just a fraction before going blank again. 

He took a deep breath and went on. 

“They lost their daughter and they’re hurting. We can’t tell them they aren’t allowed to honor her memory...They’re clearly in pain...”

“Not more than you!” i snapped. “ You’re the one in pain here Jungkook. Your pain is so much more than theirs ..... Or may be it isn’t i don’t know.. But i do know that I can’t sit here and watch them bleed all over you when you’re cut just as deep as them.” 

“You don’t know shit about e!” He roared. “ Don’t you fucking dare talk about my grief like you can understand it...like you actually know what its like to lose the woman who had your fucking heart, because if you did you wouldn’t have agreed to this fucking marriage...you wouldn’t be here in this room with me, intruding on my grief and my pain... “

The sound of his voice made my entire body freeze in fear. I stayed perfectly still, jumping when he crossed the distance between us and grabbed my face, fingers curling around my jaw. 

“ You want to know how i wanted to grieve? I wanted to grieve in solitude!!! I wanted to grieve without some fucking stranger hovering over my shoulder like a fucking plague!”

I exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as i reached up to hold his wrist, my entire jaw throbbing with how hard his grip was. 

“It’s the price you pay for getting your company back. Jeon Jungkook. “ I choked out.” Or did you forget that marrying me is the reason you aren’t homeless on the streets “

He laughed a little yanking me closer and wrapping an arm around my waist.

“You’ve learned to talk back these days...” He muttered , “ I think I preferred the girl who hid in the nursery for the first three weeks of our wedding.” 

“I wasn’t hiding . I was avoiding you. Because your misery was contagious and i didn’t want any of it on me.” I snapped and his hold on my waist tightened. 

“Are you trying to make me angry? ” He snapped, fingers curling on my waist and I swallowed the whimper of pain that threatened. 

“Maybe i am... Maybe anything is better than watching you walk around this house like a corpse. You’re alive so I don’t see why you act like you died with her.” 

He growled at that, eyes blazing as he stepped back enough to stare into my face. 

“You’re right... I didn’t die with her. Although i wanted to...Maybe if i wasn’t such a fucking coward, i would have gone through with it.  .” He laughed and I felt my heart go ice cold at the very thought of it. 

“You didn’t die... So why don’t you get some help. There’s no shame in getting help... Taehyung...”

“I don’t need help. i need to be alone.” He snarled. “ I need to be allowed to cry and mourn my wife the way I want to but you and your father made sure that i couldn’t.”

I sighed, looking away in defeat. 

“Fucking look at me!” He snarled, hands grabbing both my arms and yanking me forward. “ Why won’t you look at me huh?  is the guilt finally catching up?” 

“No. No guilt. Just loathing and resentment.” I snapped back and he laughed again.

“Well too bad. Because you know what? You’re right. I paid for my company with my right to grieve and you...you paid for my name with your right to say no . “ 

I swallowed as he yanked me away from the table, dragging me to the couch in the side. 

“ I never refused you a thing.” I choked out, breathing ragged as he shoved me into the soft leather surface, crawling on top of me at once. “ I only said no when you were drunk out of your mind. When you thought it was okay to fuck me and call me by her name.” 

He made swift work of the buttons of my blouse and I stayed still, arms lying by my side. 

“ Are you telling me you want this ? You expect me to believe you want my hands on your body?” He sneered, fingers moving up to grip my hair. “You don’t want this and you don’t want me....Just like i don’t want you either. i’ll never want you. ” 

“You don’t want me.??.. You have a funny way of showing it..”  I scoffed , staring right into his eyes rolling my hips up into his  , greeted by the hard press of his length against my thigh.   “ And to be honest i don’t give a damn if you’re still in love with her , all I want is my name on your lips if you want to get off with me. Because I’m not just a toy you can use to replace your dead wife. I have  a name and you should remember it.  "

He growled again, fingers squeezing hard against the back of my head till my scalp felt like it was on fire.

“I hate you. “ He said clearly. “ I hate you and everything you’ve done to me.” 

“Everything I’ve done to you? Oh you mean save your life? Taek care of your baby girl like she was my own? Give you the chance to rebuild your entire career.? Turn you into multi millionaire again?  Good. Hate me. The feelings mutual. “ I snapped. “Now if you hate me so much why are you still here? Get off me.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, wife.” He sneered. “ Because like you said, I’ve paid for this.” He drawled, reaching down and squeezing between my legs. “And I’d be a pretty bad businessman if i don’t collect from my investments.” 

Before I could retort, he pulled back, just enough to grab me by the waist and flip me over on my front. I flinched when he grabbed my arms, yanking them back and trapping my wrists together in his fist at the base of my spine. My cheeks pressed into the leather couch, sticky and uncomfortable. 

i heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt buckle. 

Coward. 

I shivered when he pushed my skirt up.

“Don’t enjoy this too much, yeah?” I snapped, “ You hate me remember?” 

“Easy enough to forget its you when I don’t have to look at you.” he retorted. 

He slipped one arm under my waist, lifting me up just enough for him to yank my panties down. 

“Just remember , you don’t get to blame the alcohol for this .” I sneered. “ You’re sober and clear headed and you’re hard for me. “ 

Somehow that seemed to bother him.

He stopped . 

I could feel the hesitation in his limbs. 

It made me laugh. 

“You know Jungkook, i took you for lot of things but a coward wasn’t one of them.”

“What the fuck does that mean huh? I should put you in your fucking place for how insolent you are with me... ” he pressed down on me and i gasped when I felt his chest pressing into my back, his face inches from my own. I flinched when he sank his teeth into the mating mark on my neck. 

“it means that if you’re going to do this, if you’re going to talk big about putting me in my place like the big bad alpha that you are, at least own up to the fact that you’re attracted to me. ” 

“ You forget your fucking place, omega.”  he hissed, voice sharp and furious against my ear. “ Another word out of that mouth and i won’t be responsible for what i do.” I gritted my teeth when he curled his fingers around the inside of my thigh, parting my legs and settling in between. 

He pushed into me in one strong thrust and my eyes flew open in shock. 

“Fuck.... why are you so fucking tight...” He groaned and my shoulders began to throb as he fucked into me, setting a punishing speed that left both of us panting . We were too fucking would up for it to last any longer than a few minutes and yet, i could feel pleasure swell inside me, wetness seeping out of me and onto the leather couch beneath us. 

I wondered just how fucked up this whole thing was. Just how much damage were we doing to each other?? But it was hard to care too much about it, because even if though it was a terrible way to talk things out at least he had talked. It was nothing new....nothing earth shatteringly enlightening but he had said it all out loud and that made a difference. 

“You think you can come into my life and dictate how i fucking live.” He grunted against my ear, fingers tightening on my hair. “ it pisses me off.” 

“Everyone dies, Jungkook. People die and they leave loved ones behind but Life goes on. It has to go on. You can’t just pause life to grieve. Mina needs you.” I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears, the adrenaline from the argument fading and my body threatening to go limp as he drove into me at the same punishing pace. 

He didn’t respond, fingers closing around my throat and squeezing lightly instead.

“Save your platitudes before i decide that the warmth of your body isn’t worth the grate of your voice on my ear.” He snapped and I whimpered when he stilled, spilling into me. 

He stayed pressed up against me. breathing harshly against my ear and i waited till both our breaths evened out. 

“It’s not selfish to move on Jungkook. You aren’t insulting your wife’s memory by wanting to move on.  “ I said softly. ” Someday your heart and mind will agree with me. Whether you like it or not. That’s just how pain works, Jungkook. One day it’ll pack itself up and walk out of your heart in the middle of the night. You just have to hold on till then.” 

He didn’t reply, merely drawing himself up and off me. 

Once i heard the door to his bedroom slam shut i dragged myself up , thighs shaking and sticky. I grimaced at the mess on the couch. I stared at the packet of baby wipes on the table nearby and shuddered. That just felt wrong. 

I’d just have to go grab a washcloth from the bathroom. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On that weekend, we had another dinner to attend, this time with a few investors from out of the country or so Namjoon told me. 

Although we didn’t talk about what happened and he didn’t try to touch me again, things were subtly different. 

Something had changed in the way Jungkook behaved with me. There was a little less of the usual zombie like indifference and he actually seemed to be avoiding alcohol actively. It was a welcome change. But to make up for it, Mina went into a growth spurt. Which meant ten minute naps every hours or so with wailing sobs in between. 

i was exhausted. 

So much so that Jungkook told me that he didn’t want to pick Mina up from Seokjin’s place till the next day. 

It was a little past one in the morning when I finally trudged into the apartment. Jungkook wasn’t black out drunk but he was definitely a little loose limbed, eyes just a shade more glassy than usual.

“Tonight went well. I’m thinking the guy from Macau is definitely going to consider investing.” He muttered, gripping the door frame and taking off his shoes.

I toed my own heels off, feeling upset and bereft.

“Why would you tell Jin oppa that we’ll get Mina in the morning? She’s not used to being away the whole night.” I complained, feeling jittery and nervous because the house felt so empty and strange .

I didn’t like the idea of being alone with Jungkook without the buffer of his daughter between us. The house felt foreign, the walls seemingly closer together , the space to cramped.

Jungkook dropped his keys in the bowl and tugged on his tie, watching me carefully.

“It’s too late and Jin hyung said she was already asleep. He’ll drop her off in the morning. Just relax. Would you like a drink?”

I stared at him. 

What now? 

He looked nervous and a tad worried.

 Swallowing , I shook my head, turning on my heel.  

“I’m going to bed.” I was almost at the door to the nursery when he grabbed my arm, seemingly moving faster than I could breathe.

“Wait, Heejin… “ He stopped, worrying his lip between his teeth before sighing, “I… I need to say something..” He finished and I exhaled sharply.

I tugged on my arm but he wouldn’t let go.

“Jungkook , let me go.” I said sharply. “ I’m not in the mood tonight . You aren’t drunk now and I’m running out of reasons to excuse your actions.”

His hold on my arm relaxed but he didn’t let go.

“Namjoon hyung told me about that new therapist.... Kim Taehyung?? . I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He said roughly.  

I sighed, defeated. It was expected and yet it stung. I wondered if perhaps I was just beating a dead horse at this point. But Mina deserved to have a father who loved her with all his heart and Jungkook’s heart was so filled with grief it had no place for his daughter. If there was any chance I could help change that, I would take it.

I tugged my arm away again and this time he let go.

I tried to smile encouragingly. it was hard because i was all out of comfort, my own exhaustion too overwhelming at the moment.

So I took a deep breath and reached out to lightly touch his arm. 

“Listen, no one’s asking you to make a decision tonight, Jungkook.” I tried to smile a bit more widely but it probably came out as a grimace, “ Just sleep on it and think about why you think it isn’t a good idea. Taehyung’s an alpha and he may understand you better. Think about it and you can let Namjoon know later.”

He didn’t reply, merely staring at me till I began to feel a little hot around the collar.

“Well, Good night then.” I made to turn away but he grabbed me again, this time by my wrist.

“Wait.”

Patience wearing just a little thin, I stared at him, waiting as he requested.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night. At the party last week. About you not being her mother.   I shouldn’t have said that.”

It was the first time he had apologized for anything.

It took me a second to even remember what he was talking about. 

“Alright. I’m not mad. And I understand why you said it. Its fine. And you’re right. I’m not her mother and I should be more careful. ”

He nodded and then stepped back.

“ I’m sorry. For a lot of things. ”  He bowed awkwardly and I could only stare at him, shaking my head. The apologies were somehow both welcome and abhorrent to me. 

They were the kind of apology you would offer a stranger. And that made them insincere because I wasn’t a stranger. I’d been through too much these past few months, to be treated that way. 

For now I could only accept them at face value. 

“ Its alright. Just go to bed Jungkook. And listen to Namjoon oppa . I know you don’t trust me but you should trust him. He only wants what’s best for you. ”

I sounded twenty years older than I actually was and grimaced.

"There’s one more thing. Can I... I need... “ He stopped and stared at the floor. 

I felt a huge sense of foreboding rise up at that. 

“Are you going to pull the i paid for your body card? “ I said bitterly. “ You made it very clear that i can’t say no. I don’t see why you’re bothering to-”

“You can say no.” He said softly. “ You can say no.” 

And then he looked up at with limpid doe eyes, shining with all the stars in the galaxy and I wanted to sob at the unfairness of it all. 

“ And if I say no, where will you go? To a brothel? you’ll come back smelling like another beta or omega and you can’t come near your daughter till it fades. Which is what? A week? “ 

Jungkook didn’t say anything and I felt helpless. 

“Is that why you sent her away tonight?” I demanded and he looked genuinely surprised. 

“What? No. Of course not . i just...You looked exhausted. I thought you’d like a night off. And just... I don’t want to have sex. Can you just sleep with me. I just... I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

“What’s so special about tonight?” i rolled my eyes already moving to his bedroom instead of the nursery. 

He stared at me for a few seconds, eyes empty in the dark of the hallway. 

I waited a whole minute before sighing. This was excruciating and my heels hurt from wearing heels all evening. i wanted to curl into the air mattress on the floor of the nursery , possibly lie sleepless till dawn and then drive down to pick Mina up from Jin’s place. 

“Jungkook , let’s just go to bed and forget-” 

“Its her birthday.” 

I barely heard him, his lips barely moved and his voice was so low. 

I stared at him. Not sure if I’d misheard. 

“What?”

“Its her birthday. “ He repeated. 

“You can say her name.” i said calmly. “ You’re not betraying her by saying her name out loud in front of me.” 

He went a little stiff at that and i wanted to kick myself for the remark. What a hypocrite I was. I’d reprimanded Namjoon for trying to dictate Jungkook’s grief and here I was , doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m sorry. God, Jungkook... I’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.  i didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me.. I... of course you don’t have to be alone. Should i call Namjoon oppa? Or Jimin?” I asked gently. 

“It’s Sooah’s birthday.” He was still staring at the floor, apparently he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. 

I had a sudden flash of memory, remembering that Jungkook used to sing. He had sung at his wedding seven years ago. Serenaded his wife as she walked down the aisle. I had been young then but i remembered thinking how evident his love was in every syllable sung .

Something i could hear even now, in the way he said her name. 

“Okay. What would you like to do? I... I can make seaweed soup.” I said softly. “ We can go see her if you like?” 

He stared at me. 

“I want to go alone.” He said finally. 

I hesitated. 

“I’ll drive you. i’ll stay in the car. You can’t drive.” I reminded him. 

Jungkook’s driver’s license had been suspended after one too many traffic violations. I drove him around often . 

He didn’t reply, staring out of the huge bay windows and i sighed. 

“Alright... Why don’t you go change  into something more comfortable yeah? i’ll get the soup going and we, “ i bit my lips, “ , I’m sorry, And you can go see her.  “ I smiled, before moving to the kitchen and grabbing the dried seaweed. I soaked it in cold water, before getting the beef, garlic, soy sauce, salt and pepper and the sesame oil from the cupboards. 

Ten minutes later, the soup was boiling away and I peered out at the door leading to his bedroom. I was still wearing the cocktail gown and my head was beginning to throb. I oved to the nursery and stripped quickly, slipping on my white t shirt and a pair of pink corduroy shorts. 

I would be in the car anyway.  By the time i finished taking off all my make up, the soup was done and Jungkook was slumped over the counter. He looked drained, more so than usual . In fact he looked notably worse than how he was ten minutes ago. 

Torn between the urge to draw him into my arms and the helpless knowledge that he would absolutely hate me touching him , i merely hovered near the stove, pouring the stove into a small airtight container. 

On a whim I moved to the cupboard  in the corner that housed all the crockery and threw it open. 

“What was her favorite bowl?” I said casually, staring at him. 

He blinked, staring at me like i was speaking a foreign tongue. 

“Her favorite bowl , Jungkook The one she always drank or ate from?” 

He swallowed but leaned his palms down on the granite countertop, levering himself off the tall stool of the kitchen island and making his way over to me. I stepped back, giving him space to peer into the depths of the black marble shelves. 

He finally stuck a hand in and drew out a pale yellow and mauve bowl , a little worn but intact. 

He held it carefully, running his fingers gently over the bowl, savoring the surface his wife had once caressed with her own fingers. I watched as his lips curved, a pale pale imitation of a smile but a smile nonetheless and I felt my breath catch in my throat. 

This was probably the first time he’d smiled in the three months i’d known him. 

My heart began to pound, a steady staccato that began rising in volume and i willed myself to stay calm. 

“I..uh.. I can wash it for you.” I said softly .

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come and he stared at my outstretched hand like it was a snake . 

Face almost eerily blank he cleared his throat. 

“I’ll do it.” 

i watched as he moved to wash the bowl under the spray from the faucet and finished clearing up the kitchen. i grabbed a small bag to keep the sea wood soup in and held the bag open when Jungkook finished washing the bowls. He grabbed a fresh kitchen towel and carefully wiped down the moisture before wrapping the bowl in the towel and keeping it inside the bag, carefully. 

I smiled and zipped the bag shut. 

“Lets go shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I sat waiting in the car, staring out into the darkness of the parking lot, while the rain poured torrents outside the glass windows of the car. I felt unaccountably alone, like I was the only human being left on the planet. 

It had been a little past an hour since Jungkook had disappeared into the building that held his wife’s ashes. I wasn’t sure if i should give him a call. Had he fallen asleep in there. 

I told myself I would wait another hour and if he didn’t come out, I would go check on him. 

I dozed lightly against the window, exhaustion beginning to creep in. I wanted to sob at how tired i was. I could have gotten a full nights sleep, something i hadn’t had since the day I took Mina into my arms. 

But then, i remembered the tiny smile that had sprung up on his face and i grinned despite myself. That was progress wasn’t it? It definitely was. I was sure that if only Jungkook could be convinced to go meet Taehyung , the alpha therapist, things could get so much better for him. I wanted to have him at least halfway to being ..... capable of handling his own daughter, before i left him. if not the worry alone would eat me alive. 

I was just getting ready to perhaps climb over the console and nap in the backseat when my phone rang. 

I glanced at the dashboard, frowning. it was two thirty in the morning. 

Who?

I grabbed my phone from the bag and my heart leapt to my throat. 

“Jin? What’s wrong? What happened to her?” I could feel my heart threatening to give out, any number of terrible possibilities running through my head in a vicious loop.

“nothing happened, Heejin , take a deep breath... She’s just running a fever. it was quite low earlier but its hitting 101  now and I’m getting a little worried. I’ve given her cold baths and kept a wet towel on her but it doesn’t seem to be coming down.” 

“We’ll be there in ten minutes! “ i said quickly.

“I’m sorry, Heejinah, i don’t have any experience with babies and-”

“it’s alright...thank you for calling me oppa!” i hung up , already fumbling with the door and stepping out into the rain. i was soaked through in three second flat. What a day to wear a white t shirt. 

I ran quickly, stumbling a little on the gravel pathway and hoping to God i was going the right way. I ran into the foyer, the poor security guard falling asleep over his desk glancing up at me in sympathy. 

“there was a man here earlier?”

“Second floor third room.” He said casually.

I nodded, already rushing for the steps. I climbed the four flights of stair in two minutes, my heart threatening to give out. I found Jungkook in the room , kneeling on the floor and he looked at me in shock that swiftly turned to anger.

“Jungkook-” i gasped because the run up had robbed me of my breath. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He moved so quickly I could barely blink before he was right up in front of me. 

“Jungkook, I... We need...” I tried to draw a breath in but before I could form the words he grabbed my arm, so hard that I whimpered in pain. 

“I told you i wanted to be alone, what the fuck is your fucking problem?!” He snarled.

“Jungkook-” Before i could finish, he yanked me just a bit closer to him before shoving me out of the room with his wife’s portraits and the small ornate vase that held her ashes. 

it wasn’t that hard. 

He didn’t push me in a very brutal way. 

In fact it was probably with lesser force than what anyone slamming a door would use. 

But,

Jungkook was six feet two. He weighed a 170 pounds. 

I was a hundred pounds wet and barely came up to his shoulders. 

And it was just my luck that the wall opposite to the door had a large concrete and granite horse figurine placed right in front of it.  

I crashed into the torso of the equine, my bones rattling inside me and I whimpered when my wrist made contact with the hard surface, bending a bit out of place. 

I slid to the floor in a wet lump, trying to catch my breath and process what had just happened.

Jungkook stood frozen by the door horrified as he stared at his hands, as thought he couldn’t quite fathom what he had just done. 

A sharp burning pain began in my sides and I gasped out.

“Oh, fuck.” I swore. 

Jungkook moved to help me up but i was already crawling away from him, scrambling to my feet, ignoring the ache in my side.

“I’m sorry.” I said softly, holding both my hands up. “ It’s Mina...she’s running a fever. We need to go get her.” 

“Heejin-ah, I’m...”

One more apology and i would officially lose it, i thought slightly hysterically. 

“its my fault.” I said sharply, “  I should have probably tried calling you from the car instead of barging in like this but Jin called and i got worried...I wasn’t thinking straight so I’m sorry about that... I think we should go get her as soon as we can.” 

“Did i hurt you?” He demanded , reaching out for me again and I nearly fell again trying to move away from his touch. 

“No.. No I’m fine.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure, we don’t have to go the doctor.?  “ He asked nervously, watching me carefully wipe down her body with the slightly damp wet cloth. I nodded, carefully squeezing the water out before dipping the towel in water again. 

“She’ll be fine. Her fever’s come down and with babies this young, its safer to care for them at home than to take them to a hospital.” I said casually, 

 “I wasn’t talking about her.” He said stiltedly. 

I blinked, staring up at him in surprise. 

“What?”

“I think we should go to the doctor. You fell hard. ”

“Jungkook what are you even on about?” I said crossly, steadfastly ignoring the pain in my sides. It was sharp and unbearable with every breath I took in but I was too terrified to go to the hospital and have them tell me I’d cracked my rib or something. 

Partly because that would be so inconvenient. 

Partly because Jungkook would probably go back to being a guilt ridden shadow of himself if that happened. 

“I’m going to call Yoongi hyung.” 

Before I could protests some more he was already on his feet, moving to the living room.

Yoongi arrived thirty minutes later , annoyed and sleepy, dressed in a soft white t shirt and stone wash jeans. 

“It’s four thirty in the morning , she better be dying Jungkook..” He rasped out near the front door and i flinched at the murderous tone to his voice. 

Suddenly , i hoped desperately that my ribs had cracked. 

Yoongi stepped in , staring at me . He took in the mess of quilts i sat on and sighed. 

“Come here and take your shirt off.” He said gruffly. 

I blinked, feeling blood rush to my face. Was he always this handsome? Hating the very unwelcome flutter of nerves, I moved to stand in front of him, grabbing the hem of my t shirt .

But the movement jolted my rib and pain sharp and lancing shot through my side. I yelped and dropped my hand again breathing harshly which only seemed to make things worse. 

I swallowed and Yoongi blinked, reaching out to gently grip my elbows. 

“Hey...relax ... “ He said gently. 

I felt the press of a warm chest at my back.

“Let me help hyung.” Jungkook’s voice rumbled through my body, his chin brushing the top of my head and he bent over me from the back, fingers gripping the hem of my shirt and carefully lifting it up to just above the curve of my breasts. 

Yoongi was staring at Jungkook over my shoulders expression unreadable. 

“So you do know how to act after all.” He commented drily and I heard Jungkook inhale sharply behind me. 

“Hyung...” He said sharply, and Yoongi merely rolled his eyes. 

“How did this happen?” He ran slender fingers all over my skin, feeling each dent and dip carefully. 

“I ..uh.. I sort of fell into a statue? It was made of concrete and quite heavy.” 

His face shifted into a frown. 

“Jungkook , tell me you didn’t push her.” He said sharply and I jumped a bit.

“No...he didn’t.” i said sharply and Yoongi ignored me , staring right at the alpha behind me. 

“I didn’t mean to.” He said finally.

“You broke her rib, kid.” 

I groaned in defeat. Behind me Jungkook stiffened.

“It was an accident.” I said sharply and Yoongi gave me an unimpressed look.

“If i had a won for every wife that told me that.” 

“It was my fault and-” I shut my mouth. I did sound like the poster child for abused wife in denial. 

“Relax... I’m not going to send your handsome husband to prison.” He chuckled. “ This time.” He added, giving Jungkook another glare. 

“It won’t happen again. ever. “ Jungkook’s voice shook a little. 

I sighed, already imagining the self flagellation that was probably going on inside the alpha’s head.

Yoongi’s voice drew me out of my head. 

 “Its not a break. It looks like a crack which is easier to heal. But i still want you to come in tomorrow. We’ll get it x rayed. Its going to take a couple of months to heal.” 

I gaped.

“Months?” 

“As long as you take it easy you’ll be fine. Now where’s the little one?” 

Yoongi dropped off a small bottle of pediatric paracetamol and told me to keep an eye on her temperature before bidding us goodbye. 

Once the door closed behind him, Jungkook turned to me , eyes wide and lips parted. 

“If you apologize , I’m going to throw this  at your face.” i said calmly, fingers closing over the neck of the ceramic vase on the table. 

Jungkook blinked. 

“I’m sorry. “ He said nonetheless and I sighed, pulling my hands away. 

How fitting. Neither of us could act out of character. 

Jungkook couldn’t stop blaming himself for everything under the sun. 

I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt him in any way. 

“Just go to bed , Jungkook. I’ll be fine.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : As always the pain is here and probably going to get worse. But Jungkook seems to be turning mildly human so let’s see if he can keep that up. Also handsome pediatric doctor Yoongi as second lead because i like to torture myself. 

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Instead of shattering Dad Nie's saber to kill his pride, he shatters Baxia - and thus Nie Mingjue. What better way to punish a man who dared to think anything of his could rival Wen Ruohan? Only, Nie Mingjue survives... and Baxia does too. Of course, sharing Nie Mingjue's body, neither of them is quite the same...

Curse-breaker (Chapter 1/4)

- ao3 -

"I see," Wen Ruohan said, his teeth slightly gritted, his irritation plain and obvious for all to see. "Indeed, I must concede that Sect Leader Nie's saber is finer than the one I own; it is undeniable. Lao Nie, your saber."

He offered it back, plainclothes-wrapped hilt first.

"You do my sect honor," Sect Leader Nie said with a wide grin, accepting the saber. "Our sabers are indeed the finest – and more than that, they get better with each generation. To tell you the truth, my friend: this one isn't mine, but my son's!"

He revealed the hilt, not anything like his own, and laughed, delighted by the joke he had played.

Wen Ruohan’s face contorted, growing pale in what everyone assumed was rage.

It was only later that Lao Nie, at least, recognized that it had been horror.

-

Nie Mingjue was screaming, and had not stopped screaming.

His throat was rent all to pieces, his fingers bloody from clawing at his own flesh, his eyes rolling around in his head as if by some inescapable fit -

"It's a qi deviation," one of the elders said. "Induced by the breaking of his saber. We should take him to the tombs."

"Fuck off," Lao Nie told them, as if saying the words would deny the truth. "He's too young!"

He put himself between them and his son.

"You shouldn't have let him take up the saber so young," the elder persisted, as if it had been Nie Mingjue’s fault that his son’s saber had been shattered by a man a century older than him, and all because of a dispute that had nothing to do with him. "You shouldn't have shown it to others, left it unguarded -"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Lao Nie roared, abruptly pushed beyond his limits. "Do you think that I don't already regret...!"

He regretted. Oh, how he regretted!

He had not regretted a single thing in his life since the day his father had told him that he would one day die, and how. Even back then, he had swallowed down the regret without choking on it: he had accepted it, understood it, and resolved to live the life he had left to him to the utmost. What good, he had reasoned, would regret do? Would it win him a single additional day of life? Would it wring out a single ounce of additional joy from the days he did have?

There was no point in regret.

Whether that was the right decision or not, he didn’t know, but it was the one he made, and he stuck with it.

His whole life, Lao Nie had been reckless and carefree even by the already low standards of his family. He was always indulging in familiar pleasures and searching for new experiences, doing whatever he could to excite a palate already starting to grow jaded. He broke hearts as easily as he won them, and had what even he admitted was the worst taste in partners imaginable, attracted as he was to danger and death as if to an old and much-beloved friend. He laughed at the idea of risk or consequences, taking care only for his sect, which he loved; everything else was negotiable, or so he'd thought. He'd scared the wits out of most of his family time and time again, and - perhaps as recompense - had grown his first grey hair dozens of years too early. To this day, he still didn't know whether the reason everyone called him Lao Nie so often that even he thought of himself that way was because they were genuinely fond of him, because of the premature black-and-white mix of his hair, or perhaps just as some unspoken prayer that he finally get over himself and grow up.

If it was the last, it hadn’t worked. Even as he’d gotten older, he hadn’t changed one bit.

The only thing that had changed was that he’d finally found something he loved more than his sect.

He loved his children.

He loved his children, whether the righteous and too-serious Mingjue with his secret penchant for tears or the flippant and carefree Huaisang who was lazier than a slug in the sun. He loved them and he, unlike his father before him, did not burden them over-early with knowledge that would only be an itch under their skin that slowly drove them mad.

He loved them.

And now one of them was dying – because of him.

"You should take him to the tombs," the elder said, and ignored the crash of the chair Lao Nie threw at their head. "You let him become a man of our sect, Lao Nie. Do him the honor of letting him die as one.”

“You…!”

“Or do you think you are being kind, leaving him like this?"

Lao Nie looked down at his son, his Mingjue, the baby he’d held in his arms and the toddler he’d taught to walk and the child he’d chased and the teenager he’d taught the saber. His boy, who was thrashing wildly on the bed, spitting up foam along with blood and weeping uncontrollably.

"A-die," Nie Mingjue whimpered, just as he had when he'd been younger and caught in the throes of fever or breaking a bone through his own misadventures. Tears streamed endlessly down his eyes, his brave little boy who was not-so-secretly a bit of a crybaby. "A-die, a-die, it hurts..."

Lao Nie closed his eyes in pain.

He regretted.

But it was too late now to regret.

"We'll take him to the tombs," he finally conceded, and for the first time in his life he truly felt old. "Just let me say goodbye."

-

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out.

Nie Mingjue might only be a child, thirteen or fourteen years old – he couldn’t remember clearly any longer which it was – but he had been a good student before that, reading faithfully through his sect’s histories and listening to his teachers. He knew enough to read between the lines, to reckon the subtle indications and the not-so-subtle hints: he knew, even before he’d been officially told, what it was that he faced down at the end of the road that his ancestors had built for him to walk.

The early death – the painful death – the silent tombs –

There had been so many whispers when he’d taken up his Baxia too early. How could he not know?

His father hadn’t wanted him to know, though. So he hadn’t said anything, and pretended he didn’t.

(Huaisang could be ignorant for real, he’d thought to himself. It’d be okay if he didn’t know.)

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out. You cannot go to the tombs!

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He no longer screamed, even though the spiritual energy that had once felt rich and nourishing and strong now felt like corrosive acid scouring his veins, burning him from the inside out – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, wasn’t still compelled too; it was only that he had screamed too much, wearing out his voice down to nothingness from overuse.

If I go to the tombs, I will not come out, he thought, dimly aware that something wasn’t right. Thinking was hard, and grew ever harder: the qi deviation, for that was what it was, was worsening, not getting better.

Would not ever get better.

His Baxia, his loyal saber filled to the brim with resentful energy, had shattered. Shattered, and now all that resentful energy that she had collected for herself had flooded back into him, drowning his brain in rage and madness.

Flooding him with – Baxia.

I cannot go to the tombs.

You cannot go to the tombs, Baxia agreed – at least, he thought it was Baxia. It might be himself: he could no longer tell the difference.

She’d shattered, and he’d shattered, too. His mind and his body and his meridians and his golden core: everything was in pieces. His spiritual energy was running the wrong way, twisting him up inside, hurting instead of helping – the rage and resentful energy wasn’t going into Baxia but coming back into him, and it was poison.

There was no fixing it. His ancestors had tried everything they could: brought in the finest physicians with their needles and their clever ideas, sought out mysterious techniques and strange geniuses that played games even with their golden cores, even tried out demonic cultivation to see if it would help – with their lives and their children’s lives at stake, was there anything they wouldn’t do?

As if it would be that easy.

As if the road to death taken time and time again over the generations could be so easily evaded.

Nie Mingjue was a Nie. He had had a qi deviation. He was going to die.

But he was young, too.

Too young.

They all said that’d he formed his core at an extraordinary young age, and he had, too, verifiable evidence of his unusual genius for cultivating – only a golden core formed too early wasn’t quite the same as one done in the usual way at the usual time. It’d formed all right, all the spiritual liquid flowing through his meridians condensing into a shining solid sphere in his dantian, but it was still a little gummy in comparison to the normal ones. It had to be. He’d formed the core before he’d reached adolescence, without any of the necessary hormones running through his body; if his golden core was as fully solid as most adults, he’d be stuck at the age and size he was at when the core was first formed.

Normally, all this meant was that his foundation would be a little unstable for the first few years, just until he got old enough, and only when he was finally at his proper age would it truly settle into place along with his body, growing firm and solid and far more powerful than all the rest.

But he’d never gotten the chance to grow that old.

Nie Mingjue’s core had cracked when his saber that had been fundamentally tied to it had shattered, but unlike the steel of the saber it was still more fluid than solid. Even as the corrosive resentful energy burned him, even as the spiritual energy rioted within him, his old instincts were still there, that subconscious genius for cultivating already at work, trying to force the spiritual energy to run through him, trying to put those broken pieces back together. For any normal Nie, the greater his talent, the faster he’d be driven mad, but for Nie Mingjue, those gummy pieces of his core, sticky and still fluid, were instead being soldered together using spiritual energy and resentful energy both, and unlike the stiff and brittle solidity of the golden core of adulthood, they were still flexible enough to stick together – to coalesce into a whole once more.

Only –

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He’d already opened them once, and now he opened them again. The world as he had always recognized it, he saw through his left eye – but through his right, there was a whole new world.

It was a world of black and white, of good and evil, a world of kinetic movement, of steel and rage incarnate…the world through the perception of a saber spirit. A saber spirit who had shattered when her steel was shattered, shattered when her master’s core was shattered, and whose pieces were even now integrating interchangeably with her master’s pieces into a single indissoluble whole.

If we go to the tombs, they thought, and now that was it, that was right, we will not come out.

Well, that was simple enough to fix.

They just wouldn’t go to the tombs.

-

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang’s father hissed. “He can’t be – he wasn’t in any state – he couldn’t have just gotten up and run away – no, stop, let’s go. I don’t want Huaisang hearing.”

Nie Huaisang hated it when his father remembered to be discreet around him.

His da-ge was never discreet, he thought, pouting. If anything, that was something his father often complained about, even if he would be chuckling all the while: that Nie Mingjue had all the tact of a lady boar in full charge, riled up in defense of her children, and with about as much care for anything that did not meet his stringent expectations of justice and fairness – which was rather a lot.

Where was his da-ge, anyway? Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen him in days, not since he went out on that night hunt with their father. He’d asked his nurse about it, because it was unusual for his brother not to come play with him once he’d returned, and she’d said that he’d gotten sick and couldn’t come to see him just yet. But surely it was long enough that he’d be better already!

Nothing could keep his big brother down for long.

Decided, Nie Huaisang hopped up and headed outside, planning to go find his brother. His brother would explain what was going on, simplifying things down until even a little kid like him could get it, and he wouldn’t make Nie Huaisang feel stupid for needing that simplification.

His brother thought Nie Huaisang was smart.

Nie Huaisang walked along the railing next to his window, teetering back and forth with his hands outstretched for balance – his brother had showed him this pathway long ago, telling him that he could use it when he wanted to sneak out go play or look at birds, or even just come to find him whenever he had nightmares.

His brother wasn’t in his rooms, though.

Nie Huaisang sighed. Maybe he was in the study, or the training field, or something like that, but if Nie Huaisang tried to go there, he’d be dragged into lessons or training as well, and he didn’t want that.

He decided to go look at birds instead.

His brother had come up with a secret path to the outside that only they knew, the two of them, one that led them all the way out into the forest where the really interesting birds were. It was close enough to home that it was still safe, still within the bounds of the Unclean Realm’s protective arrays, but far enough to feel unburdened by the presence of their elders.

Nie Huaisang went to look at birds, but it wasn’t birds he found.

“…who’s there?” he asked, seeing movement in the bushes – something too large to be a bird, too small to be a bear, too two-legged to be a boar or a dog. Whoever it was, they were breathing hard, as if they’d run too far, interspersed with little whines of pain, like they were hurt. “Who are…”

The figure in the bush moved forward.

“…da-ge?”

Nie Huaisang’s big brother didn’t look right. He was crouched down, carrying his body low as if he were trying to support himself and protect his middle at the same time, his fingers digging into the ground for balance – his lips were peeled back from his teeth in something caught between a grimace and a growl. His left eye was normal, but his right was horribly red, shot through with pulsing veins that seemed to bleed into the iris, the color of which had faded from warm golden brown to something more like a slate or steel grey.

He sounded like he was in pain.

His brother was in pain.

Nie Huaisang took a step towards him, deeply concerned, and Nie Mingjue backed away.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, terrified. “Da-ge, it’s me, it’s Huaisang – I won’t hurt you!”

Nie Mingjue whined, a sound deep in the back of his throat, but this time, when Nie Huaisang stepped forward, he didn’t run. He waited until Nie Huaisang was close before darting forward and nuzzling Nie Huaisang’s hand with his cheek, ducking his head down and letting him touch his hair as if he were a dog.

His brother wasn’t just sick, Nie Huaisang realized. He was reallysick.

“What happened?” he asked, and his brother just looked sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

His brother nodded. A short jerking motion, barely recognizable, and yet – a nod.

“…do you have to?”

Another nod.

Nie Huaisang’s lip quivered. “Will you be all right?”

His brother nuzzled his palm again. It wasn’t an answer.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His brother seemed almost to smile.

And then he was gone.

Walking all the way back inside before bursting into tears was the hardest thing Nie Huaisang had ever done in his life, but the worst part was knowing that this was only the beginning.

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 6

sketch

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fluff, romantic vegetable chopping, the chapter of realizing things

AN: Well, it’s been six fucking months, but it’s finally here!! It’s a little shorter than I’d prefer, and took a lot of iterations to get here, but I’m very satisfied:) Thanks, as always, to my lovely @doinmybesthere for editing and encouraging. I hope you all enjoy! I think there’re maybe 1 or 2 parts left in this story, that’ll hopefully be out more quickly than I managed this one. Please let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 5 here)

Finals week passes in a slow blur, barely leaving enough time for you to breathe between essays, exams, and one presentation that you think takes at least a year off the end of your life. It’s much the same for everyone else, as well — you barely see Levi, not counting the nights you spend alternating between your bed and his, and you don’t see Hange at all. Consequently, there’s no opportunity to break apart what happened on Saturday. No chance to peel back its layers and find how you really feel. Although, to her credit, Annie doesn’t appear again, so you’re able to shove it into a corner of your mind for the time being.

Saturday brings with it both a new winter storm and an overwhelming sense of relief. You let it fill you completely as you sit and watch snow swirl outside. The street below your kitchen window is bustling with students trying to outrun the storm to get home for vacation. But you have nowhere to be, nothing to do. It’s nice.

The door opens, bringing with it the stomping of Levi’s boots. You turn to watch him shake snow from his hair, sinking deeper into the reassurance of knowing that everything you need is here under your roof. Safe.

Hmm. What the fuck?

You choke on the next sip of your tea as the realization of what you just felt hits you square in the chest. Through your coughing and hacking, you reach again for that fleeting sense of home. Childish, content, warm.

“Are you okay?” Levi calls from the entrance, looking at you with pinched brows halfway through hanging up his jacket.

“Fine,” you cough out, pushing back from the table to hunch over and catch your breath. “I’m okay.”

It takes a moment for you to stop breathing hard, though when you do, your heart rate doesn’t return to normal, instead pushing blood to your face and neck and making your body feel light. Levi doesn’t help when he finally joins you in the kitchen, all floppy hair and bright cheeks from the snow. All leisurely about the way he stretches his lean body to take his favorite blend of Earl Grey from the top of the fridge.

“I was thinking about dinner,” he starts, completely oblivious to the way you’ve started sweating under your cardigan. “We shouldn’t order because of the snow, so I brought home stuff to make soup.”

“What kind?” It’s a miracle the words come out normally.

“Chicken noodle.” He turns to face you. “My mom’s recipe.”

—

“I don’t get why guys are always so uppity about kitchen knives,” you say, picking up what Levi’s told you is a utility knife. “Like, it’s just a knife. I’m not about to stab myself with it.” Your finger drags along its sharp edge for only a split second when Levi’s slim fingers are suddenly around your wrist.

“Don’t. Touch. The knives,” he growls, taking the utility knife gently from your other hand and placing it back on the counter. “I just sharpened them last week, you could’ve seriously cut yourself.”

His steel eyes hold yours for another long moment until you nod your head mutely. You haven’t been able to shake the knot of hyperawareness that’s been settled in your belly since your what the fuck moment, and it only twists tighter when he’s so close to you. His hair is dry now, curling slightly because he hasn’t bothered to comb it since he got home. You have to actively resist the urge to twist a particularly enthusiastic curl around your finger in the split second before he backs away again.

Muttering under his breath, he returns to the simmering pot on the stove that he claims has turned into stock, though you hardly believe it. Growing up, you’d never been taught kitchen skills, let alone anything close to actual labor.

For a while, you’re content to watch, sitting at the table and nursing both the ache in your chest and a fresh cup of chamomile, but the urge to join him in his quiet work overwhelms you as he’s washing the vegetables.

“Levi, please, can I help?” Your tone edges on whining, prompting him to huff and shift on his feet. “I promise I won’t touch the knives! There, just, must be something I can do.”

You see him roll his eyes, swear under his breath, then turn towards you with a glower.

“No talking, no questions, and go wash your hands.”

“Yes!” you cheer and stand up with a bounce.

The scent of the bar of soap as you lather and wash cuts pleasantly through the spices and thick scents already filling the kitchen. It’s not something you’ve experienced often, and you relish in what you realize must be home comfort, your grin settling from enthused to contented.

Levi is arranging carrots, celery, and onions next to the cutting board when you join him again.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch the knives?”

“You’re not, until I show you how to do it without chopping off your fingers.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you tease, but nevertheless settle in beside him to watch as he lines up a carrot and picks up the utility knife.

“We’re generally going for even pieces, though it doesn’t matter much because it’s a soup. Put your fingers like this,” you lean over a bit to see how he’s arranged his left hand holding the carrot, the tips of his fingers just barely tucked under the knuckles, “so that you can chop like this—“ he begins slicing, knife guided by his knuckles “—and not lose your fingers. Always point the blade away from yourself and others, and never hold the handle like you’re going to stab something. That’s not effective, anyway. If you have to use this as a weapon, it’s much more effective to slash rather than stab, considering bone density—“

“Uhh,” you cut in, “pause. Are we slicing carrots or fending off home invaders?”

He stops chopping. “What did I say about asking questions?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Anyway. Considering bone density, you’ll have better luck aiming to cut big veins than forcing through ribs.”

He’s done with the first carrot, now, lithe fingers flipping the knife so the blade is up.

“Never drag the blade along the surface sideways. Flip it over and use the blunt edge to move food.” He demonstrates, moving the little pile of carrot slices to a corner of the cutting board. “Your turn.”

And then, like it’s nothing, he’s offering you the handle with a flat expression.

“Uhm.” You press your lips together and eye it for a long pause. “Are you sure?”

“It’s just a carrot. You’ll be fine.” He lets another unsure moment slide into being, then sighs and reaches out to wrap your hand around the handle. “Here, like this.”

And like you’ve suddenly stepped into a poorly-written romcom, he’s guiding your hands under his to the next waiting carrot, curling your fingers exactly like he showed you before, and scooting over to let you stand in his place. You just let yourself go along with it, hoping desperately that he won’t feel your hands grow clammy or see the way your chin has tucked itself shyly to your chest so you can watch.

Fucking shit carrots, useless goddamn root vegetable, can’t chop itself, has to make me do all the work—

Your aggressive inner monologue takes you all the way through the second carrot, then his hands are leaving yours and he’s placing a third under your waiting blade. Time to fly solo.

—

When you fall asleep in the armchair that night, sated and full of comfort food, Levi sketches in pencil on scrap paper. He sketches his hands over yours in the kitchen and he sketches the steam rising from the pot on the stove. He sketches you sitting with a bowl of soup in your lap, face illuminated by the TV and he sketches your sleeping body curled up, hair in your mouth. He sketches a close-up of your face, with special attention to the curve of your bottom lip, and he considers it practice for finishing the painting in his room.

Levi doesn’t think about how if he doesn’t do something soon, all of this will change. About how you’ll get over your heartbreak and move out at the end of the year and he won’t see you every day and every night. And he definitely doesn’t think about how he’ll have to adjust back to sleeping without your soft body tangled in his, and he doesn’t wonder how he ever slept before you.

No, instead of thinking, he just cracks his knuckles and gently scoops you from the chair and into his arms.

It’s as he’s climbing into his side of your bed that you stir and snort and blink sleepy eyes open.

“What time is it?”

“Ten forty,” he whispers, “go back to sleep.”

You hum and turn on your side to face him, face half hidden by the squish of your pillow. He settles more comfortably in, tucks your head under his chin even though you’re taller than he is, and drapes his free arm around the curve of your waist. 

Quiet breathing is the only thing that fills the room for a long while, and he finally thinks you’ve drifted back off, when:

“Hey, Levi?”

“Hmm?”

“I... I’ve been thinking a lot, and...”

The tone of your voice is odd and it makes Levi’s throat seize up for a moment while you hesitate. He swallows deliberately.

“And?”

Your next words are more confident, like you have really been thinking a lot, your voice not sleepy in the slightest. It’s matter-of-fact and soft and lovely. 

“And you make me feel really safe. Just, like, all the time. And I’m glad I met you. You make me feel, um...,” a small sniffle, “You make me feel held.”

Levi tightens his arm around you and swallows again. It feels like he’s balancing on the head of a pin, and a thousand angels are swirling around him, and it’s taking all he has not to get pushed off.

“Well, I am holding you.”

“Psssssht,” you wriggle slightly back so you can look at his face. You look simultaneously exasperated and vulnerable in the shadows of your bedroom. “You know what I mean.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well, I guess...” 

You pause to think for a moment, eyes flicking away from Levi’s face for a split second. Then, they’re back on his and he can feel the vulnerable honesty already spilling from you. 

“I’ve never really, um, gotten a lot of physical affection? From people in my life? And, uh, it’s not just that, it’s that you’re so... so— so familiar, and not just because I know you, godimnotmakingalickofsense, but because it feels like I’ve always known you?” It’s said like a question, like you want to know if he feels the same. “And you just make me feel held.”

You pause on a shaky inhale of breath, then cover your face with your hands and roll onto your back away from him. 

“God, I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense at all, I’ll just—“

“Stop,” Levi cuts you off, pushing up to lean over you and grasp your wrists in one hand and cover your mouth with the other, a mirror of the pair of you in the kitchen weeks earlier. “It makes sense. I get it.”

Your doe eyes stare up at him just like they did then and he selfishly indulges in an extra second of staring back before he releases you and slides back to rest on an elbow. Your hands stay demurely tucked by your chest where he put them and your tongue flicks out to lick at your lips as your eyes follow him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“Okay. Good.”

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t feel like going to bed. He feels like running for miles or painting until his hands ache or hitting something, anything to distract him from doing something incredibly stupid right now. The mattress sinks as he sits up and spins his legs out of bed, muttering something about tea and not tired yet, and he almost doesn’t catch the sensation of you sitting up behind him. 

He turns halfway back to tell you to go back to sleep, but your fingers catch his chin and he’s abruptly out of breath.

The curve of your bottom lip is perfectly, exactly the way he sketched it in the semi-dark. It’s slightly chapped.

When you kiss him, soft and certain, he topples off the pinhead and back into his body just in time to do something incredibly stupid and kiss you back.

—

(read part 7 here)

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

[tastyykpop]

ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɪᴛ ғᴜɴ

Pairings: winwin x reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: dom!winwin, brat!reader, some face slapping, spanking, hair grabbing, degradation, some praising at the end, rough sex, unprotected sex, crying, my sad attempt at writing subspace, aftercare

Synopsis: you try to dom sicheng, until you take it too far and the roles are switched back to normal

"Stay still, sicheng." You growled, gripping the mans chin to make him took at you, "And you call me needy." The eyes staring into his rolled making him scoff.

"You're lucky im even letting you do this." Sicheng placed his hands on your hips that were seated on top of his and toyed with the fabric of your pants.

You swatted his hands away, "Dont touch~" you mocked, just like he always does whenever you aren't on your best behavior. It always made you angry but doing it back gave you a sense of power for once.

"Dont be a brat." With bitterness laced in his voice, he decided to give up and place his hands behind his head to rest against the headboard. "Well," he started, "Are you gonna fuck me or not?" Sicheng raised a simple brow at you before you glared in return.

"Patience. That's what you taught me anyway."

"I also taught you to be good, but looks like you still haven't learned." He clenched his jaw.

Meanwhile you were ignoring him and started unbuckling his pants, easily taking his hard dick out. You smirked as he let out a hiss once the cool air in the room came in contact with it, "So sensitive. Isnt that cute."

Slowly, you moved your hand up and down his cock, purposely making him whine and whimper under you as you teased his slit for your own enjoyment. Sicheng slowly made his way down to where your hand was, grabbing your wrists but not pulling them off. He then threw his head back in pleasure, moaning your name out and saying how good you made him feel. Of course, he had to make your ego grow.

"Theres no way you're a dom," You smiled in a way that made his brows furrow before you spat in your hand and placed it back on his achingly hard cock. Sichengs hips lifted into your hands,, wanting more friction, but you pushed his hips down making him whine, "You're just a whiny little slut."

"Y-you did n-not just call me a whiny s-slut..." he tried his best sounding intimidating, but his voice failed him, creating an almost whimpering sound. "F-fuck, go faster."

"Dont tell me what to do." You stopped and squeezed his cock tightly, just enough to make him tighten his grasp on your wrists and groan from what sounded like pleasure and pain.

"Are you forgetting that I can easily put your ass back in its place?" Sicheng stared into your fiery eyes, anger written all over his face. It was stupid of him to even let you try and top him tonight, but he thought it would be something fun to try. But since you're you, you have to 'act' the part too. This made it way more fun.

"Id like to see you try." You stopped squeezing his cock, letting go of it as well and started taking the rest of your clothes off. Sichengs eyes wondered all around your body, taking in the curves and imperfection that made you look so beautiful and perfect in his eyes.

After removing your clothes, you took a seat back on his lap. Closer to his dick than before so he could feel your hot, dripping cunt.

"Hurry or ill fuck you myself." The man under you was holding himself back, all for your pleasure. You could call that sweet of him, but he did have a low patience level which you tested way too much.

"Maybe if you were a good boy."

Sicheng had to laugh, "Good boy? Why don't you be a good girl and ride me, that would be a start."

What was least expected from you, was a slap to sichengs face. He had to admit, it did startle him but it also unlocked a new level of anger that burned inside him.

"I told you to be patient." You smirked, "Impatient slut."

Sicheng had enough. In an instant, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you off him. Now, your face was shoved into the bed as your ass was in the air against his hips.

"Didn't I just say I could put you back in your place?" He landed a smack to your ass, causing you to whimper and arch your back, "Answer me before you can't sit for a month."

"Y-you did..." Your hand grabbed sichengs, trying to take them out of your hair. It was stupid, but you tried fighting back for your lost dominance. "Get off me!"

He spanked you again, "You're so fucking annoying, thinking you can tell me what to do. I never should have allowed you to dom me tonight."

It was quick the way sicheng didn't waste time sliding into your wet pussy. You knew he was desperate, but you didn't think he was this desperate to be inside you.

"You-youre still a-..fuck- a fu-fucking s-slut, sicheng." You pushed back, sichengs hand letting your hair fall around your face as he pushed on your lower back.

"Keep talking and I won't hesitate to edge you the rest of the night while I cum in your filthy cunt over and over again."

It was painful the way sicheng pounded into you. In fact, you were about to speak but his hips pistoned so hard that you couldn't dare open your mouth without a moan slipping out.

"Silent now?" He let out a breathy laugh, "Good, thats the way I like my little brat."

Everything felt so perfect, your eyes rolled into your head and you could see stars of pure bliss. Every vein and curve of his thick and long cock, you could feel too. You didn't want him to stop and you were so close yet so far with your orgasm.

"Si-sicheng..i-"

"No, don't even think about it."

But you couldn't not think about cumming. Especially when you felt him twitch inside you, knowing he was was on the edge.

That was when he released and painted your cunt white, but did he stop? Hell no. Sicheng continued pounding into you, tightening his grip on your hip and pushing harder on your back.

"Please i cant.." you cried into the sheets, your small fists balling up. This was so difficult, you couldn't hold it anymore.

The word 'please' spilled from your mouth over and over again like a chant, hoping your boyfriend could hear you begging.

"Fine. Cum."

Right after he spoke, your body shook violently as you came, crying loudly as the feeling washed over you. And almost instantly, after fucking you through your intense orgasm, sicheng slipped out of you letting his and your cum drip on the bed as he took you in his arms.

"Shh baby it's okay, I'm right here." He whispered in your ear, softly brushing against it with his lips. But you were too far gone, still not over the orgasm. "I'm gonna clean you up, okay?" You nodded slowly with tears still rolling down your cheeks, watching with big doe eyes as sicheng left to get a cloth so he could clean everything up.

You came back to your senses when sicheng came back. He was quick, cleaning everything like it was nothing and once he finished, he held you in his arms.

"You did so well, baby." He kissed you cheek, "Did I hurt you though? Did I go too rough?"

Shaking your head with a giggle you spoke, "No, it was fine, but...did I hit you too hard?"

He chuckled, "No, but you did shock me. It was pretty bold of you actually." His hand ruffled your already messy hair before saying, "Now get some sleep." His soft lips kissed yours delicately, "I know you're tired."

It was like he casted a spell, your eyes fluttered closed and soon you saw nothing but black.

[kikimcgee]

Eureka-Chapter 1

Ao3 Link

Description: Miles Edgeworth has been taught, from a very young age, to repress any and all need for assistance. Which becomes a problem when he’s constantly around a merry band of idiots who can do nothing but help. (AKA: Five times Miles Edgeworth needs help and finds it in unexpected places. One time he’s able to repay the favor.)

Miles Edgeworth did not cry.

Sure, maybe when he was a small child, or before…that incident, but not far after. A certain former prosecutor had made sure of that.

He was, however, willing to concede that he was human, and all humans needed to take a break to process their silly emotions sometimes. Even if said break tended to be in between court sessions, in the middle of a long recess, on a side stairwell where nobody ever walked.

His heart hammered as he approached his normal spot. It had been thumping so loud in the actual courtroom, he’d been sure the judge would call order any second. His hands were shaking. Ridiculous, he thought, stuffing them in his pockets. Jaw clenched, he shuffled past jury members, attorneys, and spectators in the hall. The noise around him started to grow louder and louder, his ears filling with an intense pressure, that would only stop if he got out of here-

Finally, he turned the corner. Instant (though not total) relief washed over him. The noise around him began to dissipate, his ears now being filled with only the sound of his own pounding heartbeat.

As his hand fumbled for the stair railing as not to completely fall over, his knees hit the plush red carpet of bottom step, and he fell into a sitting position. Ice water still flooded his veins, but at least now he was somewhere where nobody could see if he-

Tears. A too familiar wetness sprung up in his eyes. Dammit.

Weak. He could practically hear his former mentor snap. Hand grasping his chest, his head fell in between his knees as he tried to steady his ragged breathing. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine-

This entire ordeal was completely unnecessary, anyway. It had only been a mere moment in court that had set him off. He certainly didn’t need to-

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

His head shot up, his heart dropping in his chest. Through blurry eyes, he was just able to make out the form of a Miss Maya Fey, clothed in her usual spirit medium attire, holding a small white bag in her hand.

Hand still gripping the fabric of his suit, his eyes stared up at her. “M-Miss Fey. Hello-“

“A-are you crying?” She began, her voice laced with concern.

Oh, great. Just wonderful. This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

“I-I’m perfectly, fine, Miss Fey.” He tried, the annoyance cutting clear through his involuntary stammer. His voice shook so badly, he wanted to strangle himself. How dare it give him away like that? “I a-assure you, there is no reason to w-worry, I-“

The bag she was holding hit the floor, and suddenly, she was on her knees in front of him. “Wh-what happened?” She said quickly, “Do you want me to get Nick-?”

“No.” He snapped. The absolute, utter last thing he needed was for Phoenix Wright, of all people, to see him like this. Sure, maybe they’d been the best of friends once-upon-a-time, but those days were long past. Now, their relationship was…complicated. Besides, Wright would be sure to overreact, and pester him about telling him what was wrong. Then, even though Miles would try to hide it, Wright would somehow pull the truth out of him, like he always did, and Miles would probably end up crying-

No. Absolutely not.

Even then, they were rivals, for Pete’s sake. Why would Fey even suggest it? Honestly, he thought she was supposed to be an intelligent girl-

“Okay, okay.” She promised, “Just take it easy. Are you hurt?”

“N-no.”

“Did something happen that I need to alert the authorities?”

“No.”

“…Was there an Earthquake?”

“Honestly, Miss Fey.” He said, internally wincing that she still remembered that fun fact about him, “If there was an Earthquake, don’t you think you would have felt it?”

She rolled her eyes at the sudden snark. “I dunno, maybe it was an earthquake only uptight prosecutors could feel.”

Choosing to ignore her comment, he sighed. “Please Miss Fey, I am fine. I only need a moment. Please continue on with your day“

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine.”

Ah, yes. There was that good old fashioned Fey-bluntness. He would have objected, if he wasn’t having such a hard time getting words to come out. Instead, he simply rolled his eyes. His hands met his knees, and he began quickly pushing himself back up into a standing position. “I a-appreciate your concern, but everything is-

All of a sudden, the room spun, and his legs betrayed him, suddenly beginning to act as though they were made of paper. Instantly, Miss Fey’s hand was on his arm, trying to steady him as gravity pulled him back down onto the step.

“Easy there, jello legs.” She said, easing him back down. “Just take a second and breathe.”

He huffed, unsure if it was a response to her demand or him obeying it. Head back between his knees, he tried to close his eyes and think. However, as soon his eyes shut, he was back in the courtroom, staring down into the eyes of the witness-

“Edgeworth.” Miss Fey’s voice snapped him back to reality once again. “Listen to me. Don’t think about it right now.”

He had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes again. “Miss Fey-“

“I’m serious.” She said, “Mia once told me that when you’re having an anxiety attack, you can’t try to rationalize your thoughts, ‘cause that part of your brain isn’t working right now. So stop giving it space, and try thinking about it later.”

An anxiety attack. Was that what this was? Well, it fit the medical description-

“Just try and push it away for now.” She said, “Then try coming back when you’re calm.”

“How do I…?”

“Try to think of something else.”

Another almost eye-roll. “Like what?”

“I….don’t know.” She admitted, glancing around. Her eyes fixated on his briefcase, which was lying all but completely discarded off to the side of the stairwell. Suddenly, a small smirk came to her face. “You like Signal Samurai?”

His eyes found the case as well. Sure enough, his little silly red decade-old keychain was hanging from the side of it. Great, now there was another thing she was going to make fun of him for.

“It…it was a gift.” He said, “I…I was quite a fan of the series as a child.”

“Huh.” Maya Fey replied. She was quiet, and for a moment, Miles was half convinced she was going to get up and leave him to wallow in his misery. But then-

“That’s interesting. Nick always teased that you had bad taste, but I thought he meant in clothes, not in cartoons.”

His head shot up, his mouth agape. “Wh-wha-?”

Her smirk had turned to a full on smug grin. “I mean, c’mon. Signal Samurai? That one’s soooooo old. Steel Samurai is way better.”

He could not believe his ears. “That’s ridiculous. Signal Samurai is a classic.”

She shrugged. “Sure, if you like basic plot lines and predictable endings. Plus, the production value is garbage.”

“The production value has nothing to do with the show’s overall performance!” He exclaimed, “Sure, they had a small budget at first, but there’s also the writing to consider, and the actors-“

“The actors on Steel Samurai are way better. Will Powers-“

“Will Powers is fine, but the original actors on Signal-“

“Oh I know you’re not about to compare those crusty knock-off power rangers to Will Powers.”

He huffed. “This is ridiculous, Miss Fey. You are being completely ridiculous.”

Her smile returned once more. “But I distracted you.”

With a start, he realized that she had, in fact, done just that. His breath had returned to normal, and hands hand all but just barely stopped shaking. “It…it seems you did. I…Thank you.”

She grinned, standing up and walking over to grab the white bag off the floor where she’d previously dropped it. Sitting back down, she opened and pulled out a circular, wrapped food item. She extended it to Miles.

“Burger?”

He blinked. “No…thank you.”

She simply shrugged again and unwrapped it for herself. “More for me.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, both of them unsure where to go from there.

“So….” Maya said after a while, “You ready to talk about what happened?”

He sighed. “Listen, I really am fine. It was just a moment. It’s over now.”

“Well yeah, but you’ve clearly got something bothering you.”

“There’s honestly no need to talk about it.” But even he could hear the strain in his voice when he said it.

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. When she did that, she looked incredibly like her sister. Well, her sister, but with a ketchup spot on her cheek. It was a little unnerving.

“Look, I’m concerned about your health, Mr. Edgeworth. So if you don’t tell me what’s going on, that’s fine."

“Thank you Miss Fey-“

“But I’m going to get Nick to help you instead.”

He gaped. That truly was the last thing he needed. No doubt, Phoenix Wright would be all over that, trying to help Miles, get all of his secrets out of him, and fix everything. As if Miles didn’t feel guilty enough for all the help he’d already received.

“You wouldn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes, her stare unmoving as she took a bite of her burger.

After a moment of an intense stare-off between the two, he realized that this Fey was just like her sister-never backing away in the face of a challenge. “Fine. But not a word of this gets back to Wright. Understood?”

“My lips are sealed.” She said, drawing a fake zipper over her lips and pretending to throw away the key.

“Okay.” Miles took a breath. “Like I said, it’s a ridiculous set of circumstances.”

“You shouldn’t invalidate your emotions like that.” Maya said, her mouth half-full of a burger, “But go on.”

“…Right. Well anyway, I was in a trial this morning. A rather simple open-and-shut case, really. The defense was playing all sorts of tricks, calling an inordinate number of witnesses.”

“Sounds like Nick.”

“No.” Miles said quickly, “This man was just grasping. Absurd as Wright may be, his tricks always have an end purpose.”

As quickly as he’d said it, he looked over to see Miss Fey’s smug smile had returned. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

She repeated the zipper motion from before, and Miles continued. “Anyway, one of those witnesses was a child. The child of the victim, in fact. They just…they looked so helpless up there on the stand. The defense was badgering them. They had just lost their family, and they had the audacity to-to- I tried to stop it, but that idiotic judge just let it happen, and-“

He sighed, stopping himself. Clenched fists fell to his side. “I just…feel bad for that child. And I supposed…well, it just brough back some unpleasant memories, is all.”

Another beat, and Maya was completely silent. Again, Miles felt his heart skip a beat, half-convinced she was going to start laughing at him. Though he wouldn’t blame her-

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Edgeworth\.”

He jumped, unsure if it was because of the use of his first name or the sudden tone shift in her voice. Her hamburger now finished, she held the wrapper in her clenched fist, resting her arms on her knees. Her face had suddenly turned despondent, eyes turned towards the floor. All of a sudden, she turned to look at him. Though she wore a smile of some kind, her eyes were glossy.

It was only then that he really looked at her, for the first time since their encounter. He’d failed to notice until that exact moment how…un-maya like she’d looked. He was used to seeing her chipper and bright, the perfect partner for the sunshine-defense team that was Wright and Co. But now, he couldn’t help by notice now slightly-faded puffy redness of her cheeks, or the dark circles that lined her eyes.

“Being a part of a defense team isn’t always an easy job.” She said, “Nick told me that once. I guess the same is true for the prosecution.”

“Yes, well…” He realized with a start that it had barely been a month since the DeKiller case. The one that Maya had been one of the victims of. She’d been kidnapped and nearly murdered, and would have perished if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of both Phoenix Wright, himself, and the deceased Mia Fey (Though he still wasn’t sure about the finer details on how that last bit worked out).

Needless to say, Maya Fey was surely still recovering from such an ordeal. And here he was, venting to her.

“I see a lot of…how did you put it? Unpleasant things as a spirit medium. You’d think by now, nothing would phase me. But I’ve been having nightmares lately, about what happened. I thought I was fine in the day though. Th-then there was a…possibility, a theory brought up in the trial today. It was only a suggestion, and Nick even disproved it, but…they thought maybe somebody had contracted a killer. And then his name came up, and all of a sudden, I was back in that dark room and-“ She cut herself off, her eyes snapping open.

“Sorry, sorry. That’s not. We were talking about you, and-“ She let out an awkward laugh, one that sounded as though she were on the verge of tears. A quick glance at her eyes proved this to be true. “I-What I’m trying to say is, I get it. I-It’s hard. And I’m sorry.”

Miles watched, silent as her eyes brows furrowed, and she suddenly pushed away the forming tears from her eyes and took a deep, almost frustrated breath.

He wanted to say something to her, to offer some semblance of peace or comfort or even closure, but no words came to his mind. He really was terrible at things like this. Of course, emotions had never been his strong suit in general, but comforting people? Forget about it.

He couldn’t help but think that if Wright were here, he’d know exactly what to say. Something that would undoubtedly solve everything, and leave everyone smiling and all feelings resolved. And then everyone would ride off into the sunset or something. Because that was just what he did.

But Wright wasn’t here. He was.

“Miss Fey.” He found himself saying, his tone low. He swallowed, terrified he was going to say something wrong. “I…It is...okay for you to cry, if you wish.”

For a long moment, Maya only stared at him, blinking. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, she laughed.

It was just about as Miles was mentally swearing off trying to comfort anyone ever again that he noticed the tears now streaming freely down her face. For a moment, all he could do was watch her, incredulous, until finally her laugh subsided and she turned back to him, her eyes still watery.

“Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth.” She smiled sadly, her sleeve coming up to her eyes once again, “You know, the same goes for you.”

He tried to muster something of a reassuring smile. “Thank you, but my days of strife have long past. I feel I should be over them long before now.”

Maya’s eyebrows furrowed once again. “Well at least you didn’t freak out over literally nothing.”

“Now now,” Miles scolded, “What was that thing you said to me earlier? Ah, yes. You shouldn’t invalidate your emotions like that?”

She snorted. “Touché.”

Another long silence settled over them, and for a moment, all Miles could hear was the distant chatter of courthouse goers down several halls. Both of their eyes were still fixated on the floor, and Miles almost thought she might have left, until finally:

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Yes?”

“Does it…does it always feel like this?”

His eyes widened. He wanted to immediately reassure her that no, of course it didn’t, but how was he supposed to do that, when those feelings of his were the exact reason he was currently sitting in the stairwell?

He was quiet, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to lie to her. But…

Finally, he told her something he was unable to tell even himself.

“I wish that I could tell you that this pain-the pain from any traumatic experience- goes away. But it does not.”

Maya’s eyes found the ground once again. “I see. Well-“

“It does, however, get easier. Over time.” He continued. “It is still hard, but we must carry on. Not because we want to, or because it is easy, but because we are here.”

She stared up at him, eyes staring into his soul. Staring his own eyes into a spot on the wall, he continued.

“I’ve heard it said that we are stronger because of the things we go through- I don’t know if I believe that. But for better or for worse, we survived. And we carry on, because….well….”

“Because we’re worth carrying on for.” Maya finished the thought, words he still hadn’t be ready to accept. “We’re worth the effort to try and fix our hearts and be okay again.”

Despite himself, he actually gave her some semblance of a smile. “Yes…well said.”

After a moment, he stood, offering her a hand. She took it. “Though I don’t recall ‘sitting in a courthouse stairwell crying’ part of the traditional healing process.”

She was pulled to her feet. “I guess we should probably be kinder to ourselves, huh? At least cry somewhere a little more comfortable.”

Miles nodded. “Well, Von Karma’s aren’t exactly known for their kindness, of all things.”

“Good thing you aren’t a Von Karma then.”

His head swiveled to look at her. There was something in her eyes, a determination that he’d seen countless times before. Wright? Yes, but even before him, someone else-

“Thank you.” He told her, “And for what it’s worth…I think your sister would be proud of you. For the resilience you’ve shown through everything…and the person you’ve become.”

Her head snapped up once again, her eyes welling up once more. Before she could say anything else, he straightened his jacket and took a few steps forward.

“Well, the recess is almost over. I must be heading back now. Thank you for your help, and I hope you feel better soo-“

“Miles.”

He turned, looking back into those determined eyes once again, which this time, were accompanied by a soft smile.

“I know I didn’t know your dad at all. But…I think he’d be proud of you, too.”

Ugh, those damn tears again. He quickly blinked them away.

“Th-thank you, Maya.”

[sleepysnk]

before the chapter begins, i'd like to say a few words. thank you all for joining me on this journey, this was my first series, and it was definitely a huge ride. i'm very sad that it is coming to an end, but i am going to be working on new projects soon. thank you all so much for the support on team player ❤! i hope you enjoy the finale!!

Team Player: The Finale

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 5.0k

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Eren's eyes flew open as the sound of his alarm blared from his phone, groaning he reached over to turn off the annoying sound that awoke him from his slumber.

For a moment, Eren thought that it was a normal school day. He almost dreaded getting up until he realized what today was.

It was game day.

More specifically, today was the championship game against Marley University.

Almost instantly, Eren rushed out of bed to his dresser. He threw his outfit on within a few seconds, not really seeming to care about waking up his roommate Armin.

"Ugh.. Eren? What are you doing? It's barely nine," Armin groaned, rubbing his tired eyes.

Eren looked over at him. "Today is game day Armin! I have to be at the field soon," he replied, grabbing a hair-tie and throwing his hair into a messy bun. "Are you coming?"

Armin looked up from his phone. "Maybe.. is (Y/N) gonna show up?"

Eren grabbed his phone, scrolling to find her contact. "I'll find out in a sec," he replied, sending her a quick text.

"I'll probably come, I don't have anything to do anyway," Armin said, laying back down on his bed.

Eren gathered his things into his bag, he double checked if he was missing anything; of course he wasn't and he was ready to go within a few minutes.

"I'll see you then Armin," Eren said, putting his phone into his pocket.

Armin nodded, "Good luck! Don't be a dumbass today."

Eren opened the door to their dorm. "I won't.. you'll see," he said, exiting the room and walking down the hall.

Eren's mind was racing as he made his way to the locker room on campus, today was his last day to show if he was really worth it to those scouts. If he missed this opportunity to go to the Chief's, he would never be able to live with himself; he needed as much luck as he could get today. He silently prayed that he wouldn't fuck up.

"Eren!"

He turned around to see Jean jogging his way towards him.

"What's up Jean?" Eren asked, nodding.

Jean put his hand onto his shoulder. "Are you excited for today? I mean, it's the championship game! Who would have thought we'd make it this far!"

A smile formed onto his features. "Of course I'm excited! I just know we're going to win," he said, patting his back. "We got this."

The two entered the locker room, many of the other players were standing getting ready or they were joking amongst themselves. Eren could feel the atmosphere, excitement, nervousness, it felt so surreal and he couldn't believe this was happening.

"We're leaving in 20 minutes! Be ready!" Coach Smith called.

Eren dropped his stuff in front of his locker, unlocking the lock and pulling out his football uniform. The team got special uniforms to wear for the championship game, they looked good.

Eren tossed his shirt off, throwing it into his bag; he started to search for his pads when he heard giggling coming from behind him.

He turned his head to see Reiner and Jean with huge smirks on their faces; it confused Eren.

"Huh? What's funny?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

Jean covered his mouth a bit. "You own a cat or something? Your back is fucked," he said, looking at Reiner who was laughing along with him.

Eren's face suddenly grew pink as the memories from the previous night began to play in his head. Him and (Y/N) got a little… busy.

"It's none of your business, at least I can get some," Eren said, rolling his eyes.

Reiner put his hand on his shoulder. "We're just messing with ya," he said, walking towards his locker. "At least you were doing something right!"

Eren turned back to his locker, grabbing his uniform and other equipment. "You guys are so lame.." he muttered, putting his shirt on.

A sudden ping from his phone made his attention go towards his back, he assumed it was probably Armin letting him know that he was going to show up. He pulled it out of his bag, but this time it wasn't Armin, it was (Y/N).

(Y/N): good luck today ❤ i'll for sure be there today <3

A smile grew onto his face from her message, he wanted to show her that he could do it. To prove all of their hard work wasn't for nothing, he wanted to make her proud of him; the same with his coaches.

Eren: thank youu :) i can't wait to see your pretty face!

"Eren! Hurry up! We gotta get out there soon!" Jean called, heading towards the exit of the locker room.

Eren turned his head, "I got you! I'll be there in a sec!"

He tossed his phone back into his bag, zipping it up so none of his stuff would fall out or get lost. He fixed up his bun and passed by the mirror, he loved the uniform, the school definitely went all out for the championship uniforms.

Eren made his way down the hall where the rest of his teammates were, they had about an hour or two before the game was supposed to start, but he knew people were going to fill in fast. It was the most anticipated game of the week, and all eyes would be on Eren.

"Alright! Listen up!"

Everyone fell silent as Coach Smith made his way towards the players, he wore a special jacket that was made for him.

"No more funny business! It's finally time for us to shine and show those Marley kids that we are the best! I want to see your best effort today, okay?!" he yelled.

"Yes sir!" they yelled together.

Coach Smith crossed his arms. "Remember what I taught you, today everything comes down to this. Our efforts and hard work were not for nothing! Don't let me down! Some of you have some great scouts here today, you show them that you ARE worth a spot in the NFL!"

Eren totally forgot that Mr.Zacharias was going to be attending that day, it all made him even more nervous than he already was. He knew that if he failed today, there was no chance he would have a future in the NFL and all of it would turn to dust.

"Now let's get outside and play some football!" he yelled, smiling at them excitedly.

"Yes sir!"

Eren put his helmet on and began to follow his teammates outside to the stadium, he could see students already making their way into the field. He felt the excitement coursing through his veins, he was waiting for this moment, and now that it was finally here he couldn't wait to get out there and show everyone what he could do.

The weather today was perfect too, it was sunny, and the air was crisp. Everytime Eren took a breath it felt like his confidence was growing more and more, that feeling also growing whenever his mind would go to (Y/N). She was going to be there that day and Eren wanted to show her that he could do it; that he could make it.

"Hey Eren."

He turned to meet Reiner's gaze, the blonde seeming serious.

"Yeah? What's up?"

Reiner put his hand on Eren's shoulder. "Good luck today, alright? I know Coach was saying that the scouts were here.. I know he meant that speech for you specifically too. Don't mess up, okay?"

Reiner had always been the type to motivate everyone on the team, he was team captain after all. It was his job to make sure everyone was straight.

"Thanks Reiner, good luck to you too. Maybe you'll be the next Ben Roethlisberger," he said, chuckling shortly after.

Reiner's honey eyes went wide. "What?! No one can be as good as big Ben," he replied, shock written on his face.

Eren shook his head, smiling. "Yeah maybe you're right, but you got talent. I hope you get a spot."

Reiner smacked his shoulder, "You got the talent too.. don't doubt yourself. Especially not today,"

The two trailed into the stadium together, Eren could see the way everyone was acting and he could tell that they were all nervous or excited. This was the opportunity many of them had to impress scouts from different NFL teams, including Eren and Reiner.

"Get out there and start practicing! Especially you Reiner! You gotta show those guys how you toss balls," Coach Smith yelled, pointing towards the stadium entrance. "You too Eren!"

Eren adjusted the straps on his helmet, heading towards the entrance where Reiner previously entered.

"Mr.Zacharius is out there.. please say hello," Coach Smith whispered to him.

Eren nodded, "You got it coach!"

He walked down the long corridor that led to the field, he saw a few people already sitting in the stands as well as Marley sitting across from them. They seemed as ready as ever, it made Eren's blood grow hot; he wanted to show them that they should never underestimate Trost University. Ever.

Eren entered the field, his skin forming goosebumps from the cooler fall air. It was football weather, and he couldn't ask for a better day.

His eyes landed on Mr.Zacharius who was watching something on an iPad, Eren assumed he had to be watching plays from other players, hell, maybe he was looking at his.

"Nice to see you, Mr.Zacharius."

The taller man looked up, a grin soon taking over his features. "Nice to see you too Eren, how have you been? Are you feeling any better?" he asked, placing the iPad underneath his arm.

He moved his ankle around in a circular motion. "Yep! I took a lot of time off of my feet, I couldn't miss today," he replied, smiling.

Mr.Zacharius crossed his arms over his chest. "I see.. well, I hope to see what you've got to offer today."

"You won't be disappointed, that's for sure."

The older man seemed a bit surprised by Eren's statement, but nonetheless did he chuckle at his words.

"I hope to see your improvement," he replied.

"Eren! Come on dude! We have an hour before showtime!" Jean called, waving him over.

Eren looked back at them, then back at Mr.Zacharius. "I'll see you later," he said, raising his brows.

"Yes of course, have a good game!" he called.

Eren jogged towards Reiner and Jean, the two were just throwing passes or playing with the football.

"How did it go with Mr.Zacharius? Did he make you piss your pants?" Jean asked, raising a brow.

Eren rolled his eyes, "No, he didn't, not everyone makes me piss my pants, Jean." he replied.

"It seems like Marley is bringing their best today, did you see their O-Line? I heard they were doing the most they could," Reiner said, looking over at the opposing team.

Jean nodded, "For real? I mean.. they beat us last time but that was because of that shitty interception. There is no way their luck will be as good as last time,"

Eren looked over at Marley's side, he could see the coach staring at him. "There is no way they're going to win again. We have built up our defense, Marley is gonna have a hard time getting past us," he said, taking the ball from Reiner. "Besides.. we're a team, right? We should have faith in them,"

Jean and Reiner looked at one another before looking back at Eren. The two couldn't lie that he had a point, they needed to have faith in their defense, just like their defense has faith in their offense; it worked both ways.

"Can we get passing? I gotta practice with Jean," Eren said, snapping his fingers in Reiner's face.

He blinked, "Yeah! Go along,"

Eren jogged down to the end of the line, he saw Jean do the same; their eyes locking with one another.

"Hut!"

Eren ran down the field, turning his head to see where Reiner was aiming to throw. He watched the ball fall towards his direction, Eren's arms flew open and within seconds it was in his arms. His body hit the floor with a small thud on the grass.

"Got it!" Eren called, putting the ball into the air.

Jean ran over, holding his hand out for him to grab. "Don't dirty your uniform just yet.. that's for the real shit," he said, pulling him off the ground.

Eren threw the ball towards Reiner. "Yeah.. you're right, but how much longer until the game starts? Less than an hour, right?" he asked, looking at Jean.

He turned his head to check the clock that was counting down on the giant screen. "Yeah.. we got 40 minutes or so," he replied, adjusting his helmet.

"Coach is probably going to call us back, so let's go." Reiner said, jogging towards the two with the football in his hands.

The three boys made their way back to the locker room where the rest of their teammates were, they spoke to one another in small groups or just stood around waiting for the game to start.

"Good, you're back. Did you speak with Mr.Zacharius?" Coach Smith asked, placing his hand on Eren's shoulder; stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah! Things are good.. for the most part," he replied, looking towards the floor.

He patted his shoulder, nodding his head. "Good, glad to hear that."

Coach Smith made his way to the front of the room. "Alright! Listen up!"

The room grew quiet from all of the yelling, the players' attention went to their coach, a look of acknowledgement written on their faces; including Eren's.

"I told you all earlier to give your best today, and I mean that. Those scouts are going to be looking at you! Show them you're worthy!" he yelled, clapping his hands together.

Eren nodded his head as the words filled his mind. He knew what he had to do today, no more bullshit, he had to play like a team player.

"Alright!? Now let's go play some football!"

"Yes coach!"

He grabbed his playbook before nodding them over to the exit of the locker room, Eren and the others followed him down the corridor. He could hear the faint sounds of cheering and whistling coming from the stands, Eren could tell that there were more seats filled from the last time he was out.

Reiner turned to meet the faces of his teammates. "You guys ready?! Let's fuck some shit up today!" he yelled, hyping them all up.

Eren felt the excitement and enthusiasm going through him, he shook out his hands as a way to make himself a bit more comfortable.

"Now presenting the Trost University Falcons!"

"That's our queue," Jean said, looking at Eren.

The players jogged out of the exit, smoke filled into the air and small fireworks shot into the sky; a small 'pop' coming from each of them. Eren heard the cheers and yells coming from the stands, he missed the vibe of game day. The atmosphere felt just right today, and he wanted to make use of it; all eyes were going to be on him.

The team made their way to their side of the field, each of them taking a seat on the bench or standing to get water.

"Let's see if Marley is gonna pull up with their A-Game today," Jean said, narrowing his eyes at the opposing team.

Eren chuckled, "We'll see about that, don't get too cocky, Jean."

Jean looked at him before looking back towards the field. "I'm not getting cocky, I just want us to win," he replied, leaning back against the bench.

"We will, I know we will," Eren said, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Eren!"

He turned his head around a few times, he was confused who was calling his name. His eyes then landed on the person he wanted to see the most.

(Y/N).

A smile took over his features, she was sitting with Armin, and she wore the hoodie he gave her a few nights before.

Eren waved at her, because he couldn't go to the stands; it was against the schools guidelines for football players. Though, he couldn't wait to see her after the game.

"Do you think they're gonna win?" Armin asked, looking at (Y/N) with concern.

She looked at the floor. "Hard to say.. I tried my best with him, but I think it'll all pay off once the game starts," she replied, looking back towards the field.

Armin looked at Eren, "I hope you're right (Y/N)."

Eren looked towards the field, he could see the referees who were talking amongst one another. They were going to call the players out for the coin toss, he silently hoped that Reiner would pick a good side of the coin so they could get the ball first. Get the ball quick, and get points on the board.

"We will now have the team captains of each team come out for the coin toss."

"That's your queue, Reiner." Jean said, patting his back.

The blonde looked towards the two. "I got this," he replied, making his way out towards the field.

Eren looked at Jean as Reiner went onto the middle of the field. "Let's pray together," he said, laughing a bit.

"Gentlemen, congratulations, it is an honor to be here today. This game today has shown your incredible efforts, Trost will pick the side, this being heads and this being tails."

Eren watched Reiner speak to the referee, his heart thumping in his chest.

"Trost has chosen heads and Marley is tails, I will now flip the coin." he said, throwing the coin into the air. He stared at the floor before speaking again, "It is heads, Trost will receive the ball this way."

"Hell yeah! Reiner is one lucky son of a bitch," Jean said, excitement in his voice.

Eren adjusted the straps to his helmet, he could feel all of the eyes burning into his head. He looked back to see (Y/N) giving him a thumbs up, he blew a kiss towards her before making his way onto the field.

"It's now or never, bring all that you got!" Eren yelled, looking at his other teammates.

-

"Good shit Eren!"

Eren bumped heads with his teammates on the sidelines, he had just scored another touchdown. Trost was trailing Marley 28-24 in the 3rd quarter.

Eren plopped down on the bench, his water bottle being handed to him, he squeezed it a bit and let the cold drink fill into his mouth. Sweat formed on his skin, even if it was a cool fall day, he still felt warm.

"We might come out on top with this one.. if we keep at it, Marley will have no chance!" Jean said, looking at Eren with a smirk.

He chuckled, "We will, there isn't any 'mights' we are going to win this game."

Jean looked at him with a bit of shock, he knew Eren could be somewhat motivating, but he usually became a hot head during games whenever Trost was behind. It was odd seeing his teammate being so motivational and positive, but Jean wasn't complaining, he needed Eren to be at his best.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Eren looked up to see his coach standing before him. "Yeah, I'm fine, why? Do I not look good?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Coach Smith sat beside him, the playbook in his hands. "You look fine, but I'm just asking since you've been working hard. It's different to see you this way, Eren." he chuckled.

He couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, don't worry about me coach, as long as the others are okay, we can make it."

Coach Smith only nodded, "I hope that is the case. Marley is up by four points, if they score again, we have to come up with something,"

Eren looked over with a confused expression. "We still have the 4th quarter! Marley doesn't stand a chance, our offense is tiring them out," he exclaimed, pointing at the field.

"I admire your determination, I wish we had this at the beginning," he said, adjusting the cap on his head.

Coach Smith was right, maybe if Eren was like this earlier in the season things could have gone differently. Eren wasn't the type to motivate before, he usually only looked out for himself, he was disgusted by the person he was before.

She changed that for him, and that's why he is so determined to win.

The whistles blew, making Eren look up along with the rest of his teammates. It was now the end of 3rd quarter, that meant Trost only had one more to either take the lead, or lose the championship.

Eren couldn't let that happen, ever. He would lose everything if he lost today, and he didn't want to let down (Y/N), he wanted to make her proud.

"You got this Eren, keep that positive mindset and you'll win this game, like a true team player."

He watched his coach make his way towards the front, past a few students. Eren had to remind himself that he couldn't be negative, if he was, the game would go in that direction; he'd turn back in the opposite direction.

"Eren! We're up!" Jean called, jogging towards the field.

Eren looked up, grabbing his helmet and putting it on his head. "I can do this.. you'll see!" he yelled, adjusting the straps and making his way to the field.

-

This was it.

The final two minutes of the game.

Eren hadn't expected the game to go by so quick, but Trost's offense was always going back and forth onto the field. Though, no points were scored, no matter how many times they went out there.

They were still down by four points, all they would need is a touchdown.

"We're down to the last two minutes here! We gotta think of something and fast!" Jean said, looking at Reiner.

The blonde seemed stumped himself, how could he pull this off?

"I say we get as far as we can, and let the field goal unit take this one." he said, crossing his arms.

Eren turned his head, "What!? Reiner, you can't be serious man! That's only three points! We need four!"

Reiner realized what Eren was saying was true, there was no way a field goal could tie this game.

Reiner kneeled on the ground. "Next play, we go for it. Jean or Eren, I need one of you down there, I gotta launch this ball." he said, looking at the two of them.

Eren swallowed thickly, the last time this happened, Jean and Eren collided with one another and the game was over due to an interception.

"Give it to Jean."

Jean turned towards Eren with a look of confusion. "What!? Eren, this is something you can do! There is no way I can make it down there," he replied, furrowing his brows.

Eren looked back towards the stands, his eyes landing on (Y/N) who seemed to be watching him. A smile took over her features as soon as she noticed him, it made Eren's heart grow.

He couldn't let her down like this! She was here to see him and how great he has become, if Eren was to give up now, she'd be disappointed and he'd regret it later.

"Look, no promises, but I'll try to get down there. I want it near Jean though, he has the best opportunity," Eren said, looking at Reiner.

Reiner stood up, "Alright, let's go!" he clapped.

Eren jogged over to the line, his heart beating in his chest, he felt queasy; almost like he could pass out right now. These next few plays will determine what happens to Trost, if they fail to get down there, they're finished and this game is over.

He looked forward at the player in front of him, all he had to do was push past this guy and get to a point where Reiner had a clear opening to give the ball to him or Jean.

"Hut!"

As soon as those words came from Reiner's mouth, Eren began to move quickly down the field. The player behind him was close, he was reaching for his jersey, Eren had to get out of his guys grasp.

He watched Reiner throw the ball, it was as if everything was going in slow motion. Eren's eyes scanned the area around him, Jean wasn't in sight! He was being blocked by another defender, there was no way he could get out of that.

"You can do this! I'm not giving up on you!"

Eren smirked as (Y/N)'s words echoed in his head, he pushed the defender behind him away, and reached his hand into the air; the football landing in his fingers.

Cheers erupted from the fans as Eren rushed down the field, he turned and spun around to avoid any contact from the players trying to bring him down.

"Go Eren! Go!" Jean yelled, running fast behind him.

Eren ran as fast as he could, he could feel the burning of his throat, his heart racing in his chest.

He was home free now, the end zone clear in front of him. Eren stepped into it and the crowd began to scream and cheer for him, he made it.

He got the touchdown.

"Yeah Eren! You did it!"

His eyes averted to (Y/N) waving and jumping in the stands, Armin was beside her yelling too.

He slammed the ball into the ground, it bounced to another part of the field. He looked at (Y/N) with a smile, his pointer finger directed right at her.

"Good fucking shit!"

Eren's teammates suddenly came around him, knocking their helmets together, or smacking their shoulders. Reiner even hoisted Eren up and shook him around a few times.

(Y/N) smiled in the stands, Eren actually pulled it off. She hadn't expected him to become this new person, but he actually was able to fix his mistakes.

"He did it.." she said, looking at Armin.

The blonde placed his hand onto her shoulder. "It's all because of you (Y/N)."

She giggled before turning her attention back onto the field where the players were celebrating, the whistles blew, meaning the game was now over.

"Trost wins!"

The students in the stands began chanting Eren's name, confetti fell from the sky, and the school's fight song was being played by the band.

Eren came over to the sidelines where the rest of his teammates were at, Coach Smith had a big smile on his face, Eren hadn't seen that look on him in weeks.

"I'm proud of you." he said, hugging Eren and patting his shoulder.

"Thank you coach.. I couldn't have done it without your help," Eren replied, looking at him with a smile.

Without warning, Eren felt something being poured over him and Coach Smith. It was cold… was it the water bucket?!

"Haha! Look at Jaeger!" Jean said, laughing as he handed the bucket to someone behind him.

Eren rolled his eyes as he took off his helmet. "You're lucky my helmet was on," he said, smirking.

"Eren!"

He turned his head to see Armin and (Y/N) coming towards him, he jogged towards the two and embraced (Y/N) in a hug.

"Did you see that?!" he asked, his voice full of excitement.

She looked into his emerald eyes, they seemed to sparkle almost. "Yeah I did! You did amazing!" she replied, putting her arms around his neck.

"I couldn't have done it without you.." Eren said, cupping her cheek.

Her eyes grew wide, "I'm proud of you, Eren."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss onto her lips. She felt her cheeks grow hot from it, she could also feel Armin staring at the two like idiots.

"Get a room!" Armin said, laughing a bit.

Eren pulled away to look at his best friend. "Yeah whatever, but thanks for motivating me Armin. I knew I couldn't have done this without you either," he said, putting his hand onto his shoulder.

Armin smiled, "No problem, Eren."

"Eren!"

His head turned towards the familiar voice, it was Mr.Zacharius coming over to him. He grew tense, what was he going to tell him?

"Mr.Zacharius! Good to see you," he said, looking at (Y/N) and Armin.

The man chuckled a bit. "It's good to see you too, congratulations! I'm proud of your improvement to the team, and I loved seeing you play today. I always knew you were a good kid," he replied. "Anywho, I wanted to give you this,"

Eren watched him hand over a folder, he wasn't sure what it was, but he decided to open it.

His eyes grew wide as he read the documents, it was an official statement saying that Eren was going to be entered in the 2022 NFL Draft.

"No way.." he said, his jaw dropping.

"Congratulations.. I'll see you in April!" Mr.Zacharius said, waving at him and turning around.

Eren stood there in shock for a moment, he was actually going to the NFL! His dreams were coming true and he couldn't believe what was happening.

"Well? What did he give you?" Armin asked, nodding his head.

Eren turned around with the papers. "I'm in!" he replied, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

Armin and (Y/N) looked at one another with shock, happiness, and joy. (Y/N) was the most excited for him, it was a big opportunity for Eren, and she wanted to be there for it.

"Congrats!" she said, hugging Eren tightly again.

He put his hand around her waist. "Thank you (Y/N), I can't wait to do this with you and Armin by my side," he replied, kissing her cheek.

She smiled to herself, burying her face in his chest. Eren couldn't be happier with his life now, he did it, he made everyone around him proud and he couldn't wait for this next step for his future.

And he was going to do all of it with (Y/N) by his side.

tagging: @ererokii @eremiie @katsuhera @moomii-hime @sofi-yeager @jaegercult @flam3bird @callmepromise @thicmitten @bell0214 @daughter-of-the-stars11 @chayauwu @lunamoonawatcher @hugemommymilkers

[malghra]

the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

Written for Darklina Week, Day 2: Role Reversal, Light!Aleksander & Dark!Alina

Aleksander's body tries to object when he is pulled to his feet. His limbs feel heavy, and he's bruised and stiff all over. He tries to shake off the grip of the two oprichniki who are dragging him along,

When he sees the Grand Pavilion looming up before him, he knows that he's fucked up, and that there's a good chance this will be his last day among the living. In the next moment, he is swallowed up by a sea of charcoal grey as the ranks of the oprichnina close around him, and he is pushed inside.

He blinks as his eyes try to get used to the dusky inside of the tent, taking a stumbling step forward as the back of a rifle pokes his spine.

"Bring him closer," a clear, high voice calls out.

When two pairs of arms try to take hold of him again, he pulls back, an involuntary hiss escaping his lips, and he takes a reluctant step forward.

At the other end of the path that has been cleared before him, on a raised dais, a woman is sat on an elaborately carved throne of dark, glossy wood. She is clad in robes of black and gold, and she's craning her neck to get a better look at him.

Aleksander has never seen her before, but he doesn't need anyone to tell him who she is. Queen Alina is both loved and feared throughout Ravka.

"Closer," she says softly yet still commanding.

She sits her throne with a straight back, but her shoulders are relaxed with the certainty that she belongs there. Aleksander briefly wonders where that moment of insight came from. Her long white hair is braided and piled on top of her head like a crown, adorned with a simple circlet of gold and onyx.

He takes another single step forward, and the Queen tilts her head. Aleksander thinks he can see the hint of a smile playing around her lips.

"What is your name?" she asks him.

He takes his time to study her. Her face is pale, and a bit too sharp and long to be called beautiful, and yet, there is something so regal and coldly proud about her features that he finds almost irresistible. Her eyes are black pools against her pallid skin, but he thinks they might be brown.

"Aleksander Starkov, moya soverenya," he finally replies when she arches a thin eyebrow, "but my friends call me Sasha."

Her answering smirk tells him she can see right through him. He doesn't have any friends. Only his mother had ever called him Sasha. His mother had tried to protect him, had done everything in her power to stop this moment from ever happening.

"Is it true, what they have told me?" she asks, fluidly rising to her full length, and suddenly she's only four feet away from him. "Can you—there's a short pause while her dark eyes roam over his face—summon light?"

Playing dumb and denying it is his only chance. He shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape, hoping it will be enough.

"No," she concludes, and he can't tell if she's disappointed by his lie or because she believes it.

"Where did you grow up?"

He throws glances at all the other people in the tent, who are watching in silence. "A tiny village in Dva Stolba, you wouldn't have heard of it. Moya soverenya," he adds hastily.

The corner of her mouth curls up. "You might be surprised. And when were you tested?"

He never was. His mother made sure of that. He doesn't have to play dumb this time. He probably looks like a fish out of water trying to come up with a suitable lie. He should have thought of one much earlier.

"You don't remember," the Queen offers, saving him from stammering his way through a poorly fabricated story. "Well, then, Sasha," she says pleasantly, taking a slow but deliberate step, "we had better make certain."

She's right in front of him now and he can't help but notice he's about a full head taller than her, and from up close, he can tell that her eyes are definitely brown, a surprising speck of warmth against the coolness of her pale face and snowy hair.

He can feel a hunger rolling off her body, the air around them humming with anticipation, and something else he can't quite name. She tilts her head and offers him half a smile.

"Roll up your sleeve."

She's going to test him, the way Grisha do with the children of Ravka, to reveal any latent talent for the Small Science. He can deal with that. His mother taught him to resist his instincts, to ignore the shock and the pain. Still, he puts up a bit of a show of defiance as he reluctantly unbuttons and rolls up his sleeve. He's ready for her test.

She spreads her arms and inky, black shadows ooze out of her palms, pooling and coiling through the air as if they were underwater. “Now,” she says in that same soft, conversational voice, as if they were sitting together drinking tea, as if Aleksander wasn't clenching his teeth so hard they might crack, “let’s see what you can do.” She claps her hands together and thunder rolls through the tent, raising gasps and whispers, spreading darkness until the tent is pitch black and Aleksander is blind and frightened as a child.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happens next. Queen Alina does not produce any needles or other pricking instruments. When he turns his palm up, offering her the vulnerable inside of his arm, she simply clutches his wrist, wrapping her thin, cool fingers around it in an iron grasp.

Something swells inside his chest, a mix of joy and power, so sure and calm and yet so thrilling he already knows he will never get enough of it. He wants more. More.

She is calling to him, and every fibre of his being, every vein in his body wants to answer. He reaches out, into the darkness, beyond the confines of the tent, until the light is gathering like a warm, ringing coil inside his chest, and then he lets it out. Aleksander and the Queen are encapsulated by a shimmering golden dome. Involuntarily, he pushes it out, until it's sheltering every single person inside the tent.

The gasps and whispers that rise up this time have a different edge to them. They ring in harmony with the song humming inside the light that is emanating from his core. He is panting, but he doesn't want it to end. He's never felt so powerful before.

"Sankt Aleksander!" someone calls out, and the Queen releases his wrist.

The light disperses, retreating back into him and creeping into corners and out of the tent. For three hammering heartbeats, the tent remains covered in darkness, and then everything returns to normal.

But nothing will ever be normal again, Aleksander realizes as the Queen orders everyone to leave. She leads him to a small table behind the dais, where servants soon bring in trays of food, setting out a meal that could feed a small family.

She is looking at him with that same hunger in her eyes again, and he would swear that he can feel it, too. Part of him wants to reach out and touch her again, to feel that call of power, that low trilling hum that made him feel so strong and unafraid.

When she catches him staring, she smiles that half-smile again. "I've been waiting a long time for you, Sasha."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just nods.

"Sit," she says, halfway between a command and invitation. "Eat."

Slowly, he sinks down into a cushioned chair, eyes roaming over the array of dishes that have been placed on the table. He doesn't know whether he's hungry or not, and he isn't quite sure his stomach could handle food. And even if it could, he wouldn't be sure where to begin.

He glances up. The Queen is sitting in the chair opposite him, legs crossed and eyes still focused on him. "Not hungry?" she asks him.

"I don't know."

That hint of a smile graces her lips again. "Perhaps just a bit of fruit then," she suggests, waving at five bowls filled with at least as many kinds of fruit. She slides a small one holding a halved pomegranate over the table.

"They're so messy," he objects, suddenly certain that he is not hungry.

She leans back and spreads her arms. "As is life," she sighs, and he believes her voice is laced with sadness when she says that, before she offers him a full and dazzling smile. "But it will only become better for you, Sasha."

He wants to trust her, wants to feel that certainty and strength again that coursed through him when she touched him. He knows he would believe it then.

"You and I are going to change the world together," she breathes, full of hope and wonder.

[misterghostfrog]

It’s almost 1 AM so it’s time for Unsolicited Art (and also writing) Advice that May Or May Not Make Sense bc one again 1 AM and i’m Tired but I see ppl making this mistake a lot and it can be really hurtful, especially if you’re a younger artist and I need to share.

You gotta learn to be just as excited when you finish a piece and it looks bad- or you look at a piece you liked and see it doesn’t look as good as you thought, as when you finish something that looks really good. Or at the very least not beat yourself up about it.

It’s not easy, it’s hard work to retrain your brain to be excited or even neutral about it, and it might feel stupid to do or like a waste of time or a way to make yourself complacent, especially when it feels like a failure on your part. But it’s not! And here’s why.

Art is a constant learning curve, there will always be something you don’t know/are still working on. Because that’s how it works! Like an endless line of rubix cubes, we keep poking at the puzzles until we solve them and then we pick up the next one. When you see an older work and realize it doesn’t look as good as you thought, that means you’ve solved another rubix cube- and when you look at drawing and it just looks Wrong that means you’ve started a new one. It’s a sign of genuine improvement, that you now understand what you’re working with better than you did previously.

But we as artists have learned or been taught that self deprecation is fine and normal, that hating your work is just a Part Of The Process. And while that is true to an extent that doesn’t mean we should bully ourselves for it in order to improve. Hiding or deleting old art falls within the vein too. Older drawings are trailmarkers, they show the path you took to get here. They aren’t failures, they’re the lessons you took, consciously or not, to learn how to do what you do. And seeing these drawings is also good for other artists, a reminder that you’re not the only one who’s still growing, who will keep growing.

And this problem really falls into our culture of self-hatred as a trend and the idea that you have to Hurt to Improve. It’s bad for you, your mental health, and your ability to actually Enjoy Drawing to beat yourself up over the fact that you’re growing. Talking about how much you hate yourself/your art isn’t good for you, your brain latches onto that stuff- even if it’s just you saying it. And it makes your life harder in the long run.

And not hating on yourself isn’t going to make you suddenly lose motivation for art and practicing, in fact- I found that once I actually stopped thinking ‘ew’ every time I did a new drawing, I actually really enjoyed it! Warmups and figure studies and all the things we do to improve became less of a chore, because I knew I was gonna get better, and I could get silly with it. Make something ugly or stupid without fearing my own judgement. And I was genuinely excited to see what i’d get to do next! (still am!) I wasn’t afraid of failure and producing something Bad, because Bad was just the step before Good. I started working on backgrounds (a long-time fear) and perspective! (hard but fun) and generally trying new things and working on actively understanding the things that made art look good. Because once there’s no punishment for failure there’s nothing in the way of making the mistakes required for success.

I’m not kidding when I say it takes practice, it’s natural to get frustrated with things sometimes. And when that happens it’s easy to let things slip, but you have to remember to be kind to yourself. You wouldn’t stop watering your plants because they weren’t growing fast enough, so don’t punish yourself for the pace you’re on.

[justkeeptrekkin]

Saturday mornings

Anyone want some domestic Jonmartin?

***

Jon wakes up in his own bed, alone. 

This is normal enough. In fact, this is just the way he likes it. He has never been good at sharing beds, struggling enough with insomnia without another person radiating body heat and taking up room. And yet, this morning, something about the empty left hand side doesn’t feel quite right. 

First of all, he’s sure he didn’t go to bed alone.

Second of all, he smells something cooking. 

And, last but not least, there is pop music playing from the other side of the door. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how much he’s been through these past two years that he scrabbles upright in bed, giving himself headrush. The alarm that used to shoot through his stomach and up his throat, now replaced by something more calm and alert. Time and experience has taught him to expect the worst and act quickly. No time to panic. 

And then he remembers. 

It’s the backpack by his chest of drawers. Seeing that brings his floating, anxious mind back into his body again. The zip is open, a t-shirt pooling out. Jon looks to the left side of the bed; a small divet, wrinkles in the sheets like layers of cake batter. A glasses case left open, a mug left empty. 

“Martin,” he sighs.

He came over last night, didn’t he? He wasn’t alone last night, neither of them were. Not anymore. 

Ah, yes. He’d slept poorly last night. He knows this because of the groggy feeling that clogs his throat, the heaviness of his eyelids. A couple of hours sleep at most, whilst Martin had snored gently beside him. He’d been so careful not to get in Jon’s way, not to take up too much space, not to accidentally touch him whilst Jon tried to sleep. Considerate to the point of making him feel horribly guilty, guilty enough that he’d pulled Martin into a cuddle at roughly two o’clock in the morning. 

Which explains why he feels all clammy. Winter pyjamas and warm Martins make an uncomfortably warm Jon. 

Leaning against the head of the bed, he casts his gaze about the small pieces of evidence that show Martin’s presence. The contact lens case on the chest of drawers. The bottle of Irn Bru he’d brought with him, half finished, sat beside the backpack. Jon lets out a long, luxurious breath; listens to the music drifting from the kitchen-living room. 

Aaaaand that was Kim Petras with Heart to Break. What a classic. Next up we’ve got a bit of Carly Rae Jepson, because who doesn’t want some Carly Rae in their life on a Saturday morning? We’re taking calls at the moment, we want to know what you’re making for breakfast today. What’s your weekend morning treat-?

The only reason Jon had bought a radio is because Daisy has successfully hooked him on The Archers (he refuses to admit this to anyone but her). It’s been a long time indeed since he’s listened to a station that plays music. Pop music, for that matter. And he can’t say he’s totally enjoying Carly Rae Jepson, even if the BBC presenter seems to think that’s an option. But then there’s the sound of Martin tunelessly singing along, and that - well, that more than makes up for it, doesn’t it? 

Jon pulls himself out of bed. Rubs his groggy face. Opens the bedroom door. 

Is it the Archivist in him that makes him linger there and watch? Is it the Beholding that hums through his veins and neurons that keeps him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest? Or is it simply Jonathan Sims, a man in love, watching his partner with a subconscious smile on his lips?

Martin, with a whisk and a bowl in the crook of his elbow. Martin, with steam drifting around him seconds before the kettle clicks. Martin, in an old band t-shirt and boxers, nodding along and humming poorly to pop music. 

In Jon’s kitchen. 

Back turned to Jon, now wielding a spatula like a microphone and shimmying with a bit more enthusiasm now. At this point, it seems a bit cruel to watch without making his presence known.

Quietly, so as not to frighten him, he steps towards Martin. He puts his arms around his waist and moves to rest his chin on his shoulder, vision obscured by curls of dark hair--

“Ah!”

Spatula, dropped, with a clatter in the sink. Jon, elbowed. Squarely in the ribs.

“Christ-!”

“Jon! I didn’t- oh, God, I’m so sorry, are you-?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, bent over. 

“I just- you really snuck up on me!”

“It was supposed to be sort of romantic.”

“You scared the absolute bejesus out of me, Jon.”

Hard to deny that, with the blossoming bruise in his flank. “Yep.”

“Are you OK? I’m so, so, so sorry. That, that genuinely would have been really adorable if… if, you know-”

“I hadn’t crept up silently,” Jon agrees with growing amusement, leaning a hand against the fridge door.

“And if, you know, we weren’t both so traumatised that we jump at seeing a fly land on the windowsill.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, God. Jon. I’m-”

“Stop, stop, I’m fine.” He laughs. He doesn’t know why. Laughing is a thing he does with Martin, sometimes. It’s a quiet, knowing sound. A blink and you miss it laugh, but Martin never seems to miss it. He smiles back at him when Jon continues, “Am I safe to make another attempt?”

“Yes. Please.”

Martin opens up his arms, and Jon finds himself where he’s found himself a lot these days: head nestled under Martin’s chin, arms around his back, leaning into his gentle body. Martin smells like nights in with a cup of tea. 

“Oh.” Martin steps back, keeping a hand on Jon’s arm. Twisting towards the stove, he turns it off, manages to flip a pancake onto its other side. Then, giving Jon one of those heart-breakingly earnest smiles: “I’m making breakfast!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“One of these days, Martin,” he says, voice quietly teasing whilst pouring water into their mugs, “do you think you might let me look after you? Make it up to you after all the years you’ve dragged me to the cafeteria and made me tea?” He snorts. “Jon, I think you’ve made up for it by saving the world, and also me.” He casts a mischievous glance. “Nothing hotter than your boyfriend saving your life from evil worm monsters.”

Jon sighs, shakes his head. He will never understand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The sound of London life calls through the windows. The radio mixes with it, a synth-falsetto over the grumbles of the traffic. The sofa fits them both like they designed it themselves, for Martin’s legs on Jon’s lap and enough room to balance plates. 

“Besides,” Martin says, after some time. Jon wipes a fleck of Nutella from his cheek. “Thanks. Anyway, it’s not about… owing each other. I like making breakfast for you. For us both. I think we both deserve a pile of pancakes and Nutella every now and then, don’t you?”

Now probably isn’t the time to mention that he prefers lemon and sugar on his pancakes. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

[whitewolfmoving]

Boston Burning Part One

Pressure

Summary: After the ceiling caves in leaving Nika Stan trapped and injured on an emergency call, she's ordered to take mandatory sick leave until her injuries heal. She can think of no better place to rest and recuperate than in Boston with her (and her brother's) best friend.

Warnings: very minor description of injuries

Word Count: 1459

A/N: Here's chapter one of part one of my two-part crossover series! For a setup chapter, I personally think it sucks a bit. But I hope you like it. This story was born of my love for firefighters, my need for d/Deaf representation, and dreams no one needs to know about but that I told one of my best friends of anyway (hehe). Happy reading!

New York born and raised, Nika Stan had always been her big brother's little shadow.

When 13-year-old Sebastian loudly declared one warm evening at the dinner table that he was going to grow up and be a firefighter like the one he'd seen on the way to school, a chubby-cheeked 4-year-old Nika proudly echoed, "Me, too!" And when her big brother leaned over with his dark ocean blue eyes to kiss her forehead and whispered gently in her ear, "Of course, you will, my little Sunspot!" Nika knew then that she was born for greatness.

For Nika, that greatness took the form of many things throughout her life; from saving kittens stuck in trees and helping her neighbor Mrs. Jenkins across the street after school, to following in her brother's footsteps all the way to the National Fire Academy. Sebastian always taught Nika that she could do and be anything she put her mind to, he was her number one fan and biggest supporter. Whenever she needed a little extra encouragement, he was right there to give it to her. Likewise, Nika did the same for him.

The call that changed their lives came just after 2 AM.

Sebastian was out of bed, dressed, in the car, and walking through the doors of Brooklyn General within the hour. It was late, the emergency room was empty save for the Squad, Engine, and Truck members huddled in the far corner of the waiting area. Before he could make his way to the reception desk to inquire about his sister's whereabouts, the Squad Lieutenant intercepted him.

"Hey, man. They're treating her now and Brooklyn PD is taking her statement. Chief's with her, but she's been asking for you. Straight back, first room on the left."

"Thanks. All of you, for being here. I'll update you when I know more."

The whitewashed walls of Brooklyn General were never Sebastian's thing; he belonged on the outside, keeping people from having to enter its doors. Now, though, he carefully wandered its hallways looking and listening for the one person he never wanted to see taking up residence in the massive building — Nika. The Chief had assured him that her injuries were minor but he wouldn't believe it until he could see her with his own eyes. He continued down the hall to the first door on his left, and knocked before heading in.

To Sebastian's surprise — and the credit of the doctors on call late that night — Nika didn't look too worse for wear. He breathed a sigh of relief and acknowledged Chief Jackson briefly, before he settled in the chair at Nika's bedside.

"Frate mai mare," she greeted softly. She looked up at him with glazed honey-colored eyes, no doubt a result of the mild sedative they'd given her to help with the pain. White gauze poked out from under the right shoulder of the clean hospital gown she wore, her wrist had been placed in a hard cast and propped up on a pillow in her lap. She looked so tiny beneath the blankets.

"Sora mai mică," Sebastian answered in kind. He gently pushed a hand through Nika's hair. watching closely as her eyes fluttered shut at the comforting contact. Once he was certain she'd fallen asleep, he turned to address the other men in the room. "Did she say what happened?"

"She was clearing the top floor, called out and received no response. When she turned to leave, the owner ambushed her from the next room. The ceiling came down on top of them," Chief Jackson told Sebastian calmly. "The only thing she remembers after that is waking up here."

Dr. Fuller handed Sebastian a copy of Nika's x-ray. He hated this part, they all did. Everyone loved the younger Stan sibling as much as Sebastian did, seeing her in any sort of discomfort put them all on edge. "She's got a broken radius and second degree burns on her shoulder and across part of her chest. We'll keep her overnight for observation, just as a precaution. She can go home tomorrow afternoon but it's in her best interest to keep her off duty until her wounds heal."

Sebastian chuckled. "She's not going to like that. Thanks, Doc, I appreciate it."

"Unfortunately, the owner of the house fled the scene before we got there. But from what Nika and a few of the guys were able to give us, we have enough for a rough sketch. I'll keep you updated when we have more information, Seb. We'll find out who did this." Detective Brighton firmly clapped Sebastian on the shoulder before following the doctor and chief from the room, leaving the siblings alone.

Nika slept soundly for three days which the doctors assured Sebastian was normal for the small amount of trauma her body had endured. On the fourth day, he was growing increasingly concerned for his sister's well-being. As he weighed the pros and cons of waiting it out against going to ask Dr. Fuller to recheck Nika's vitals, Sebastian paced back and forth at the foot of her bed.

"Bas, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Nika said. Her voice sounded rough and scratchy from sleep, but at least she was talking.

Sebastian sighed, relieved. His fingers curled around the two small devices in his right jacket pocket, she wouldn't be able to hear him without them but maybe that was for the best right now. He withdrew his hands from the comfort of his jacket pockets, stood at the foot of Nika's hospital bed and braced himself for the flood of emotion and attitude that would soon pour from his sister like rolling thunder.

"Hey, Sunspot. Glad to see you're awake," Sebastian moved his hands with such a calm fluidity when he signed. He'd learned for Nika when no one else would, it often made moments like this a lot easier for them. "How do you feel?"

"My chest is sore, but it's not too bad. Ready to get the hell out of here, honestly. Hospitals wig me out."

"You're good to go today, but you're out of work until your wrist and burns heal."

Nika rolled her eyes and scoffed indignantly at her brother's instruction. Not working wasn't something she knew how to do, firefighting was in her veins. She sighed.

Sebastian chuckled. "Look, Nik, I know you don't want to hear this. But you need to take some time off, to rest, to heal. Do it for me. Please?" He knew he had her with those last five words; Nika would do anything for her brother.

Two days later, Nika stepped off the plane at Boston Logan International Airport.

She walked through the gate with the crowd, happy to be in a place where her brother wasn't for the time being. She loved Sebastian, loved that he wanted to protect her, but his concern lately had been stifling. Nika needed a break, needed a change of scene. As soon as they'd left the hospital, she called Chris and told him what happened. Without a second thought, he told her to come to Boston, said he'd be there when she landed.

She waded through the sea of people heading for baggage claim, keeping an eye out for Chris's tall frame. She was tired, sore, and just wanted to be somewhere she could relax without thinking of the accident for a while. She needed to take her medication, the dressing on her shoulder and chest needed to be changed, and she desperately needed a drink.

"C'mon, Evans. Where the hell are you?" Nika was just about to break down and call him, when she felt a strong hand wrap around her waist from behind.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to stand around by yourself in an airport?" Chris's smooth Boston accent said in her left ear. He had her backpack slung over his shoulder and her rolling suitcase in his hand. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, signed back, "Ready for the pressure to stop. Thanks for letting me stay with you for a few weeks."

Chris grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then kissed the top of her head. His voice met her ear once again. "Ah, Nik. What are best friends for, huh?"

Nika hummed. She missed her brother, but she knew she'd be safe with Chris, too. Being out of the game wasn't going to be easy for the youngest Stan sibling, she was used to the fast pace of firefighting; she counted on it as much as she counted on her brother to have her back. Without it, Nika wasn't sure who she was or who she could be.

Till The End of All Things Taglist: @arrowsandmixtapes @pinknerdpanda