#poor sweet boy :( he shouldn’t be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders but he doesn’t think he has the option not to

[qbebou]

ok not to be like he’s just like me fr…. but chayanne is just like me fr…..

i’m also the oldest child with one younger sibling who needed a lot more care when we were kids and therefore was deprived of certain needs in favor of my brother. i also had a parent that was missing a lot and depended almost solely on my dad. obviously tallulah needs more help than chay, with her asthma and lesser fighting skills, not to mention she had only been playing minecraft for like a month? or two before wilbur found her. and chay knows that! he knows that she needs more help than he does he knows he’ll do anything for her he knows he has to be the strongest to protect her. my brother and i are only a year apart but i was forced to grow up very very quickly bc i was on my own a lot as a kid while my brother was sick. phil doesn’t worry abt chay when he runs off bc he doesn’t need to, chay can take care of himself. hell, he took care of all the eggs when they first left. but at the same time, it’s comforting to know ur parent is looking out for u even when u don’t need it. phil’s not a smothering parent, he’s attentive, but not smothering. but let’s be real he can also be emotionally constipated LMAO but that leads to situations like the argument and frustration between chay and tallulah when dapper was kidnapped. in his defense, he’s never been a parent before and had 2 children thrust upon him to raise on his own. he didn’t have a lot of time to adjust to parenthood like ppl in real life do, he suddenly had 2 children who had their own thoughts and opinions and emotional needs, he didn’t get the time it takes to LEARN abt how to provide that specific care and while some ppl have that innate knowledge there is a lot of learning and navigating when it comes to emotional vulnerability and regulation esp when it comes to children who are figuring it out as well. i feel for chay when he thinks he needs to be the strongest. i feel for chay when he had to make the decision to gather the eggs and leave. i feel for chay when he had to take blame for bad things happening. and i feel for chay when he realized tallulah doesn’t need him as much anymore. my brother and i are both adults now and we had a …… tumultuous relationship as teenagers for reasons that were both our own and caused by problems outside our control. but i still remember exactly how devastating it was the moment i realized that he was fine on his own. that he didn’t need me anymore. and it caused a rift between us; on my end bc i was frustrated and felt tossed aside and on his end bc he NEEDED to be independent to keep growing. i see so much of myself in chay and i desperately wish he and tallulah had a better mediator for their argument, or at least someone who could truly understand why they were so upset. i don’t think phil clocked that tallulah was so upset and adamant abt looking for dapper bc it was just her dapper and ramon surviving on their own. just bc phil didn’t witness it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen and it doesn’t mean that they don’t have a much tighter relationship than they had before purgatory. and when chayanne said everyone was blaming him for the decisions he made phil was quick to tell him that no one was blaming him but also phil doesn’t know that! he doesn’t know if any blame was put on chayanne when it was just the eggs together. chayanne made the decision for the eggs to run and they trusted him bc he’s the oldest and he’s strong and he can be a leader but by running he also put the eggs thru a lot of pain and fear that they may not have gone thru if they stayed with their parents. and even if the eggs didn’t explicitly say that they blamed chayanne im sure he blamed himself for every little thing that went wrong. we’ve already seen him open up a tiny bit abt how he was questioning his decision to leave. but phil told him that chay made the best decision he could have given the information he had at the time which is true! but when ur the oldest and everyone is looking to u, all of the responsibility lies on ur shoulders. chayanne has been carrying SO much weight on his shoulders for so long it breaks my heart.

[yandere-wishes]

💝My Obsession // Yandere! Leona Kingscholar x Reader// 💝

Someone, please explain to me how all my Leona fics end up being 2,500+ words?? Also props to whoever figures out which anime got inspired by to write the ending. Any way enjoy also thanks so much to @malleusthorns​ their game motivated me to write this.

Warning: Gore...I guess.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

There was a throbbing that wouldn't seem to go away, reverberating through the young girl's skull. Bouncing from wall to wall of her cranium just like a bouncy ball. The pain caused her to close her eyes tighter, trying to lull herself back into the numb comatose that had started to crack under the weight of alertness. Tiny fracture sprinkled around the darkness, noting to fully break her dormant mind. That was until something icy and wet splashed over her face, jolting her from her slumber.

(Y/n)'s eyes shot open, tears forming at the sides ready to slip out. She was becoming cognizant of the hammering in her head. A shiver ran up her spin before creeping over her skin, laying cutis anserina in its wake. As her sense began to awaken one by one, (y/n) started to feel a tug on her shoulder. The poor girl tried pulling her humerus forward, only for her skin to scrape against a smooth, freezing surface. Something was bounding her arms...and her legs she noted as she tried to kick her feet. 

Nervously her bloodshot eyes scanned the room, it was dark and chilly. Something was causing every hair on her body to stand up on high alert, her guts where entwining amongst themselves screaming that something just wasn't right. Endless minutes flew by before a rollicking noise jarred silent darkness. A tapping soon followed, pittering across the floor. One second she could practically feel their presence less than a millimeter away from her. The next all she had was their even,never-changing noise where, she could only assume, was in front of her.

'Please talk' a  timid voice croaked inside her head. 'Please say something' the nervous noise was poking at her tolerance. 'Just talk!' she couldn't tell if she'd actually screamed out the words or only hollered them inside her head. Either way, it did not matter, the footsteps only continued on their way, ignoring her presence altogether. The steps were getting further and further...the footfalls ceased and were instead replaced by a ripping noise that echoed through the emptiness.

In moments the obscurity was pierced by thin feeble rays of silver light. Despite the lights infirm nature it's brightness (y/n) still shut her eyes in an attempt to stop the stinging that had sparked from the back of her eyeballs. Endless minutes passed before a heavy sigh filled the air accompanied by the mirthless voice of the mysterious kidnapper. "Life's not fair is it?"

That question, that signature rhetorical question that had all but engraved its self in the depths of (y/n)'s memory. There was only one person, one person in the entirety of the world that could state such an overlooked fact as if it was the foundation that life was built on, one person...

"Leona..." Her whisper was as light as the air itself, the name of her beloved childhood friend mingled with the air before it was carried off into oblivion. Craning her head to the right, (Y/n)'s eyes caught the ever so familiar frame of the Savanclaw dorm leader. His green eyes glowed in the eerie rays. His posture wasn't as lax like it always was. There was an eagerness to him, an unsteadiness engulfing him. His spin was stark straight, his gloved fingers dug into his hips, scrunching the fabric of his shirt. "Surprised kitten?" his voice rumbled from his chest, echoing through the room. "You really shouldn't be, you've had this coming for some time."

(y/n)'s brows knitted together, whatever had been spilled on her earlier was starting to dry over her face. Sticking to her visage like a second skin. "L-Leona..." her voice was brittle, wither away like a dying rose. "W-what are...are you talking about?" dread was wrapping it's decaying thin arms around her, hover above the doomed darling watching the spectacle. "Wh..why am I here?" questions where bubbling inside the girl, floating out of her mouth and lingering in the stale air. It did little to phase Leona, he just kept starring and starring. Almost like a predator hunting its prey.

Slowly the lion boy stalked forward, his tail swished from side to side, almost like he was nervous about something...When he was close enough he leaned over. With one hand he tilted the metal chair backward. With the motion (y/n)'s head tipped backward. Their faces were close, far too close, (y/n) could feel every breath that Leona took. There was malice and sadness hidden behind his emerald orbs. His face was twisted into a snarl, sharp teeth on full display. "Why do you always have to be so dame clueless?"

(y/n)'s nerves were starting to snap. If this was a sick joke, then it had lost its humor the moment she woke up. "Stop it!" her voice creaked like old floorboards. Her vocal cords strained almost on the verge of bleeding as she tried to morphed her tone into an intimidating one. "This..this isn't funny Leona!!" The older boy rolled his eyes. He tipped the chain back to its initial position. Before waling behind her and undoing the restraints. Just as (y/n) came to move her arms, Leona forcefully pushed the chair into the ground. (Y/n)'s face slammed against the dirty floor, bouncing upwards from the sheer force before falling down numbly once more.

Leon watched as the young girl tried to get up, balancing herself on her hands and knees. as she stretched her neck to look up at him, he noted that blood was pooling under a few areas on her face and left eye. Creating supple red bruises. Though he would never say it out loud, she looked pretty like this, she had always looked her best when she was bleeding of hurt in some manner, it caused a sort of glow to orbit around her. But her beauty did little to make up for her insolence. There was a storm brewing inside him of him the anger, danger, and a newly awoken darkness where entwining birthing the personification of his obsession.

"By the king of beasts," he grumbled as his fingers shot up to his temple, as they always did when the iteration of the situation was planting another neuralgia in his head  "I want you...no, you are mine, you have always been mine! You're just so stupidly dense that you never once realized it!"

(Y/n)'s eyes widen in disbelief, her heart was pounding against her rib cage practically breaking her ribs with each beat. Nervously she brought the back of her hand to her face, trying to distract herself. As she went to wipe the substance off her face. The substance cracked and peeled off the second her hand rubbed against it. As it fell it revealed a sticky layer underneath. Retracting her arm quickly (y/n) tried to see what it was that she had just touched...Another wave of shock rolled over her...

"B-blood?" Frantically her eyes ran up to Leona's begging for answers. The dark-skinned boy shrugged. "I didn't like your history project partner". (y/n) gulped, "How long?" her question silently floated between them, acting as a shield brightened by the dimly light. Leona only raised an eyebrow, he opened his mouth an inch but closed it once he heard the choked sobs and enraged shouts coming from his "lover". "How long?"... there was no reply. "How long have you felt this way!" It was a stupid question. (y/n) knew, if anything she had known for far too long, but she had been so happy in her hubris. So content with playing "sibling" with her childhood friend, she knew how he had felt for far too long. But everything had been so sweet, so pleasant, almost like a fairy tale. It was easier to look for a prince charming in other men and expect her "big brother" to be there and catch her once that prince inevitably broke her heart. 

A sharp pain in her scalp caused the girl to look up. Leona was kneeling in front of her, pulling her hair up to look her directly in the eyes.

"Stop being so selfish and just fuking be mine already! it's not that fucking hard!" His yells held a desperate undertone, the big strong king of Savanclaw was reduced to this? A lovesick boy? Angrily (y/n) took in a deep unsteady breath before bellowing: "I'm the selfish one? You kidnapped me and tied me to a chair! You broke that beautiful illusion we had! To want to throw away our friendship for what? So we can break each other's hearts?!"

Leona remained dumbfound, his grip on her hair strengthened. "Actually I ordered Ruggie to kidnap you so that on him" he tried to keep a haughty prideful tone, but her words had left a growing bruise on his ego.

"Doesn't matter! if anything that just further proves my point! You are the selfish one! Just fess up, you're the one at fault here!"

Leona's body had begun vibrating with rage. Lifting his free hand he struck (y/n)! His claws snipped at her flesh,  tearing apart skin tissue by skin tissue as if it was nothing more then silk fabric. Slashing at the muscles until there was a large enough opening for the blood to flow past. Trickling down her cheek the mood pushed away the rotten plasma caking her face, splattering on her clothes, leaving large messy circular like stains.

"No no! This! This whole fucked up mess we're in is all your fault! It's always been your fault!" Leona roared. His pupils had started to dilate, tears were forming in his eyes. Swiftly the older boy lifted his fist only to smash it onto (y/n)'s, again and again, and again...

Laughter, a sicking, and high pitch bordering on maniacal. Leona stopped his assault, his brows shot upwards, as his mouth twisted in a snarl, creases started forming on the bridge of his nose. How dare she laugh at him! How dare she mock him!

(Y/n) opened her eyes, they were harboring similar insanity as her kidnapper. Her mouth opened permitting her to cough up some blood that had pooled inside. "Why can't you just accept responsibility? You were always like this! Even when we were kids! Nothing was ever your fault because you were such a tragic little prince weren't you! If you really love me then own it! Don't blame me for your obsession! It wasn't my fault! I thought you...I thought you were happy with what we had!" Leona slowly pulled away. His green gaze never once leaving (y/n)'s damaged face. His fingers unlocked from her hair, which causes the young girl to immediately start rubbing the top of her head.

"I don't really care how you see this situation. My fault -which it isn't- Your fault -which it is- the point is...you're mine now and that's how it's going to be..." Leona's hand slithered over to (y/n)'s wrist, gripping it and pulling her into his arms. (y/n) buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his nostalgic scent, as he calmly petted her head as if she was a pet cat.

Time had frozen, granting the two so-called lovers a break of sorts. For the endless moment. It wasn't until Leona had gotten bored of their little hug, that the two moved. Leona's hands dug into her shoulder, he leaned his head down just as (y/n) tilted her head up. Lips brushing against each other prepping for a kiss.

The quietness was disrupted by a loud banging noise from behind them followed by an airy sound that got louder and louder. Until it struck right past Leona. Cutting the fabric of his jeans and slicing through his flesh. The lion let out a hiss, jumping to his feet and pulling (y/n) up with him. He pushed her to his chest as he maneuvered his body into an attacking pose.

"Let go of (y/n)! You horrible beast!" "Ecoute a lui, roi des lions" "Don't touch (y/n) Onee-chan!"

Those voices, (y/n)'s mind rushed back to the situation. She had seemingly forgotten just what Leona had done to her. The kidnapping, the humiliation, the beating...somehow it had all ran away from her memory the moment her beloved Leona had embraced her. 

Behind the "couple" Rook shot arrow after arrow, aiming for the lion's limbs. One lucky arrow managed to strike Leona's left bicep. The lion boy let out a pained roar, his arm falling limp to his side as blood gushed downwards. "Rook, Ortho now!" Vil's voice boomed through the chamber. Rook nodded as Ortho replied with a "sure thing". The two raced forward, Rook switching his bow for a pocket knife and Ortho punching Leona with his metal fist. Leona tried to fight back but with his wound and the gang up he mostly ended up getting punched.

Sometime before the attack had fully commenced, Leona had shoved (y/n) to the side. Vil ran up to (y/n) grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the exit. Right before he left the "king" of Pomefiore snapped his fingers, causing both Ortho and Rook to leave a bruised and broken Leona. "How did you find me?" (Y/n) asked as she was directed through the maze of hallways and staircases. Vil turned his head to stare at her for a split second before running forward. The hallways were just as dark as the room she had been kept in, the numerous windows were covered by thick black curtains preventing the moon from sharing its light. However, thanks to Ortho's built-in flashlights the gang had a clear, illuminated view of a few feet in front of them. "Idia saw Ruggie knock you out and drag you to the catacombs" Vil explained, his grip on her wrist tightened. As the group ran to the Ignhyde dorm, (y/n) couldn't stop herself from peering over her shoulder. Expecting..no, hoping that her childhood friend would pounce out of the darkness at any moment and chase after them. It was a longing to see the boy she had known her whole life chase after her, the only difference was that this time if he did catch her, she would not object to his advances. But Leona never came...

and she was beginning to think he never would.

Days have a tendency to blend when together there is nothing left to look forward to. (y/n) couldn't remember how long it had been since that night in the NRC catacombs, how long it had been since that "confession"? Time had turned into a paradox, having simultaneously stooped and sped up. Idia and Ortho had taken the role of her caretaker. Bringing her food and checking up on her from time to time. Idia had even broken his shut-in nature just for her, every once in awhile he'd bring over some games to play. Ortho would pop in every day, trying his hardest to entertain the stoic girl. But no matter how hard either Shroud twin tried (y/n) would never smile, her face would never forme any real expression. She only ever spoke when necessary, conversations with her mostly consisted of nobs and grunts. Some days after school Vil or Rook would stop by the Ignihyde dorm with treats. Hoping to return (y/n) to her old, innocent self.

Deep down (y/n) was grateful for the efforts the boys put in. But it felt so meaningless go hollow. What was the point of it all? (y/n) could feel the threads of her sanity slowly ripping. Her days and nights -granted she'd lost track of which was when- where filled with constant pondering over guilty thoughts. Every single one of her waking moments was dedicated to envisioning that damned day, dreaming of just how it could have turned out. Why didn't she just kiss him? Why didn't she jump into his arms and scream that she was his? That she would always be his? That it didn't matter how they loved each other so long as the love was there.

Earlier that morning Vil had stopped by to tell (y/n) that  Leona had come back from the semester break. It had seemed like a warning after all Vil was only trying to look out for her. The thought that Leona was back had sent her heart aflutter. She may have not shown it but her nerves where a wreck, she was both excited and nervous. A nagging voice in the back of her mind kept screaming that he wouldn't care about her that she had lost her chance the night she let herself be rescued by Vil, Rook, and Ortho. But a small piece of her still begged that Leona would come for her, that he still loved her.

Sleep was something that came in waves, sometimes she would sleep for days on end, and other times she would spend weeks in an insomniac daze. Tonight was one of the later nights. (y/n)'s eyes refused to close, her brain resisted the urge to think about anything other than Leona. She spent so many nights with his face in her head, mulling over every little detail. As the hours ticked by, (y/n)'s eyes started to grow heavier and heavier. The final scene the moment he said he loved her or at least tried to was still so vibrant in her semi asleep head. She could still hear his voice, his shouts and cries....his voice why was it so clear?--

"You know~ in another life, we could have gotten married, you could have been my queen and I, your king. We could have been happy like all those other happy idiots of the world." 

(Y/n) bolted upright, her hands suffocating her blanket. Her window had been reduced to dirt. Leaning against the frame of where the windowpane had been was no other than the man that had plunged her thought for far too long. Standing on her bed and walking over to him, (y/n) couldn't help the larger than life smile that spread over her face or the tears of joy that just wouldn't seem to stop.

She came to a stop in front of him. Just like that night, the moon's rays of silver light cast a surreal glow over Leona's frame. He looked almost like an angel sent to free her from her suffering. "What..what makes you think we...we could ever be normal?" A tiny laugh escaped her mouth as she wiped the tears from her face. All Leona did was smirk, he extended his arm, his open palm beckoning her to take it. Eagerly (y/n) grabbed a hold of his arm, her grip was tight, too scared to let go always this all be some illusion fabricated by her tortured mind.

"Oi shut up already idiot...just stay quiet" He pulled her up, back into his arms, right where she belonged. His embrace was nothing short of bone-crushing. But (y/n) didn't mind, the pain proved just how real how was. With a final tug, Leona pulled her out of the window. As they began to fall to the ground, Leona smiled, a genuine smile that for once harbored no ill intent nor ulterior motive and said:

"You will always be my obsession (y/n) just as I have become yours..."

[star-killer-md]

Dream a Little Dream of Me Pt. 8

Well folks I have returned after a long break. I was hit with a wave of no motivation and life shit but thank you to everyone who has read all my other shit and left me such nice feedback. I am patently horrible at responding to comments but I see them all and love them so much. There is not much Kylo in this chapter, so apologies in advance but I promise there will be plenty of him to come. 

AO3 Mirror

Part 9 to come

Warnings: Angst, angst and more angst, not much else except for that so buckle up. 

Summary: In which you discover sometimes knowing is worse. 

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!Reader

Word Count: 6.4k

Your breathing stopped along with the footsteps at the door. One hand remained pressed firmly against your mouth while you shrunk as far under the desk as possible. There was only horrid stillness for the next few moments. You got the distinct impression that whoever stood at the entryway was tasting the very air, sniffing like a predator for blood spilled into the sea. And a chill ran through you the second he caught your scent. A voice like ice and stone rang out as the hunt began in earnest. 

“You know, it’s impolite to enter a room without permission,” Atreus mused from behind you. 

The sound of it coupled with the knowledge that he was only mere footsteps away made your limbs shake. Like a wild creature caught in a snare, you were flooded with instinctual fear at the sound of the door clicking shut. 

“Though I will admit, I was hoping you would pay me a visit.” 

He was pacing now, footsteps softened by the carpet but still perceptible. To your right the embellished wardrobe doors were flung open accompanied by a dissatisfied grunt. You frantically searched the immediate area for paths of escape—or potential weapons if it came to that—but there was nothing. Your back was to the door and Atreus stood directly between you and the only way out. 

As the likelihood that you would walk out of this office dwindled, you cursed yourself and your hubris for ever taking this job in the first place. 

There must have been a saying about this type of thing somewhere, but you couldn’t seem to recall any at the moment. 

“You ought to show yourself,” he continued, every word laced with mockery and disgust. 

He was getting closer with each step. There were only so many places to hide and judging by the fading noises of clutter being moved, all but one had been exhausted. He was going to find you and you were going to die. 

At least you would be right about one thing. 

Kylo Ren really was a liar. 

 “I never took you for a coward,” fingers drummed on the desk above you and it creaked as Atreus leaned his weight over the top, like a ship's hull as it kicked into hyperdrive. 

He was so close now you could smell him, all artificial cologne and shoe polish. If you hadn’t been trying so hard to hold your breath before you certainly were now. His own came in calm, measured puffs and you closed your eyes tightly as if that could hide you any further. While your last moments alive and breathing wasted away, you recalled all the times the Commander had called you arrogant or prideful or any other combination of synonyms that all meant the same damn thing: foolish. 

Before you might have called it confidence. Might have thought he and all your other superiors were simply threatened by their inability to tear you down. Now you just kicked yourself for being cocky enough to leave your back turned. 

“Seems I was mistaken, Ren.” 

What? 

You recoiled at the name and very nearly said the word aloud as your eyes flew open in shock.  But the legs which came into view—unnervingly long and thin— and situated directly in front of the desk turned anything you might say to dust on your tongue.    

Why was it, even at the moment of your imminent demise, that the Commander was inevitably mentioned? 

Could you really not be executed for political gain in peace?

“I know you’re here. I can feel it,” he began but was interrupted by two more approaching footsteps and a blessedly familiar voice. 

“No, I’m sorry sir, I’ve been away sampling catering options,” Lem’s soft, clear tone was more relieving that you’d care to admit. 

You swore if you lived through the next five minutes, you’d apologize for every rude thing you’d ever said to him. 

Well, all the rude things you’d been wrong about. 

“You were in your office just before I left,” Gahl grumbled and stopped just outside the door, wrapping twice. “Atreus, are you quite finished in there? I’d rather not be late to dinner just because you’ve stained your tie.” 

The creak of hinges nearly had you slamming your head into the desk in shock. 

“No sir, I lent the space to our guest from the First Order,” Lem prattled nervously and you heard Atreus growl as he shifted in place. 

“You shouldn’t be letting just anyone wander around here, Alba,” the advisor huffed before adding under his breath, “You never know what they might get into.” 

“Really, you’re the one that suggested we invite—” Lem was drowned out by another soft knock and the creaking of a door across the hall. 

You didn’t bother tuning into what Gahl had been mumbling about as Atreus’s knees slowly bent and you were once again filled with the rush of dread at the prospect of being discovered. At best you’d be labeled as a conspirator and sent back to the Finalizer for Hux to have you killed himself for destroying Order relations to Coruscant. At worst, you were destined to die on the goddamn floor at the feet of a greasy, poor excuse for an advisor. 

But in fact, neither of those options played out. 

Instead, you found the world going black for just a split second—no more than a blink—and when you woke it was to a hand gently rocking your shoulder. 

You bolted upright, startled to find yourself no longer cramped on the floor, but seated in Lem’s office. There was a small puddle of drool on the desk and Lem himself staring down at you, brows knit in concern. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly. 

But you didn’t respond right away, just looked wide-eyed out the door as Atreus rose from the floor and met your gaze with his own indecipherable expression. 

From beside you, Lem squeezed your shoulder again and you turned to face him. 

“Yes, sorry,” you muttered, shrugging away from him and rolling your neck. Every joint and muscle in you felt stiff. “I must have dozed off a bit.” 

“I can see that,” he chuckled but his face never lost it’s questioning look. 

“Right, well,” you continued, hastily gathering your things.  The air felt thick and stuck in your throat. You wanted to get out—needed to get out—immediately. “Thank you for the office, I’ll be on my way and send the drafts to you later this evening.” 

Passing by Gahl at the doorway, you gave him a friendly nod and a quiet, “Representative, I hope you have a lovely evening.” 

You were nearly out of the wing entirely when that god awful voice sunk it’s claws into your leg again. 

“Oh, but you must join us for dinner,” Atreus hummed. 

He had sauntered back out to stand behind the Representative and was pinning you down with a horrifically sweet smile. It was so wrong on his face you shuddered at the sight. Gahl, annoyingly, nodded along as he looked you up and down. 

“A good suggestion,” he said heartily. The redness of his cheeks and the slight sway in his step suggested he’d had more than just one drink before returning. “We haven’t had the chance to speak much since you came.” 

Shit. That bastard knew you couldn’t refuse a personal invitation lest you run the risk of seeming rude or suspicious when you were here to supposedly mend ties. Gahl might have been drunk enough to forget the impasse but Atreus was not as dimwitted. 

“Well, I suppose I can’t refuse such a kind invitation,” you gritted out as politely as possible. 

Gahl clapped once, loudly and turned back, calling to Lem, “Wonderful! Lem my boy, you’ll meet our friend in the lobby, yes?”

“Of course,” he said, blonde head popping out of the doorway and offering you a sympathetic smile. “You can go drop your things off and change if you’d like, I’ll wait for you.” 

You sighed and flashed a hopefully convincing grin at the three men, “Thank you, I shall see you momentarily.” 

With that you tried your best not to turn and bolt, but waited at least until you got three corridors down before collapsing to the floor in a pile of stuttering breaths and shaking hands. You tucked your head between your knees and tried to inhale deeply. The insides of your head pounded with the slick, viscous sound of Atreus’s words. The only thing that pulled you to your feet again was the insistent need to get as far away from it as possible. 

The hallways blended together as your feet carried you father and father from the offices, the Representative, and your almost murderer. You had hoped your room would offer some reprieve from the panic, that there may be someone waiting for you inside to spin comforting lies of safety. 

There was not. 

The room contained nothing but freshly made sheets and a white blotch on the wall where a hole had been patched. 

Nothing at all to indicate the Commander had set foot there since your return. 

You considered calling for him briefly. It had worked before, and the shame of crawling behind his hulking form to hide away was incredibly alluring. But instead you found yourself discarding your jacket and top in favorite of something slightly more upscale. The clothes landed in a pile by the bed where you sat for a moment. 

With the door and several floors of high rise architecture between you and that slimy bastard of an advisor, you thought again about what your second dive into espionage had dredged up. 

‘In his head’, Atreus said you were in his head long before you ever came on this assignment. Kylo had bristled at the words, shut you down quickly and you were used to secrets—you had many yourself—so you knew one when you saw it.   

Bond. 

The word rolled around in your skull, burned on your eyelids in that awful, messy script. 

It hurt to think about. 

Physically hurt, like someone was digging needles into your spine. 

So you didn’t think about it. 

Not yet. 

Instead, you finished fixing your outfit and walked back out of the empty room. There were answers and you would find them, but it was clear you’d have to get them on your own. So you let the door click shut behind you and took a deep breath. It was just dinner. You could do dinner and you would get your answers. 

On your own. 

****

The food looked painted onto the plate, contrasting colors and lovingly set out, but tasted like sawdust in your mouth. A shame too, it smelled better than anything you’d been served yet on Coruscant and was certainly a hundred times more extravagant than anything the Finalizer’s cafeterias stocked. 

But having the man who was seconds away from killing you just a short hour ago stare diagonally across the table with his corpse like eyes every time you moved did quite the number on your appetite. 

Thankfully, Lem was seated in front of you and had been prattling away for most of the meal, leaving you with little silence to fill. Part of the way through your fourth or fifth wood-chip bite, Gahl decided to change that. His voice was low and grated with age as he turned in the seat beside you to speak. 

“So, how are you enjoying your stay on Coruscant?” he asked, inching his leg out of the chair and closer to yours. 

“You’ve been very hospitable, Representative, I have absolutely no complaints,” you lied through your teeth, smile just as purposefully arranged as the food in front of you. 

Gahl’s hand patted your thigh just as he’d done at your first meeting, “Glad to hear it, I’m sure it’s nothing like those Star Destroyers.” 

You cursed every social rule of polite society which kept you from putting your knife through his hand. 

“It’s certainly a change of pace,” you mumbled around another flavorless mouthful. “Lem has been a wonderful guide.” 

In fact, you would give anything to be surrounded once again with nothing but bland, grey durasteel and the eyes of officers who were more than happy to pretend you didn’t exist. You’d even take standing in General Hux’s office, watching his ginger head flit about between sifting through files and insulting your diction in reports. If the Commander would even bother to look your way, you would have taken his cold, inaccessible stare over this as well. 

As your thoughts drifted further in the direction of Kylo Ren, another chilling voice joined the conversation. 

“Oh, don’t feel the need to flatter him,” Atreus chose that moment to chime in, scoffing into his napkin. “No doubt Alba’s simply talked your ear off about his low class, wait staff dalliance.”

Lem bristled, cheeks a comical pink with rage, “He has a name.” 

“Well, I’m sure he does, but I simply do not care to learn it,” Atreus sipped his drink and scowled. “You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the servers at all, it’s unbecoming of an aide to the Representative.” 

Across the table, Lem deflated and looked between you and Gahl. You were given the distinct impression this was not a new topic of conversation. 

“He’s right about that my boy, you can buy whoever you like now on the salary I pay you,” the Representative chuckled and downed the contents of his glass. 

“I’m sure our guest would agree,” Atreus’ eyes were trained on the plate but you felt his gaze on you all the same. 

“Relationships between superiors and subordinates are...frowned upon in the Order, I suppose.” 

You only caught a glint of the light off Lem’s slicked yellow hair as he turned toward the man beside him. 

“Certainly but it must happen,” he said.  

“Of course it does,” Atreus looked at you then, the blue of his iris was so light it nearly blended into the whites. “But it would be quite a dangerous predicament, especially somewhere like the Order, would it not?”

You were sure to keep your face blank and unassuming, though it was either much less convincing than you believed it to be or Atreus was actively capable of hearing the panicked screaming of your internal monologue. 

“Yes, yes it would be,” you nodded and looked back down to the table. 

“Particularly with someone of your standing, working directly under the General, I can only imagine the implications of a relationship with anyone high enough to be your senior.”

You could feel your eye twitch and your jaw tense almost against your will, as if Kylo Ren himself was choosing this very moment to inhabit your body. Really, you almost wished that he would, especially with his aggravating ability to remain completely unreadable in even the most stress inducing of situations. But alas, the only part of you Kylo inhabited was your mind in the form of an incredibly inappropriate slew of evidence for your so-called ‘dangerous predicament.’ 

“Hm,” you hummed quietly in agreement, hoping he’d drop the subject. “It would be quite unsightly, I’m certain.”

Meanwhile, Lem stared at you incredulously and hurriedly excused himself from the table mumbling something about the restroom. His blonde head quickly disappeared into the crowd and you were left alone with the Representative and his advisor, a pit developing in your stomach. And it was only made deeper by the muted betrayal in Lem’s parting tone. 

“The boy has always been too sensitive,” Gahl offered by way of explanation and Atreus nodded slowly. 

“He cracks too easily under scrutiny. He should know by now that softness is not a very useful trait in this line of work.”

You frowned and shifted in your seat, swiftly moving the Representatives gnarled hand from your leg. 

“Some amount of give is crucial in politics,” you said, gaze flicking between the two men. “It’s important to be able to bend to your adversary every so often. Being underestimated by your opponent often means you’ve been unwittingly awarded the high ground.” 

Gahl laughed heartily again as you excused yourself as well, though Atreus remained stony calm even when you glanced back between the sea of tables and waiters and expensive suits. 

Lem emerged from a side door not long after you’d posted yourself in the short, empty hallway leading to the restrooms. He would have walked straight past you if not for your hand swiftly yanking him back by the arm. 

“Wait,” you hissed as he turned to face you huddled in one of the doorways.

“What?” he hissed back.

Well. That was a fair enough question, though you hadn’t exactly thought that far. 

Lem stared at you with brows furrowed, obviously less than thrilled with how things were left off. A small part of your mind, which you were more than happy to bury and ignore, whispered that you ought to apologize. But that was most certainly not why you came after him. 

No, leaving the table was simply to punctate your last statement. 

Not because some part of you felt...guilty. 

Absolutely not. 

In fact, this was a perfect opportunity to do some more digging. Lem was your pseudo-informant and that was all. 

Right. 

That was certainly why the following words left your mouth in a tumble. 

“Are you okay?”

Lem paused as you let your hand fall from his arm, shuffling back so he could stand out of sight in the door frame across from you. He still looked cross, but his lips quirked up just a bit. You supposed he’d asked you the same so many times in just the last day, it would be appropriate for you to return the favor.  

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “That was by no means a new conversation.” 

“Under different circumstances, I would have been a bit more…” you trailed off and Lem offered you a signature toothy smile. 

“Appearances and all, I get it. Atreus uses any excuse he can find to bring up Jane since he caught us a week or so before you got here,” Lem sighed, running a hand through his neat hair. 

“Who?” 

The look you received was even more incredulous than before. 

“Jane, my—”

“Right, the waiter,” you nodded and raised your hands in apology, “so, why exactly does it matter who you’re seeing?”

Lem shook his head, “It doesn’t really, since I’m just an aide, but I’m fairly convinced he’s been trying to get rid of me since he was brought on.”

A gaggle of restaurant staff rushed past to the bar where a woman was loudly complaining about her food. You welcomed the attention her display drew away from you. 

“Oh, he wants me gone too,” you muttered and quickly waved off the comment when Lem leveled you with another confused glance. “Any particular reason why?”

He shrugged and hunched over so he could lower his voice, “Not sure, but I do know he’s been butting his greasy head in whenever the opportunity presents itself. He climbed the ranks quicker than most of the other staffers.” 

Now that was interesting. Bless Lem and his affinity for gossip. 

“That seems odd,” you frowned. “I hadn’t heard of him until this assignment, and I like to think I’m fairly well informed.” 

Lem scoffed and peered over his shoulder as if he would find Atreus there, breathing down his neck, “I’m sure you are. He just happened to materialize one day, determined to take my job.” 

Yes and your life as well, but Lem needn’t know about that. 

“Strange.” 

“Yes it is,” he replied. “And they’ll think the same if we’re gone much longer.” 

You nodded and watched him turn to merge back into the crowd, but he paused halfway into the hall. 

“Thank you,” he said simply and slipped away, past the bar and into the waves of diners. 

You waited another few minutes after Lem disappeared, and allowed yourself a small, secret smile. If for no other reason than your success at finally piecing together some information about the spiraling mess your life had become. But mostly at the rosy cheeked and chuckling sincerity that alleviated some of the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach. 

And you found the food a little less like chalk, the nerve wracking stares and inappropriate touches a little more bearable the rest of the night. 

***

The elevator ride back to your room was far more excruciating than any of the other unpleasant encounters you’d experienced that day. At least when you were cowering on the floor making peace with the fast approaching end to your mortal body, you couldn’t feel the bearer of your death breathing down your neck. 

It was so uncomfortable, you actually wished that the touch-happy, drunken Representative had tagged along instead of staying back till last call at the bar. Your heartbeat racketed up three times its normal rate when Lem pressed the button for his room a few floors below yours instead of riding back with Atreus to the office suites. 

“Did you want to discuss my notes for a bit?” you asked, trying and somewhat failing to keep the desperation out of your voice. 

Lem looked at you with a strange expression on his face, nose turning a darker shade of pink than usual, “Oh, ah, another time maybe. I have, um, someone waiting for me.” 

From behind, Atreus scoffed. 

“Truly, you are shameless, Alba,” he said and you heard him shift behind you. 

“Right,” you wanted to push the issue harder, but it would be worse if Atreus suspected you knew anymore about his plot than he already did. “I’ll see you later in the week then.”

The panel above the transparent sliding doors rang and Lem stepped out into the hall, “Yes, well not too long till the big reveal, so I’m certain we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” 

The soft hiss of the doors closing again reverberated in your bones like the thunking of an executioner's blade. You swallowed as your tongue turned to stone in your mouth. There were only a handful of floors in between before your stop but that would be more than enough time to maim your body beyond recognition and throw it down the incinerator shaft. 

You reminded yourself sternly that it was unlikely Atreus would exact whatever assassination plan he had in place in such a secluded space, but fear responses were not easily reasoned with. 

Atreus remained resolutely out of your line of sight and that only made the deep, instinctual part of your brain howl for you to run, claw, bite. Oh if only it were that simple, there would surely be far fewer aggravating superior officers in your life. 

The numbers on the panel moved far more slowly than you thought they ought to. With every extended second you spent in that horribly cramped lift, the air grew thicker with tension and the rancid smell of panic. Finally, finally, the panel flashed your floor number and the doors moved aside to reveal the beautiful sight of an empty hallway. But just before you crossed the threshold to freedom, an iron grip clamped hard down on your wrist. 

“So sorry to keep you,” Atreus began and you spun to face him. “It has only just occurred to me I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss anything with you regarding the Representative and the subject matter of your speech.” 

He really had to wait until now to do this, now when escape was dangling over your head like an unfortunate prisoner hanging over the maw of a hungry sarlacc. 

“Yes, well Lem has been providing council with respect to the Order’s representation of Representative Gahl in all our official statements,” you replied calmly. 

The slightest twitch of your hand revealed a shocking amount of force hidden in the advisor's lanky arms. You stuck your foot back as the doors began to close, unable to bear another minute trapped behind them. 

“Of course, I simply wouldn’t want you being led astray by any of Alba’s short comings,” the grip on your wrist tightened almost imperceptibly, “I’d like to work more closely with you as we approach the first campaign endorsements.” 

 “Certainly,” you forced a tight smile in his direction. “I would greatly appreciate your input.” 

The words sliced your lips as they tumbled out. You were accustomed to lying, yes, but stars that was potentially the least believable statement that had ever left your mouth. 

“I’m sure.” 

Staring hard into his dead man’s eyes, you tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as he unfurled his fingers from your wrist. Stepping back clumsily into the hall you waited until the doors hid his cheap imitation of a smile before you heading down the hall to your room. Better he not know which turn you took. 

You ran the rest of the way back. 

The tightness in your chest subsided by degrees the farther you got to safety and you didn’t even bother denying to yourself the hope that your Commander in all his black cloaked, looming glory would be waiting to stand between you and the reality waiting just outside. 

You really should have known better than to put any faith in his promises. 

“Kylo?” you whispered into the empty room. 

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t, and maybe that was the only reason you were brave enough to call out for him. 

There was a familiar black bag propped in the corner by your luggage which indicated Ren had at least returned to the Federal District at some point during the evening. That at least was something of a comfort, though a very small one. 

You grabbed one of the chairs from the table and shoved it securely back under the door handle. It scrapped against the floor and your shin throbbed as you kicked it in place. Once again the clothes on you wore seemed to have been permeated with whatever disgusting, oily sheen that leaked off of the absolute slug of a man currently puttering around in his office planning the best way to choke the life out of you. They itched and stung and you tugged at them quickly, pulling each item off in a flurry like coals blistering your bare skin. 

Free from the growing pile of discarded laundry you dug around through your cases. Your hands still shook as you scattered the contents, pulling on fresh bottoms that didn’t reek of lies and aftershave. You paused as your fingers brushed against something far softer than any of your Order regulation garments. 

Large, flowing, and predictably black, Kylo Ren’s undershirt hung in your hands like a shroud. 

You battled with your instincts. Half of you—the portion still living in the past where hatred was a simple comfort—wanted to ball it up and stomp it full of dusty boot prints. That side did not win and its screaming reduced considerably as the shirtsleeves made their way down your arms. You were enveloped immediately in a sense of sheer relief coupled with the feeling that what you were doing was profoundly reckless. 

But even if it was a false sense of security, your hands and knees were not shaking as badly as before. 

The Commander was intimidating and cold, but in addition he was intimidating and cold and standing resolutely between you and danger which was more than you could say for just about any other coworker. 

You supposed he was probably a bit more than that now. 

Eyes shut, you recalled the warm, full feeling of his approval upon seeing you in his clothes. The way it rushed through you and pulsated when he let his voice echo in your head. You wondered what it felt like for him. Was your voice a grating nuisance or was it a tingle at the back of his neck, the shiver of cool hands or maybe the surge after a well won battle. 

How did he do it, you wondered. How did it feel to read you so easily? To know all your doubts and fears and micro-defiances before they left your mouth. And how did he remain so resolutely aloof? 

Even now, as you tensed your jaw and tried to focus on the smell of him surrounding you and conjure his presence, there was nothing but dead air. You sighed and let your knees thunk down to the floor.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Kylo Ren only appeared when he wanted to, only answered your thoughts when it suited him. You could scream his name into the void of your mind but you couldn’t force him there—couldn’t Force him there. Which was unfortunate for many reasons. Being capable of wielding the throat crushing, invisible fabric of the universe at your will would have come in handy in so many situations. As you rubbed your eyes and prepared to wallow more thoroughly in the mess your life had devolved into, something caught your eye amongst the sea of clothing. 

From the Commander’s open bag, you could see something brighter amongst the masses of black fabric. Further inspection revealed that the item was shoved into the back pocket of his trousers and when you looked closer, it was clear what you were looking at. 

Your underwear. 

Your underwear was hidden away in Commander Ren’s luggage. 

And in your half shocked, half strangled endeared state, a memory surfaced. 

The night you’d spent writhing on your bed as Kylo sat, watching as the Force fucked you open. The image of him was clear in your head—a princely, demonic being refusing you the luxury of pleasure through his touch and taking your soaked panties along as a trophy when he was finished with you. 

 It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

You’d thought it was a dream then. 

And wasn’t it? The lines between waking and fantasy were blurring more and more with every passing day. But Kylo hadn’t left. He was there when you woke, that you did recall clearly. But these were the same, still unwashed from all those nights ago. 

Kylo had said there was a difference between dreaming and projecting, and to be fair you’d never been able to tell them apart. The Force was somehow involved. The same Force which seemed to have a questionable relationship with existing inside you. But it stood to reason, if someone as incompetent and disconnected as you could think yourself into Kylo Ren’s presence on very specific occasions, that he could do so whenever the hell he wanted. 

And while the implications this knowledge had on all your other sexual escapades was at the forefront of your mind and burning your face to a crisp, another inkling was forming amongst the embarrassment. 

If the Commander truly had projected himself—whatever that really meant—into your room to fuck you into oblivion without lifting a finger and kept what he’d taken, maybe you could do the same. 

Maybe, sitting inside your coat pocket was your own dream contraband. 

Crawling across the floor, you sifted through the mess at the foot of the bed until your hand felt something small and hard. Your breath stuttered in your chest as you pulled a familiar leather bound notebook from the pile and turned it over in your grip—hefty and solid and so very real in your hands.  

Staring down at the book you were at once intensely excited and overwhelmingly terrified. Logically, you knew that you were alone here and free from prying eyes no matter how desperately you wished not to be, but delving into what promised to be the source for so many of your questions felt too risky in the open of your bedroom. 

Quietly, you leaped over the bed and scrambled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and sliding down to the floor. Only then, with your back barricading you in with the tile cooling your heated skin, did you crack open the cover and begin to read the sloppy, looping scrawl across each page. 

A picture began to form in your mind growing clearer with every passing page. 

It was very much like reading the ramblings of a madman, and upon passing the first ten or so pages, your initial deduction of mad ravings only grew more accurate. The entries were similar to that of a diary, each one detailing a new piece of intel discovered. And just as you’d noted before, almost all of it had something to do with Kylo Ren. 

And you’d thought you were a bit obsessive. 

There were names you didn’t recognize, and some you did—members of the Order, high ranking and not, scattered about. Occasionally passages were quoted from what seemed to be incident reports and older texts of galactic history. And of course, there were consistent references to the ever mysterious Force. All of which were written in such personal detail that you could be certain they came from someone who, unlike you, could and knew how to use it. 

The words were so jumbled, you had to reread each line and follow it like a hunting trail to the next running sentence. And the farther you got, the deeper you dived, the more you felt your insignificance looming—that tight in your throat feeling of being so small in the grand scheme of things. 

In this scheme of things at least.  

From what you could understand, all the events leading up to your assignment to Coruscant and everything that had transpired since your arrival all boiled down this: power and the struggle to possess it. 

And at the center of it all was Atreus, Kylo Ren, and, inexplicably, you. 

In this story, you began as nothing more than another pawn on the chess board. Your name appeared maybe twice in the entire first half of the nearly full notebook. You were a footnote, a name scribbled in the margins connected to the General due to your position. After that, it seemed Atreus had gotten his hands on some more confidential documents, dozens of them in fact judging from his lists. Some were immaterial and contributed nothing, but from what you could gather, buried amongst them were dozens of your correspondence all pertaining to the Commander and all of which more than hinting at the small grudge you carried for him. 

He’d even quoted lines from you. 

As you progressed, the text became even more garbled, the handwriting rushed and nearly illegible but it was easy enough to see where it was heading. 

You were meant to be an example—of that you were certain. But not for the First Order, not because one Coruscanti representative wanted to stick it to its totalitarian overlords. Oh no, the threat of your death was meant as an example to Kylo Ren himself. It was a message, a lure, cast down from Atreus. When you first began to piece this together, it sounded intensely nonsensical. 

Almost entirely due to the fact that this plan hinged on Commander Ren of all people, having a vested interest in your life. Which, up until very recently, you would have deemed impossible. If anything, you’d have guessed he would greatly benefit from your demise seeing as you were at best an annoyance and at worst a roadblock between him and forceful galactic takeover. 

But then you reached that word. 

Bond.

Scribbled over and bolded with arrows and circles. You still couldn’t truly grasp the gravity of what it meant, but looking it over again, you knew it was true. Whatever this thing was, between you and your Commander, this was its name. And having read the journal in its entirety, you understood now why that singular word had struck you so thoroughly to your core. 

“You aren’t going to die.”

How many times had Kylo said that to you now? 

And it was constructed to bring your downfall. This was exactly what it seemed Atreus was banking on. It seemed all this want, all this hypothermic, desperate searching for one another was manufactured. The sense of wholeness,  a sham. The pit inside you, the anger, the balm of Kylo moving inside you—all orchestrated somehow to fit into this master plan to remove the Commander and take whatever he was standing in the way of. 

Without this, you would have remained a nuisance swearing at Ren from across conference tables. Nothing more than a bug to be smashed against the wall and left to rot.  And that sat terribly on your shoulders. 

Just as the book fell from your hands and onto the tile floor, you heard a familiar rattling coupled by a crash from the room just outside. Heavy footsteps rang out against the floor and a door slammed. 

Your name was called softly into the stillness. Just as you had called for him. A few moments of silence passed before you could answer, and when you did your voice felt strange in your mouth. 

“In here,” you replied quietly, listening to his foot falls approach the door and come to a halt. 

When you closed your eyes, you could almost hear his breath. Kylo paused at the door, the soft thump of his hand coming to rest against the wood the only other sound he made. You didn’t move from the floor and he made no attempt to open the door. The tingle at the back of your neck, the slight tugging of your strings, told you he could feel the thoughts racing in your head. 

Only minutes ago you would have been relieved to feel the warm of him spreading slowly down your spine. Now it felt strangely soured. For a moment you thought he might rip open the door, maybe bend you over the vanity again and teach what happened when you called for him out line. 

But he didn’t. 

When you didn’t shift from your spot to step into his grasp, you felt him pull away and heard the rustling of sheets and clothing outside. You didn’t know what you would say to him now, so instead you got up slowly and turned the water on. The mirror fogged over as you stripped and tucked the little notebook away under your clothes so the steam didn’t seep into the pages. 

You could wash now, you thought, and hopefully Kylo would have fallen asleep or left to stalk the halls again when you finished. Then you could buy yourself some time to think, unbothered by other prying eyes in your head. 

You stepped into the stream and scrubbed your skin raw, and all while the little black book watched you from its place on the sink, ever plotting. 

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

Taglist lovelies: @couldntfuckingtellya @contesa-lui-alucard @thewilddingleberries @isaxhorror @cowboy-kylo @findyourdarkness @kit-jpg @shesakillerkween @obsessionprofessional

[headheartbellarke]

Speak Now | WILLEX

dear @calamitykaty​ - happy valentine’s day! i’m your secret valentine, and i hope you have a brilliant, lovely day!! i just wanted to say that i absolutely adore your fics hehe :3 this one is for you, i hope u like it, you wonderful human!!

& a million thanks & kudos to @screwunsaidemily​​ / @jatpsecretvalentine​ for organizing this!! happy valentine’s day, raegan! and i hope today is as amazing as you are!!

✿◕ ‿ ◕✿

PAIRING(s): Alex Mercer x Willie, Flynn x Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina x Luke Patterson, past!Alex Mercer x Luke Patterson

WARNING(s): nothing haha just some fluff and we stan bobby in this house.. oh and some language

WORDS: 3.85k

SUMMARY: With his boyfriend marrying Carrie Wilson (well, in his defence, that’s his grandmother’s ‘dying wish’), Willie fancies himself to be the main character of a Shakespearean tragedy. Based on Speak Now by Taylor Swift.

KEEP READING BELOW OR READ ON AO3

     Willie exhales, watching his breath crystallize into tiny ice particles. He extends a hand to catch them, but that action causes the little cloud to dissipate.

  He rolls his eyes. Who has their wedding in Canada, in winter? Plus, not just on any day, but on Valentine’s Day.

  He fancies that he might as well be the main character of a Shakespearean tragedy. Watching your boyfriend get married is painful enough, but to a girl? That shit makes you feel as if your heart has a screw lodged in it. He feels as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Willie likes to say that he hates Alex (i.e., the said boyfriend, the love, the light, the star of his life) – but that sentence leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s just had that weird cough syrup that his mother buys.

  Alex’s friends can definitely see through his act, like, right now.

  “Willie, relax! Everything’s gonna be alright!” Julie Molina, Alex’s bandmate, ‘unbiological sister’, and ‘best gossip partner’ exclaims. She is crouching beside him.

  “Julie, I’m not the type of guy to crash a wedding and sabotage it, especially one hosted by those…” His hand moves in circular motions, pointing to the direction of the church, where Alex’s parents are probably seated. 

  Luke Patterson, Julie’s boyfriend and Alex’s ex-boyfriend, and current best friend and bandmate pipes in. “Homophobic, racist mingers?”

  Willie grins. “Don’t know what that means but sounds accurate!”

  “You know, we are saving Alex’s life, right? Literally?” Bobby Wilson chimes in, Alex’s other best friend from his position behind them. They are currently hiding behind a table laden with sweets of all kinds, and it makes Reggie, the last of Alex’s best friend-cum-bandmates’ mouth water. 

  “I still can’t believe that his parents are forcing him to marry a girl!” Julie exclaims, ponytail bobbing as she speaks. Luke adds, “Not just any girl, but Carrie fucking Wilson.” 

  “My fucking cousin!” Bobby says, looking behind to check if anyone’s there. There is, but they’re all either part of the caterer’s group, or the waiters – they are currently outside a church, where the reception will be held, post wedding. The attendees, the families, everyone – are inside the church, for the wedding.

  “Hey, is Grandma Ruth really that sick?” Reggie finally asks, his eyes diverting from the sweets. Luke smiles sweetly at him. “I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Reginald.” 

  Reggie fails to catch the sarcasm in his tone, and he smiles brightly. Luke rolls his eyes, but a faint smile teases the corners of his lips. “Yeah, she really has stage four cancer.” 

  Julie says, “Poor Ruth.” 

  Luke huffs, “I don’t care that she’s dying – she shouldn’t fucking blackmail her grandson like that! Alex, honey, I’m dying. My dying wish, you ask? Marry someone. No, not your boyfriend of four years! Marry a girl, dummy. Homosexuality is a sin!” 

  Bobby adds, “Not just any girl, but your best friend’s cousin! Whose probably into Flynn, but, yeah, whatever.” 

  Julie smiles brightly at the mention of her best friend. “Oh, she definitely is.” 

  Reggie’s brows quirk. “I thought she was still into Nick.” 

  Bobby shakes his head. “They broke up last summer.” 

  Willie clears his throat, finally gaining some confidence. “He shouldn’t be marrying the wrong girl.” He exhales, and adds, as an afterthought, “Or any girl.” 

  “You two should be walking down the aisle, Willie.” Julie says, resting a hand on his shoulder. He nods, grateful for her support. 

  He remembers this morning, when he was at the grocery store, buying as many buckets of chocolate ice cream as he could fit in his arms. Suddenly, he had felt a warm hand wrap around the back of his throat, and he let out a yelp, dropping all the buckets. 

  He remembers thinking that the universe was against him. First, it’s the day of his boyfriend’s wedding, and along with that, someone’s here to kill him. Well, he thought, it’s better to die than – 

  “Willie!” A familiar voice exclaimed, and of course, it’s Julie – he realized that the hand that he thought was here to murder him, belonged to her. She was dressed in a long, pink, A-Line dress, that complimented her skin tone perfectly and – suddenly, Willie understood that it was a bridesmaid’s dress. Yep, she’s Carrie’s bridesmaid, along with Flynn. 

  Willie wondered if she was here to rub salt on his wound. 

  “What do you want?” He had mumbled, averting his gaze from her dress. Sure, it’s a pretty dress, but it reminds him of Alex, because he has a hoodie that he adores in the same colour. (It’s in Willie’s closet now, and he makes a mental note to burn it.) 

  “We have a plan.” She said, conspiratorially. 

  Willie sighed, leaning down to pick up the fallen containers of ice cream. “I’m not in the mood, Jules.” 

  She grinned, evilly. Or as evilly as you could while having an angelic face. 

  Sure, it took her a while to convince him to crash his boyfriend’s wedding, but on the way here, he felt as if it was worth it. Julie helped sneak him in, since he doesn’t have an invite – and he found the rest of Alex’s friends – Luke, Reggie, and Bobby waiting for him. 

  Now, as Carrie’s family emerges from the church doors, he doesn’t feel that way anymore. 

  “God, I think I’m gonna throw up just by looking at them.” Luke murmurs, while Julie slaps his shoulder. “Don’t say that, they look very… colourful.” 

  Bobby snorts. 

  Carrie’s family includes her parents, two of her cousin sisters and an aunt – and they are all dressed in pastel yellow. To be really honest, that colour looks like vomit. They stand in a circle in front of the church doors, and Willie notices her aunt rolling her eyes at the waiters. He sighs. This is the same aunt who told Carrie that ‘oh, honey, it’s just a phase’, when she came out as bisexual. 

  “Guys, guys, guys!” 

  Willie sees his cousin, Flynn, running in their direction, and stopping at their table. She huffs, catching her breath and he notices that she’s wearing the same dress that Julie is. 

  “Carrie is losing her shit, dude.” She says, once she’s breathing normally again. “Why?” Julie asks, concerned. 

  “Probably because she doesn’t wanna marry Alex? I don’t know, but she yelled at me for eating!” She exclaims, an annoyed expression taking over her face. 

  Willie and Bobby exchange a look – they all know that Carrie can get a little intense sometimes – she doesn’t mean harm, but on a day like this, you can’t really hold it against her. 

  “Where is she?” Julie asks, alarmed. 

  “She’s in the back. Her mom misplaced her veil, and its total chaos out there. Also, her gown looks like a fucking pastry.” 

  Everyone’s eyes widen, and Flynn sighs, looking away. “I hate everything.” 

  Willie knows that she’s feeling just the way he is. 

  Julie stands up. “Come on, let’s help her. And boys?” She points a finger in their direction. “Stick to the fucking plan.” 

  Everyone nods rapidly, and Reggie whispers, “Yes, mam.” 

  She kisses Luke, whispering something in his ear, and squeezes Willie’s shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look, before running off in the opposite direction with Flynn. 

  Watching Julie and Luke, Willie is suddenly overpowered by a memory, a memory that was gathering dust in his brain. He remembers a cold, dark winter morning in their – his and Alex’s – apartment. It was last year, and their first morning in that apartment, in their home. They were nineteen and couldn’t get enough of each other – even after three years of being together. Somehow, somewhere they felt as if an invisible string was pulling them closer and closer, until they merged into one. 

  He remembers Alex combing his fingers through Willie’s hair, and whispering, “Is it crazy if I say that this is everything that I’ve ever wanted in life?” 

  He had smiled, eyes filled to the brim with euphoria. “No, then that would mean that I’m crazy.” 

  “We’re both crazy.” 

  “Maybe.” He had pulled him closer, loving the way Alex buried his face in the crook of his neck. 

  “Willie?” Alex softly asked, drawing patterns on his bare skin. 

  “Hmm?” 

  “I want to wake up next to you every single day. Like, I don’t ever wanna be without you,” 

  “Me, too.” He had said, then adding, “I don’t see myself marrying if not you.” 

  He could feel his boyfriend’s grin. “Not gonna lie, I’ve thought about it. A little.” 

  “A little?” 

  “Okay, I’ve planned it all out.” They both laughed, and Willie felt as if he was flying. 

  Alex continued, “I imagine us getting married on a beautiful summer day – on the beach. Where we met all those years ago. Remember?” 

  Willie smiled. “How could I forget? I will love Flynn forever for bringing me to Julie’s sweet sixteen – I never thought that I’d meet my soulmate that day.” 

  “Yeah. I imagine Luke to be my best man, and Flynn to be yours. Julie and Carrie would be our groomsmaids, yep, I invented that – and Reggie and Bobby could be the other best men. It’s a little messy, because I love them all so much and I can’t choose – but yeah.” 

  “Funny that your ex-boyfriend will be your best man at our wedding.” 

  “Shut up, Willie.” 

  “Carlos could be the ring bearer.” 

  “I think he’s a little too old for that.” 

  “Well, you have a point. But he’s gonna be pissed if he doesn’t get a title like his sister does.” 

  “All right, he’ll be the ring bearer.” 

  “We could have a skateboard shaped cake.” 

  “We will… think about it.” 

  “And we won’t need a band!” 

  “I’m not playing at my own wedding!” 

  “Well, Bobby could take your place. I’m sure he won’t mind taking a day off his solo touring.” 

  “Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

  As they went over every possibility, every dream, the world melted away and all Willie could see were the oceans in Alex’s eyes. 

  Luke’s voice dissipates the haze of nostalgia around Willie’s brain. “Yep, Carrie’s family went inside.” 

  Bobby nods. “Okay, Willie, you stay with Reggie and Luke – I’ll go inside first and distract everyone, and y’all will come at my signal.” With that, he runs towards the church. 

  “Uh… what is his signal…” Willie trails off. Luke and Reggie exchange a panicked look, as Reggie says, “I’m sure we’ll figure it out! Besides – oh my god, are those flamingos?” 

  Willie and Luke’s eyes dart to the church door, where a bunch of flamingos – Carrie’s favorite bird, apparently – are on the loose and the waiters and the staff are running around trying to catch them. 

  “Boys, I think that’s our signal.” Luke says, grabbing their hands and dragging them towards the back of the church, where the girls had previously disappeared into. 

  Luke sneezes, and Willie absentmindedly whispers a ‘bless you.’ He shifts, saying, “There’s so much dirt here! It’s like nobody cares about my allergies!” 

  “I’m sure nobody in Canada will ever care about your allergies, Patterson.” Flynn hisses.

  The trio are currently hiding behind a curtain, the lilac shades sickening them. “Well, you wouldn’t be in this position if Alex’s lovely bride-to-be didn’t uninvite me!” Willie exclaims, looking around to make sure nobody is nearby. 

  “I’m sure she has a very good reason!” Flynn says, and Luke rolls his eyes, saying, “You’re saying that as if you don’t know Carrie. She’s hyper fixating on this wedding to distract herself from the fact that her parents will never accept her for who she is, from her fear about the fact that she’ll never get someone who sees and loves her for who she is and right now, she believes that this wedding would gain her parents’ favour, that somehow they’d be okay with her being bisexual if she’s married a man, a gay man at that, too – and now she’s doing everything in her power to make sure nothing gets fucked up.” 

  Willie and Flynn sharply look at Luke. 

  “Dude, that was deep.” He whispers. Flynn dabs the corner of her right eye. “You should be a therapist, bro.” 

  “I know, bro.” He grins. 

  Willie can’t stop a smile from breaking out on his face. He turns back to the scene in front of him, and his heart seizes because there’s Alex, dressed in a perfect tuxedo, with his hair perfectly done, with a perfect smile on his face, and Willie realizes that that is not the man he loves. 

  The man standing in front of him looks too pristine, too immaculate. It’s almost as if he is being strung up by invisible puppet strings, but his face doesn’t give away any of that – it’s absolutely blank, and Willie would have thought that the man in the front is not real if he hadn’t seen his eyes. His eyes, which houses cyclones, cyclones being fed by the apprehension, the fear, the anger, the sadness that he must be feeling inside. His eyes, that Willie loves to see first thing in the morning, showing off the parts of his soul that he is desperately trying to shield. 

  Willie wonders if he’ll see him standing behind the curtains. He probably won’t. Willie’s at the back of the room, and he’s at the front, waiting, waiting, waiting. For a moment, Willie wonders if Carrie is going to show up at all – because the wedding was supposed to start half an hour ago, and it doesn’t make sense why a person who has never been late in her entire life, would be late on her wedding day. 

  He doesn’t have to wonder long, though. The organ starts to play ‘Here Comes the Bride’, and honestly it sounds more like a death march. Willie is reminded, yet again, of another reason why this is not what Alex wants – he wants to play ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift at his wedding. 

  Willie takes in a sharp breath when Carrie enters. She looks like a pageant queen – wearing a beautiful, white, classic dress. In one hand, she holds her dad’s arm, and in the other, there is a bouquet of daisies. 

  Flynn whispers. “I have to go. Boys, do not mess this up. Or I swear I’ll kill you.” 

  As the duo watch her run to the front of the room, Willie whispers, “Does she know about Carrie’s big, fat crush?” 

  Luke snorts. “You think so? Come on, let’s sit. They won’t be able to see us here.” 

  As they crouch down and make their way to the benches, Willie casts one last look at Alex, and he knows, he knows that Alex wishes it was Willie walking down the aisle instead.

     “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” The preacher says, and Willie’s heart erupts into a frenzy. As the room goes completely silent, Luke whispers, “That’s your cue, Willie.” 

  Ignoring his anxiety, he stands up with his hands shaking, and his brain telling him to just fucking run out the doors. 

  Alex’s eyes widen, relief flooding his features, and for a moment, he looks like the real Alex again. Willie catches Julie and Flynn’s eyes, who are standing beside Carrie, and they nod at him, enthusiastically. But the bride, Carrie – she looks absolutely horrified. And so does all the other people in this room, including Alex’s parents, his grandma Ruth, and Carrie’s parents, too. 

  From Alex’s right side, Reggie and Bobby give him encouraging looks, and finally, he averts his eyes back to the man he loves. 

  But he can’t say anything. He feels as if he’s frozen in time, and his mind completely blanks out. For a moment he wonders if this is his rock bottom. 

  But Luke comes to the rescue, thrusting a guitar in his hands, and breaking him out of his trance. “I remember you told me that you can always sing, even if the world was ending. So, I brought this along, as backup.” 

  It’s true. Music is a part of his soul, much like it is Alex’s. Music is what connected them in the first place, and music is what still keeps them connected now. 

  He positions the guitar, and notices that it’s Luke’s acoustic guitar. He strums it, and finally, his mind comes back to himself. He keeps his eyes trained on that of Alex, and he watches the storm of emotions in his irises. 

  “I am not the kind of guy, who should be rudely barging in on a white veiled occasion…” He sings, loving how Taylor Swift has written a song for every occasion.

  “But you are not the kind of boy, who should be marrying the wrong girl!” He sings and hears loud gasps around the room – he knows that people expected him to be in love with Carrie or something. 

  “Or any girl!” Reggie adds, and Alex grins, and that gives him the motivation to continue. 

  “So, don't say yes, run away now. I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door… Don't wait or say a single vow – You need to hear me out, and they said speak now!” 

  He drags the ‘now’ for as long as he can, because he knows that the silence that will follow will be excruciating. And it is. Alex just stares at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

  Willie finally looks at Carrie, and when their eyes meet, she gives him an odd look. He half expected her to kill him, but the way she looks at him, it’s almost as if she’s relieved. 

  Alex clears his throat, the sound piercing through the silence of the room. Whispers arise, and Willie exchanges a look with Luke, who asks him, “You want me to dig you a hole to die?” 

  Before he can nod, Alex says, “Uh…” He fiddles with his hands, before finally saying, “Fuck it”, and untying his tie. His mother gasps, and his father stands up, but he raises a hand. 

  He locks eyes with Willie, and his world spins on its axis. 

  “You are not the kind of guy to be rudely barging in on a white veiled occasion…But I am not the kind of boy… who should be marrying the wrong girl… or any girl!” Alex sings in that raspy voice of his, and Willie feels his heart soar. He can’t help the grin from escaping on his face, and he knows that his eyes are what Julie calls, ‘heart eyes.’ Luke grabs the guitar from Willie’s hand and starts playing along. 

  “And you'll say let's run away now, and I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door,” 

  Alex walks down the aisle, but suddenly remembers something, or rather, someone. He turns around, locking eyes with Carrie, and Willie can’t see what he’s saying, but Carrie smiles a big, soft one – one probably no one has ever seen on her face, and he sees her mouth ‘go.’ 

  “Baby, I didn't say my vows, so glad you were around; when they said speak now!” 

  He finishes, and stands in front of Willie, and Willie knows that the both of them can feel the air electrifying between them.   

  He turns, facing his grandmother. “Grandma, I’m sorry, but you’re 93, and I’m 20. I’m not going to give up my life for you to live. I love you, though. Mom, Dad, I’m truly sad that I’m not what you wanted. But I’m not gonna apologize for being myself, nor am I gonna apologize for loving who I want to. This is my life, and maybe it’s time that I start acting like it. I can’t keep wasting my life to please you. You – you should love me for who I am, that’s what good parents do.” Alex’s voice cracks, and Willie intertwines their fingers. Alex squeezes his hand. 

  Carrie’s mom stands up, shaking her head. “No, no, no… you do not get to ruin my daughter’s wedding –” 

  Alex’s father stands beside her, his face matching the shade of Carrie’s red lipstick. “I will not accept this –” 

  “Will?” Alex whispers, his eyes trained on his father. 

  “Yeah?” 

  “Run.” 

  With that, Alex tightens his hold on Willie’s hand, and the both of them run down the aisle, and outside. Willie can hear an uproar behind him, but it fades to background noise behind the thump of his heart. 

  “That was so fucking romantic!” Alex exclaims, as they come to a stop before Willie’s car. 

  “I just…” 

  “Wait – I’m sorry, Willie. I shouldn’t have put you through that. I should’ve fought more; I should’ve run away or something. That was not okay. I’m a twenty-year-old adult, and I should – I should – learn to be it, and not hurt any – anyone –” 

  “Hey, hey, hey…” Willie says, stepping closer to Alex. “It’s alright. They’re your parents. It’s not your fault that you want their approval. But I just want you to know that I love you, all of you, for who you are. And all of us do – Luke, Julie, Bobby, Reggie, Flynn, and even Carrie. We all love you, for who you are, and we’re always gonna be by your side.” 

  He smiles, cupping Willie’s face. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I – I love you so fucking much.” He kisses Willie, and the latter feels like he is floating amongst the stars. 

  “That – everything inside – from this tux to the decorations was horrible. I’m really glad that you… you know, stopped it.” Alex says, rubbing his thumb around Willie’s cheek. 

  He shrugs. “Well, it was your friends’ idea.” 

  “Of course it was.” 

  “Guys! Guys, guys, guys!” 

  Willie and Alex break out of their embrace at Carrie’s voice, who is currently running towards them, her dress bunched in her hands. Flynn is following her, holding her veil in her arms. Julie, Luke, Bobby, and Reggie are behind them, and they all have a look of panic plastered on their faces. 

  Flynn yells. “Carrie might’ve told your and her parents to fuck off, and your grandma to just die already, and so there’s a fair chance that we’re all gonna get killed, now that everyone knows that we’re all behind this.” 

  “Also, I threw red wine at our aunt’s dress, Carrie!” Bobby yells. 

  “I might have told your parents that they’re failures, and Julie and I are your real parents, Alex!” Luke yells. 

  “Also, Flynn and I are getting married!” Carrie yells. 

  Alex’s eyes widen, and he looks at Willie. “I think we all need to run.” 

  Willie nods, and he looks around. Maybe they will get killed (probably not), and maybe everything is a little crazy right now – but what he knows is that all of them are a family, and that he’d do anything for them. He also knows that Alex is worth everything, and that someday, they will get married, just the way they want, with the people that love them just the way they are. 

  Plus, is it weird to say that he kind of feels like Taylor Swift right now?

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

I saw that you included the belly kink in that fic you wrote, loved it by the way. Can we get some more of that? Including stuffed kohga if you're into that?? The man loves eating, after all

You're asking for Sooga's fantasy, is what you're saying. You're asking for EVERY yiga's fantasy, essentially. Let's go

"Is everything ready?"

"Just about! Keep stalling!"

Mipha motioned for Sooga to get back into the dining hall. It was THE Master’s birthday today, and Sooga was running around this way and that to make sure it was perfect. The champions were here, the princess, and of course, every member of the clan. Mipha and Link were currently cooking in the kitchen, working on his cake, all while Kohga was being entertained in the dining hall. One of the blade master’s, conveniently enough, was a former performer, and was doing a rather good job at entertaining his master. It WAS rather impressive, though Sooga wished he didn't have to doge during the fire swallowing trick. Nearly singed his hair. Kohga clapped as the blade master bowed, totally entertained.

"Did you SEE that?! He just swallowed a fucking FLAMEBLADE!"

"Swallowing IS my forté, Master Kohga."

Sooga shot him a warning glance at that flirt, and it took so much of him NOT to beat his ass. He cleared his throat as he knelt down to the birthday boy.

"Are you having fun so far, Master Kohga?"

"Loads. But it'd be better if you stopped running around and started celebrating WITH me.”

Kohga grabbed at his chin, pulling him closer, and for a moment, Sooga contemplated just cancelling everything, and kicking everyone out of the room. But Kohga was worth far more than that. He chuckled, lightly bonking his mask with his.

“I will, I swear. But you’d be disappointing everyone who worked so hard to celebrate your greatness. Plus scheduling this took almost a whole week.”

“Fuss fuss fuss, that’s all you do.”

Kohga scoffed, finally letting him go. He could tell that despite his disappointment, he found Sooga’s affections sweet. So much work has gone to make HIS day even more special. Kohga looked like he was going to complain some more, when suddenly, from out of the kitchen, came not only a few blade masters, but the champions, helping carry the BIGGEST cake you’ve ever seen. That caught Kohga’s attention, and he sat up in his seat, clapping wildly. It wasn’t JUST this beautiful cake being brought forth (heavy on the caramel icing), but all types of food that he LOVED, all in one table. Fried bananas, meat stews, tabantha bakes, all types of creamy, thick soups, bowls of tender, delicious meat, and all types of various rice dishes. Best part? Not a SINGLE fish dish in sight. Kohga looked nearly excited enough to jump out of his special birthday chair.

“Is THIS what you spent so long doing? Is this why you ‘forgot’ my breakfast this morning?”

“Perhaps. Please, eat as much as you please. I take it you’re ready for presents?”

“Yes! Gimme ALL of them!”

Little did Kohga know, he’d be getting a VERY special gift tonight, thanks to Sooga.

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

“Today was the best day EVER!”

“I couldn’t tell, given how much you were laughing and hugging everyone. Even Revali.”

“Hey he’s not bad when he’s sloshed.”

Kohga chuckled once Sooga set him down, bringing in his new presents right after. Hair clips from Revali, a friendship bracelet from Mipha, a birthday crown from Zelda, monster rice balls from Link (he didn’t question it), hard liquor from Urbosa, and LOTS of goron spice from Daruk. It was sweet, all of it was. Sooga chuckled as he finished bringing everything in, watching as Kohga sat there comfortably, rubbing at his VERY full tummy. Sooga sat down next to him, kissing the top of his head.

“Perfect birthday?”

“Almost. I ate so much other food, I didn’t get to try the cake.”

“Oh! I saved you a slice, just in case. It’s over...here!”

Sooga dug into the pile of stuff, and pulled out a plate. It held the neatest, biggest piece of cake he could get. Kohga chuckled, leaning over to lightly shove his shoulder.

“You saved me a piece? Why did I expect anything else from someone like you?”

“I’ll take that as a complement. Here, I have a fork.”

Sooga sat back down, cake in his hand, when something in him..clicked. Maybe it was his Master being happy. Maybe it was the fact that he ate SO much food, so full of gluttony and greed. He was surprised anyone got any food to eat in his wake. And he saw it, in that big, full tummy of his. It looked even bigger, even grander than ever.

“Could I feed this to you?”

Why would he ask that? Why would ANYONE ask that? He was about to apologize, when Kohga chuckled, slightly shaking his head.

“I mean, sure. Less effort for me, why not? Long as I get my cake.”

Kohga lifted his mask up a bit, just for his mouth. Sooga froze for a moment as Kohga sat there, mouth open and expecting. He..shouldn’t keep him waiting, right? He nodded, grabbed a piece, and put it right in his Master’s soft, plush mouth. He licked the frosting off of his lips, nodding in approval.

“That is a VERY good cake right there. Nice and moist.”

“I..take all the food was to your liking?”

“Oh definitely. The chicken curry, salted greens, oh and the tabantha bakes! I LOVED the tabantha bakes!”

He kept feeding Kohga piece by piece, watching as his lips enjoyed bite after bite. Kohga...did eat a LOT tonight. So many plates of warm, hearty food.

“I could tell. You kept dunking them in the poultry pilaf.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have no idea how many plates of those that I ate.”

“I’d be more concerned over how many bowls of rice and meat you ate.”

Kohga groaned, giving his stomach a nice, satisfied rub.

“Ugh that meat was SO good. The rice was nice and sticky, the meat was juicy, you could wring that shit out. Thank god you got that cake, I’m starting to get hungry again.”

Sooga nodded as he kept sitting there, putting more and more cake into his mouth. Kohga was ever so hungry. Big, beautiful body DID need so many calories to keep it running. Sooga eventually ran out of cake, and he found himself still glancing at his big, heavy tummy. Kohga saw there was no more cake, and pouted.

“Ugh. I kinda want more cake. You think I should fast after this?”

“No! Absolutely not. You eat until you feel satisfied, Kohga. If you want to eat, you want to eat. I can go into the kitchen, have them make you another cake. Maybe something else to eat?”

“I’d KILL for a mushroom omelette right now. But I don’t want you to leave.”

Sooga thought about getting Kohga’s food anyway, but he just. Kept looking at how Kohga kept massaging at his tummy. Clearly he needed his help.

“Then I shall stay. We can give you a nice, big breakfast in the morning instead.”

“Whatever keeps us both here.”

Kohga burped into his hand, and Sooga immediately felt awful. His poor master’s stomach was clearly in need of his comforting hand. He crawled up to him, suddenly finding both hands on his belly, rubbing it in small, slow circles.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need. You just relax, my Master.”

Kohga chuckled, looking as if he’d stop Sooga’s fussing, only to put his hands behind his head, and continue to let him. Kohga didn’t speak as Sooga tenderly massaged his belly, staring at it longingly. It was so big, so beautiful, so full of everything that was good in this world. Sooga was attracted to him for his hands, his voice, his confidence, but honestly? His belly was his favorite part of him. He could feel the softness under the yiga uniform, feel the warmth under his fingertips. It was so lovely, so precious, just the weight of it all.

“Jesus Sooga, you’re easy.”

“Pardon?”

Kohga used his head to motion downward. Sooga looked down, and found himself aroused. VERY aroused. He pulled his hands away, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I didn’t say you had to stop, you know. Go on, do your thing. Don’t forget, you haven’t given me my birthday present yet~”

Sooga thought about refusing, but...well, he hadn’t gotten him a gift just yet. And he really, REALLY wanted this. He put the pillow back, and buried his face into Kohga’s stomach. One hand was used to grab and grope at his belly, the other was used to free his cock from his cloth confines. Kohga had such a big, wonderful tummy, he hated how absolutely hard it made him.

“I...really like your stomach, Master Kohga.”

“Ah ah ah. YOU’RE jerking off because of my stomach, on MY birthday. You call it ‘poochy tummy’ like a good boy.”

“Must I?”

“You wanna cum, then yes.”

Sooga groaned. He hated that everyone called it that, it was stupid, But, if that’s what it took, so be it.

“I...really like your poochy tummy. A lot. Especially after you eat. You look so full and content after you stuff yourself.”

Sooga was already panting, grip tight and slow on his cock, just how preferred it. It didn’t help that Kohga put his hand on his head, affectionately petting him like he was such a good boy.

“That why you offered to feed me cake?”

“...maybe.”

“Pfft. Pervert. But I like it, it’s cute, knowing your cock gets so hard for my full belly. You could totally feed me again, would you like that?”

Sooga’s whine was stifled by Kohga’s big tummy, but Kohga was taking that as a yes. Sooga was sitting here, pumping his cock because he wanted to make his big belly even fuller. Such a cute bottom. Sooga liked this so much, he was already feeling himself at the edge.

“Master Kohga, I don’t think I’m going to l-last much-”

“You gonna stay there, or you gonna get up here and cum on my poochy tummy?”

The idea excited Sooga so much, he practically leapt up to sit right on him. With a slow, tender hand, Sooga sat there, pumping his cock (and even rubbing his cock RIGHT on him, like a dream). Then he came. Ribbons of cum came from him, littering his big, soft tummy, it reminded him of a nice, fresh cinnamon roll. Sooga sat there for a moment, trying to take in the fact that his cock was sitting there, amongst his own cum, right on Kohga’s tummy. Kohga chuckled, giving a light shake of his head.

“You JUMPED for that, didn’t you big boy? Not that I mind, I wanted some more dessert.”

Kohga swiped his finger across Sooga’s head, and licked that bit of cum off his finger.

Kohga may be the gluttonous one, but Sooga was truly the one who was hungry.

[send-me-your-hcs]

Forever Ch16

Collab fic with @ceratonia-siliqua (check their blog next week for the next chapter!)

Chapter 15

Read on ao3

Warnings: Eventual unhealthy/codependent relationship, possessive behavior, dark themes, check ao3 for additional warnings.

Bucky stared on in shock as Peter wept into his hands.

He cursed himself for leaving the boy alone, but even now, watching Peter fall to pieces on the couch in front of him, he knew it was necessary. As much as he hated it, the nearest town had been absolutely buzzing with the story of Tony Stark’s missing son, the raped boy, even all the way out here in rural Indiana, and they didn’t have the right gear to disguise Peter at all. He would have been seen without a doubt.

So it was necessary that Bucky left him alone, even though, right now, it was breaking his heart.

He set the bags down and drew the crying boy into his arms, shushing him. Peter clung to the sleeves of his jacket, hot tears flooding down his cheeks, sobbing his little heart out. “Baby,” Bucky said again, running his hands down Peter’s trembling back, practically crushing him to his chest. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

And then he saw it.

The TV flickered, and Bucky looked up just in time to catch sight of what looked like a press conference wrapping up, the screen filled with throngs of people holding up microphones, and at the front of all of them, like a king standing before his subjects, was the cold, furious face of Tony Stark himself.

Bucky’s hands tightened their hold on Peter, and he pulled him closer, his eyes narrowing.

No wonder Peter was so upset. They’d only spent one night together, and already, his thick-headed father was recruiting the whole world to try and separate them. Of course he would be scared, the poor thing.

Bucky sighed and softly kissed the boy’s forehead. “Is this what’s got you all worked up?” he asked gently, smoothing down Peter’s wild head of curls. “Baby. My sweet boy. Come here.”

He turned the TV off and gathered Peter into his lap, cradling him like a child. It shouldn’t have been easy to bundle an eighteen-year-old teenager in his arms this way, but Bucky was tall and broad in all the right places - there was a reason they called him The Winter Soldier, after all - and Peter was...well, Peter couldn’t have been more the opposite. If it wasn’t a slur to refer to gay boys as fairies, that’s exactly what Bucky would call him, because Peter was delicate and ethereal and Fae-like in every sense of the word.

So it shouldn’t have been easy to cradle Peter in his arms, but it was. It was like Peter was born to fit there, one more great, cosmic sign proving they were meant to be together. Everything from their circumstances to the very DNA that designed their bodies matched up to ensure that they were the perfect pair, and Bucky loved it, loved it almost as much as he hated the terrible sound of Peter crying.

“S’all my fault,” Peter said, the words all stringing together as he forced them out alongside his sobs. “My dad, he’s - I hurt him, I hurt him and now he’s - he’s so mad, and when he finds us he’s gonna...he’s going to…”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, his arms stilling, no longer rocking Peter against his chest like an infant. “Baby. Look at me.”

He cupped the boy’s cheek and lifted his face up, away from his chest, until their eyes met.

“Peter, I know you feel bad that we left the way we did, but you need to remember, your dad has responsibility here, too. This isn’t your fault.”

Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying, in vain, to stem the flow of tears. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if your dad ever bothered to actually talk to you, if he was open to the idea of you having a relationship with anyone other than himself, if he had paid enough attention to you to realize you had already met someone and fallen in love...we wouldn’t have had to leave. We would still be in New York.”

Two wide, wet eyes blinked up at him in perfect, heartbroken unison. Peter looked at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. Bucky took advantage of his stunned silence, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to the boy’s hair, hugging him tightly until Peter said, “R-Really?”

“Of course, baby,” Bucky said. He rubbed some of the lingering tears from Peter’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re an adult. Even if your dad didn’t necessarily agree with us moving in together, or if he just needed some time to warm up to the idea, that would have been fine. But from what you’ve told me, your dad...isn’t like that, is he?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then reluctantly shook his head.

“He would have stopped you, baby. He would have done anything - and I mean anything - to keep me the hell away from you. He wouldn’t have cared that we can tell each other anything. He wouldn’t have cared that I would never let anything happen to you. He wouldn’t have cared that we love each other.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes again, but Bucky caught them before they could run down his cheeks.

“You can love someone and still know that they aren’t good for you, doll. Your dad...I think he does love you. And yeah, right now, I’m sure he’s takin’ it hard. But that’s on him, baby, it’s not on you. Because when you love someone, you have to be willing to let them go. And your dad never would’ve been.”

He pulled Peter in, kissing his wet, tear-swollen cheek, then the tip of his nose, and finally, his pretty, pink, pouty lips.

“Remember how I said you could write your dad letters? Maybe it would make you feel better if you wrote one, baby. I won’t be starting my new job for at least a week or so, so I won’t be able to mail it for you until then, but it might help you process everything if you wrote it out.”

A small, shy smile tugged at Peter’s lips as he sniffled, his tears finally running out. “You remembered,” he said, the angelic bell chime of his voice turned raw from all the sobbing. “You remembered that I like to write things out when I’m sad.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s back and hugging him tightly. How could he ever forget? It was thanks to that that he found out about Skip and what he’d done. It was thanks to Peter’s love of writing that that rat was currently breathing his last wretched, pain-filled breaths.

“I also remembered you telling me how much you like to eat potato soup with cheese and bacon when you’re feeling down, so I picked up the ingredients for it, just in case.” He kissed Peter’s nose again and sat the boy upright in his lap. “Why don’t you come help me figure out where things should go in our kitchen, and then I’ll whip up a big pot for us for dinner?”

Peter’s cheeks darkened to an adorable shade of red, and he wrapped his arms tight around Bucky’s neck, his legs falling on either side of his hips as he straddled him.

“I’m still pretty sore,” he confessed quietly, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Will you...um. Will you carry me? Please?”

Bucky felt his dick twitch inside his pants, spurred on by Peter’s weight and the warmth of his body pressed against it. He carefully took hold of the boy’s sensitive ass, gently but firmly pressing them together as he prepared to stand.

“Always, baby.”

—

Their second night together was much more romantic than their first.

Peter, the poor thing, was still feeling a little achy and reserved as they made dinner. After Bucky brought their newly-purchased toiletries (and the lube) upstairs, the boy stuck to his side as they put everything else away, clinging to him as they acquainted themselves with their new kitchen. Bucky loved how Peter stayed tucked under his arm as he cooked, or propped up on the kitchen counter with his legs dangling over the edge, palms flat on the countertop beside his thighs to take most of his weight off his sore ass.

But they talked the entire time. Luckily for Bucky, Peter was pretty easily distractible. It was much easier to manage in person than through letters or emails - if a topic started swaying too far into unwelcome territory, Bucky merely had to intervene once with a tidbit he thought might catch Peter’s attention, and watch him sail off in a new direction.

It was comfortable, doing something as domestic as making his own dinner for the first time in ten years while his young lover chirped at his side. It felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. They communicated fluidly, like it was second nature, an instinct written into their very brain matter. Peter had an adorable playful side, silly in a way that couldn’t help but be endearing, sassy in a way that made Bucky want to leave their dinner burning on the stovetop to kiss that mischievous little grin right off the boy’s face.

Peter asked about the house as they ate, specifically about the locked door that led to the basement, and the safes built into the kitchen and master bathroom. Bucky feigned ignorance, suggesting that whoever restored this place had decided to modernize the odd features its original owners had installed instead of removing them. Peter speculated about the wealthy family who must have built the house originally, how strange and creepy they must have been, like something you’d find in a cheap horror movie about ghosts.

Bucky couldn’t help teasing him, and tapped the boy on the shoulder as they were cleaning up, side by side at the sink. Peter startled like a newborn fawn and whirled around in alarm. “Something just touched me!”

“Must have been that ghost my lawyer warned me about,” Bucky said.

Peter glared at him, and Bucky couldn’t help but burst into laughter, only laughing harder when the boy took the side sprayer beside the faucet and pressed down hard on the trigger, soaking him. Bucky was able to wrestle the nozzle away from him pretty easily - God, Peter was such a delicate, little thing, no wonder his dad never let him out of his sight - and hefted the boy over his shoulder like a deer, beaming at the stream of giddy laughter that poured from Peter’s smiling mouth.

“That wasn’t very nice, young man. I think you need to be taught some manners.”

Peter writhed on his shoulder, his legs kicking out futilely. “You totally deserved it!”

“Oh, really?” He trailed his hand up the back of Peter’s thigh, stopping just below the cheeks of that perfect ass. “You’re lucky you’re still feelin’ sore, or else I’d have you over my knee for a comment like that.”

He expected another sassy remark, but to his very pleasant surprise, Peter only whimpered, his hands tightening into little fists in the back of Bucky’s wet shirt, where his upper body hung limply. Bucky waited a beat, then trailed his hand up higher, until he was full on cupping the cheek of his ass.

“You like the sound of that, baby?” he asked, giving the cheek under his left palm a gentle squeeze. “Like the thought of Daddy bending you over his knee when you’re bein’ a mouthy little brat?”

“I - I dunno,” Peter said, but the erection digging into Bucky’s shoulder told a different story. “It’s...it’s kind of weird.”

“You ever been spanked before, doll? Hm?”

Peter buried his upside-down face in Bucky’s soaked back, and the man’s heart nearly burst. “No. My dad threatened to, a couple of times, but - he never had to actually do it.”

“Such a good boy,” Bucky purred, tightening his hands on the boy’s legs as he started walking out of the kitchen. “I don’t think Daddy will have to do it, either.”

Peter clung to his damp shirt as they started ascending the stairs, his voice coming out a little shy and scared as he said, “B-Bucky?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“The, um - the daddy thing - ” he gulped, nervously, squirming in Bucky’s hold. “We don’t...we don’t have to do that all the time, right? I mean, I - don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it’s just - for me, it kind of...it got kind of...I don’t know. Kind of heavy, I guess. We can...we can make love normally too, right? I mean - crap, that’s not the right word - I wasn’t trying to say we did it abnormally, just - can we do it...without the daddy thing, sometimes…? Would that be okay?”

They reached the bedroom, and Bucky took another moment before replying so he could gently pull Peter down into his arms, holding him bridal-style, before lowering him onto the bed like the precious pillow princess he was.

“Peter,” he said softly, cupping the boy’s cheek, his gaze flickering over that sweet, worried little face. “Of course that’s okay. I didn’t mean to spring my kink on you without talking to you about it first. It just sort of...happened.” He smiled apologetically, his heart soaring when Peter smiled back. God, he loved this boy. “If you don’t like it, you can tell me. I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t like.”

“I do like it,” Peter insisted, leaning in to Bucky’s hands, nuzzling his palms slightly. “It was really hot. But sometimes, if it’s okay, I’d like to just do things...more…”

“Vanilla?” Bucky asked, smiling when Peter’s nose wrinkled. “Romantic?” he tried instead, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Slow?”

He could feel Peter’s cheeks burning in his hands. His sweet, innocent, beautiful boy. “Yeah,” Peter said, almost a whisper. “Yeah. More like that.”

Bucky tilted the boy’s face up and kissed him, slow and romantic, just like he asked, but still with every bit of desperate hunger churning in his gut shining through. Peter’s mouth opened for him on a gasp, and Bucky’s tongue delved inside, devouring, insatiable for more of everything this boy had to give.

“Okay, baby,” he said as he pulled back, just enough to crawl on top of Peter, flattening him down on the mattress. “I can do that.”

[pippafitzamobi]

just me

It’s that time of the term when I’m ready to do everything except real work. Here’s the result. All 2158 words of it.

Also can be found on ao3.

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

The brisk of fresh air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath and close my eyes leaning against the huge tree. The surface of the trunk scratches my bare arms, and I welcome the sensation. The ache to feel anything except this overwhelming numbness I’m experiencing is taking over me again.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of inexplicable joy and painful revelations. The more I find out about myself the more I realize that there is to lose. 

It's no longer just about me, my sanity, my freedom. 

It's no longer just about Aaron, his wounds, his obligations. 

Somewhere along the way we've made friends, grew attachments. 

Something that was once an unfathomable concept for me: a poor, crazy girl destined for nothing but solitude. I am no longer alone. Now, I know the truth or at least a scrap of it. There is still so much to uncover, I can feel it, something escapes me and I’m too afraid to look closer.

We're all connected by the invisible thread of pain and now it's wrapping around our necks trying to strangle us into submission. 

I can't let that happen. 

I won’t let that happen.

Everyone is counting on me, on us, to end all of this once and for all. 

“Chiquitita tell me what’s wrong” a cracked, out-of-tune voice comes from the other side of the tree.

Kenji.

I've been a bad friend lately. So consumed with myself that I did not even once stop and thought about anyone else. I should do better. Kenji deserves better. The best of me, the best of anything really. He has been there for me and with me through it all. And I left him on his own when he was falling apart. 

“You really shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

He ignores me, gazing somewhere deep into the darkness ahead of him. "So, what are we sulking about today, princess?"

My left shoulder rest against the tree as I turn to get a better look at him.

He looks tired, worn. An echo of a lively soul he once was.

What I wouldn't give to put my hands on Nazeera right now – if it wouldn’t be for a fact that my best friend is in love with her.

"I'm sorry."

The wind carries my words through the silence that settles between us as Kenji nods his head in understanding.

I love that about us. There’s no second-guessing, no questioning looks or doubts.

He gets it. Of course, he does. I don't know if there is any other person in the world who understands me as he does. 

What Aaron and I have exists on a different level of us. It’s more raw, rugged, soaked with everything we are and what we’ve done.

My connection with Kenji is not something that can be easily explained with words - it needs to be felt. And the fact that I don’t need to explain it to him is the best testimony to that.  What we have goes beyond anything familiar, beyond anything romantic. With each other, we can just be. And to people like us, that’s everything.

Especially since lately I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be anymore.

“Look J.” He slings a look down at me from the corner of his eye. ”I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with for trying to rest and be happy,” he stops to release a loaded sigh, “but yeah..."

A broken laugh escapes him and something breaks a little inside me.

“It’s completely ridiculous when I think about it. I survived two decades of some serious shit without you and...,” he falls quiet for a moment. “I guess I should get used to not having you around.”

At that, I push away from the tree and stand in front of him frowning in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

His lips tug in a small, pitiful smile and I suddenly struggle with an urge to punch him in the face.

“Come on, Jello, don’t be dense. We both know that when all of this is over you will go off to live somewhere far with the pretty boy and have a herd of his tiny megalomaniacal replicants.”

For a second I’m speechless. The sheer force of anger and shock that comes over me almost knocks me back. 

“I'm not leaving you.” It’s all I manage to say.

“Oh, that's so sweet. You are so sweet.”

I hate him.

“Tell me: are we going to live in the same neighbourhood? Or maybe even better! The same house. Do you think Prince Discharming would mind if we got a bunk bed, for you and me?  He can sleep underneath it, I suppose.”

My hands start to shake. “Kenji…”

“I don't want you to hold yourself back for my benefit. If anyone on this godforsaken world deserves a happy ending it's you. Even if it's with Warner.”

“Stop it. Just stop-p,” my voice cracks, my body shakes, my heart has abandoned me. “Stop saying things, I don’t want your stupid words.”

I shove his hand away as he tries to grab me and get closer to him, so close that I feel his warm breath on my face as I crane my neck to be able to look him in the eye.

I can’t believe him. That he would dare to think something like that. After everything, he thinks I could just get up and leave? Leave him, of all people?

“You listen to me now, you're not getting rid of me so easily. War or no war, we stick together, you understand? You and I have a long future in ahead of us and I expect you to be there.”

Something inside of him is brewing and breaking and mending all at once and I can see the change starting in his eyes, his face softening, his knees bending as he falls on the ground exhausted.

We’ve all been through so much, too much perhaps, that at times I wonder whether surviving it all is within our reach. I start to believe some of us were designed to cruise from one heartbreak to another until there will be nothing of us left, but a road wasted good intentions.

After a while, I join sitting beside him on the greenest grass I’ve ever seen, waiting for one us to speak.

“So, now that we got that out of our system, do you mind telling me what’s up with your sudden need for breathing exercises?”

How can I form into words what I myself don’t understand?

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging me with his shoulder.

 “I just feel I haven’t processed everything as well as I thought I have. And the chances that I will get time to do that are substantially small.”

“What’s there to process?”

I raise my eyebrow at him meaningfully, and he smirks in response.

“No, seriously. The only new thing is that you have a sister and are apparently from Australia–”

“New Zeeland, actually”

“...everything else is pretty much the same.”

“Is that so?”

He starts ticking off on his fingers, “Parents? Still shitty. Your taste in men? Still questionable. Superpowers? Unfairly high. The rest is only made of insignificant detail that will make you feel shitty the more you think about it. So...you know, don’t think.”

With a sigh I toss my face up to the sky, “Easier said than done.”

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he crosses them at the ankles, while folding his arms across his chest, and leans back against the tree. “People put too much value into thinking. Thinking hasn’t changed anything in the world. Sure, sometimes it’s a good thing to do, but most of the time if you want to have something you have to get it done.”

He stops me before I get to say anything.

“And what we want right now is Adam and James back, Anderson dead, and your sister not pulling a plug on all of this,” Kenji points around them at the reminder of what her sister is exactly capable of.

“You make it all sound so simple. But I don’t even know who is supposed to pull it all off.”

“What do you mean ‘who’?” he frowns. “We are. You, me and the rest of them.”

“Yes, but...me as who? Juliette or Ella?”

His mouth opens in silent realization.

“Oh, Jesus, is it what it’s all about? Your name?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s...what it mean..ugh…”.The frustration sweeps through me cresting in my chest. “I can’t explain it logically.” 

“Maybe because it lacks any logic, hm?” he squints his left eye at me as to emphasise his point.

Suddenly, my head starts to feel heavy so I let it rest on my knees. Communicating your problems is difficult when you don’t know what the problem is, or even if there is one. But I keep feeling this pressure in my skull and weight in my heart, so I need to try, try to speak about something I don’t even dare to think about.

“It’s like this,” I close my eyes and let words flow. “I was born as Ella, that’s who I am to Aaron and to my sister, and to many others who knew me since I was a child. But then I became Juliette, not by my own volition, but that’s who I’ve been for over a decade of my life. And it’s Juliette who discovered the true potential of her powers, it’s Juliette who rebelled, it’s her who fell in love and it’s her who made all of those wonderful friends. But Juliette is a creation of horrible design, but then again so is Ella. “

I open my eyes at last. They feel gritty. My throat is so dry I can't swallow the wad that despair lodged inside of it.  

“There are times I’m not sure which I am, and which I’m supposed to be.”

It is dark, but I can still see him, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, noticing something he hasn't before. His expression gentle, understanding, and surprisingly sharp, almost determined.

Kenji knows. 

“Your name is just that. A name. Bunch of letters put together that don’t mean a thing. And don’t say a single thing about you.” He leans in closer, pulling me in with his eyes. “What do they mean? Did everything you went through as Juliette became erased when you found out your birth name?”, he shakes his head, “No.”

“Did your family stop exist when you were living as Juliette?”, he shakes it again, “No.”

His hand finds her in the dark. “You’re badass, you know that, don’t you? You survived hell and you keep coming back because you want to help people. It doesn't matter whose daughter you are and who is your sister, not even who are you dating right now. You can’t figure out which name to use? Use both, use neither. Choose a new one. For the first time in your life, you’re free to make a choice for yourself. Do you know how powerful that is, J? To be free? To be you? Because you've got to be you. No one else can.”

He knows he knows he knows

Me

With tears in my eyes I reach for him and he tugs me closer. I don’t need any powers to feel him, the certainty that there will always be at least one person who will understand me.

“Ella!”

Kenji groans against me and glares over his shoulder at approaching Aaron.

“I swear he has some sort of radar when it comes to you. Are you sure he didn’t implant any microchip into your skull? Actually never mind. I’m gonna check myself.”

He continues to work his fingers on my head until I elbow him, laughing. 

“Kenji!”

We're standing up, smiling at each other as if we have no other worries in the world, and at this moment I’ve never been more grateful that amidst all the tragedy in our lives we’ve found our ways to each other.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping it conveys all the gratitude and love I feel for him.

He messes up my hair, the way an older sibling might do a younger, to break the tension, but mostly because he knows I hate it when he does that. 

Throwing his arm over my much smaller frame, he starts walking towards the camp. “So, how about that plan? How much are we going to make Anderson suffer? I vote extremely much, the Spider-Man 3 level of pain.”

I may not know everything about my past yet, and my future might be even more uncertain than ever, but what I do know, is that this, this is the best side of love. And there’s no chance I’m losing that.

[honeylikewords]

David snuggles?? Pretty pretty please?

Oh, sure! You know I love David so much, so I’m perfectly overjoyed to write happy snuggles for my darlingest Davey-baby!

David is very, very big. It’s been a defining factor of his life since infancy; born a little over ten pounds, David was always considered ‘a big boy’. Not fat, per se-- while he was a chubby kiddo, he wasn’t ever unusually so-- but always the tallest kid in his classes, always the first one to his a pubescent milestone, always the one mistaken for being significantly older than he was. 

By the time he was sixteen, David was already well over six feet tall, and always felt out of place with his body. He felt unlovable, undesirable, unattractive; too big, too tall, too strong. Sometimes, when doing simple things like grabbing a glass out of the cupboard, he’d forget his own strength and shatter the thing with the lightest of touches (by his standards), leaving him feeling like he’d never be able to hold something precious or fragile without being a threat to it.

But things got better. Though he’s still enormous by most standards, he’s found a place in the world. He has friends. He has a house with ceilings high enough that he doesn’t have to stoop to fit. He has a bed that lets him actually stretch out those big, long limbs of his. And, most importantly of all, he has a wife.

And his wife adores him to death, loving that huge body of his so much he almost forgets what it was ever like to hate himself. One of her favorite ways to show him that love she has for him? Snuggles.

For example...

It’s a drizzly day at David’s cabin. The rain won’t stop its torrential downpour, seemingly endless in its deluge. David doesn’t love working in the rain, but he had to get some of the daily general chores done around the house, and has finally finished, coming back into the cabin with soaking wet hair and a completely drenched flannel.

In the doorway, he shakes his head-- not dissimilar to a dog shaking its fur out-- and disperses the water that’s become logged in his locks, then tromps, in his frigid, dripping flannel, upstairs, into the master bedroom, and into his shower. 

As he turns on the tap and gets his towels down from the cabinet, he hears someone come into the bathroom, and turns to see his wife giving him the once-over. She giggles, putting her hands to her lips, and knots her brows to show her sympathy for his soaked state.

“Aw, cubby,” she coos, giving him a playful pout. “You look so cold!”

David nods sheepishly, passing a hand through his matted, wet fluff of a beard. She laughs as it drips out some water onto the floor, then shakes her head and comes up to his side, tugging him down for a quick kiss to the cheek.

“I’ll go get your comfy jammies, m’kay? No going outside for the rest of the day. You’re practically soaked to the bone, and you need a nice, warm day inside, okay, sweetheart?”

Again, David nods, feeling his tummy bubble with excitement. He never says it, but he gets all kind of gooey and fluttery when his wife dotes on him. He hates the idea of being spoiled, but when she goes out of her way to take care of him, to make him feel so loved and cared for, and, maybe, just a teensy bit, when she spoils him, he feels like the happiest man in the world.

His whole shower through, he smiles, even humming to himself as he rinses his hair and lathers up. At one point he even whistles to himself as he douses off the suds and steps out into his towel, finding that his wife has folded his favorite red flannel pajamas and placed them on the bathroom counter, alongside a pair of thick, fluffy socks.

He dresses, then steps out into the bedroom, where he sees his wife sitting on the bed, idly flipping through a magazine. She looks up at him and smiles, tossing the magazine off onto a nearby bedside table, then pats the bed invitingly.

“Come on, big bear,” she says. “Someone’s gotta warm you up!”

David excitedly walks over to the bed and watches his wife tug down the corner of the comforter, ushering him in under the covers before snuggling up to his side and pulling the blankets back on top of them. Before he knows it, he’s laying on his back with his wife cuddled up to his side, her legs tangled up with his, her arms around his neck, and her head resting on his shoulder.

Once settled, she looks up at him and sighs dreamily, passing a hand over his still slightly damp beard affectionately. She boops her fingertip against the ball of his nose, making him smile at her, and then presses up to kiss his cheek. David turns his head to try and catch her lips, but she’s too quick, pulling away playfully before he can get what he’s looking for.

“David,” his wife murmurs, teasingly quiet, “Are you still cold?”

He nods, leaning in to rub his nose against her cheek. He’s not as cold as he was fresh from the rain, it’s true, but she can still feel a little chill in his skin as he nudges against her, silently coaxing her to kiss him, to give him the affection he so urgently craves. She understands what he needs without him saying a word, and soothingly rubs her hand on his chest, fingers dipping between the collar of his pajama shirt to gently smooth at his chest hair.

“Poor puppy,” she remarks softly. “You work so hard all the time. And I want to show you how grateful I am, because you really, really deserve it. You deserve to relax.”

She hooks a leg around his waist and tugs, cueing David to roll over and settle atop her. He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at her longingly; he loves being in this position, as if he’s covering her, shielding her from the world. She feels so tiny beneath him like this, and it makes him feel proud, for once, to be so large: it means he can cover her and keep her safe from any ill the world could bring.

He lowers his head towards her and hovers, waiting for permission, as he always does. She gives it by running her hands up his abdomen: starting at his firm stomach, rising in symmetrical lines up to his pectorals, up over his shoulders, along the sides of his neck, and into the hair at the base of his skull. She pulls him down towards her lips and feels him become pliant and soft, his head tilting for deeper, better access to her mouth.

Their kiss seems to last forever, morphing as they turn their heads and part their lips, David letting out giddy rumbles and his wife breathily giggling between their mouths. David allows himself to sink lower on his elbows to make the kiss even deeper, and feels her left hand leave the nape of his neck and travel down to the valley between his shoulder blades, soothing the taut muscle there. 

“My big bear,” she breathes, parting from him. 

She cups his cheeks and gazes into his big, calf-brown eyes, nuzzling the tip of her nose against his, feeling him relax against her. His head droops to hide his face in her neck, plaintive and shy as she smooths her hands across his skin and towards his shoulders. She rubs at him, soothing him, shushing him with little whispered promises of her love.

David lets himself fully melt into her, easing off his elbows and letting the bed carry his body weight. His muscles unclench and he feels himself growing calmer as she ever-so-slightly scrapes her nails along the base of his neck, sending pleasurable shivers up and down his spine.

“Feeling better, honey?”

Again, he nods into her neck.

“Good. I love you, Davey.”

“I love you,” he replies, kissing her neck as the punctuation on the sentence. It’s the first verbal thing he’s said all day.

She makes a pleased, content little hum as he says these words, but he can hear her heart speeding up; he does have his ear pressed to her neck, after all, and can feel the familiar thumping pace of her heartbeat. He smiles to feel her becoming excited by his words and places one of his large, heavy hands on the side of her waist, rubbing a circle to soothe.

He slips his weight more to the side so that he doesn’t crush her, but keeps their legs interlocked, his arm tucked under her back so that he can support her shoulders, and rests his free hand on her belly. He runs his fingers back and forth across it as he rests his head in the crook of her neck, falling into a metronomic rhythm. Back, forth. To, for. Left, right. In, out. He spreads and clenches his fingers loosely to make the back and forth cycle, almost like a tide pulling in and out from the beach, but soon stills his hand in the spread position on her belly, rubbing it gently.

They both know what he’s stilled it there for; he’s imagining rubbing her pregnant tummy, resting his hand on the baby bump, close to his child. She smiles at him and cards her fingers through his curls, admiring how tightly wound they become after getting wet. 

“What do you think they’ll be like?,” whispers his wife, massaging his neck.

“Beautiful, like you,” David replies. “A little one like you would make me happy.”

“So you want a girl?”

“Girl or boy,” he says softly. “Any is good. But... sweet like you. Brave like you, too.”

“David, you’re more brave and sweet than anyone I know.”

At this he takes pause, seeming to mill over his words in his mind. He’s never known how to take a compliment, and it still makes him stumble; he sometimes can’t even say ‘thank you’ because he feels too embarrassed by the idea of accepting any praise. Instead, he burrows into his wife’s neck, waiting for the right words to come to him. He takes his time, rubbing at her belly still, then mumbles again.

“No matter what, I’ll love them. Because they’ll be ours. And I love what we make.”

She knows this means that he will love his baby, even if the baby shows all of David’s own traits in them, and she’s proud of him; though it seems like it shouldn’t worry him, David often frets that he isn’t suited to being a father because he fears that he, himself, is a problem, and doesn’t want his children to inherit his flaws or shortcomings. But she knows he’s perfect for fatherhood and has nothing to be ashamed of: she just hopes that one day, soon, he’ll be able to know that about himself.

David feels his wife wrap her arms around his shoulders and squeeze, which prompts him to hug and squeeze her, too. When the hugs ease, her hands return to petting his hair, soothing him into a silent calm, his eyes drifting shut as he rests his face in her neck. When she feels his breathing begin to plateau into his familiar sleepy cadence, she smiles and kisses his hairline.

“Take a nap, big bear. I’ll wake you up later.”

“Mmmf,” he grumbles, sleepily rubbing his nose against her jawline. “You sleep, too. Sleep together.”

She’s about ready to argue when his sweet brown eyes open and gaze up at her pleadingly; he doesn’t want her to go. He wants her to rest with him. And he looks so darling in his fluffy pajamas, his arms cleaving her close, his hands needily tangled in her own clothes, and she can’t resist him. She snuggles down into her arms, the two of them interlocking their heads in one another’s shoulders, and David breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“Love you, bunny,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder and scraping his beard against it familiarly. 

“I love you, too, bear.”

“...We...um...” David seems to be trying to say something before he dozes off, and his wife tiredly blinks, trying to stay awake. 

“What’s that?”

“We... can try for baby tonight?”

“Oh!” 

She can’t stop the surprised sound from popping out of her, but feels a comfortable excitement bubble up in her belly like butterflies. She smiles, rubbing his back and nodding. 

“Absolutely, honey.”

Though she can’t see his expression, David’s wife knows the face David must be making: that adorable, nervous, anticipatory smile he always makes about these sorts of things. She feels him give her one last acknowledging squeeze before he drifts off to sleep, and as she, too, falls asleep, she knows she’ll be dreaming of him and his babies. 

[frolwriting]

Through Time and Space Daemons Part 2

Hey guys!  I’m back with another chapter of Through Time and Space!  Well, I’m  moving back into college Saturday.  I hope to keep with the schedule.  At least I have a lot of chapters already written for this and A Whole New World.  Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Third Doctor x Reader

Warnings: Violence

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"I don't believe it." I raised my head when I heard the doctor said. I knew the Doctor couldn't have been dead. He's way too stubborn to die like that.

"What?" The bartender asked.

"Get some blankets and some hot water bottles. Lots of them." The bartender ran off to grab the stuff.

"He's alive, then!" Jo exclaimed.

"It's possible, but I think I felt a pulse." I smiled.

"Oh, then there's a chance?" Jo asked also getting excited.

"Maybe. He must have the constitution of an ox to be able to survive a reduction of temperature like that."

"You have no idea." I said.

"He doesn't look all that tough." The bartender said. I gave him a nasty look.

"You can't always tell by…hello." The doctor said.

"What?" Me and Jo asked.

"Silly, really. I swear it sounds as if he's-"

"What?" The bartender asked getting interested.

"It's quite ridiculous. It must be an echo off an atypical bone structure." The doctor had been trying to listen to the Doctor's heartbeat. I knew what he was talking about.

"Sounds as if what?"

"As if he had two hearts. One on each side." The doctor said confused standing back straight from leaning over.

"Here, doctor." A man came in with some blankets. "Fine, fine. Now more if you've got them." The man left.

"He's going to be all right then?" Jo asked. I nodded.

"There is a chance." I smiled.

"Cheer up. While there's life there's hope right. Look at your friend. She has hope." The bartender said.

"I can't not have hope. I have seen this man do impossible things." There was a pause.

"Look, have you got a telephone I could use, please?" She asked.

"In the corner." The man who brought some blankets said coming back with another blanket.

"Oh yes, thank you." She said leaving to go call probably U.N.I.T. I just sighed and looked at the Doctor.

"Come on, Doctor. I need you here." Jo soon came back and sat back in her chair. The other men had already left. I was exhausted, but I knew I probably won't get any sleep until the Doctor wakes up. I know he's alright, but he doesn't look alright. Me and Jo chatted for a bit. I told her more stories of what just happened to me. Which there was only two but still. She soon fell asleep, and there came a point where I couldn't keep my eyes open either. I laid my head down next to the Doctor and fell asleep. I was wakened only by the sound of a helicopter landing outside. Jo also awoke and saw the helicopter.

"I'm going to go out and meet them." She said as she got up. She left leaving me with a still unconscious Doctor. Jo came back in with Yates a few minutes later.

"Doctor. Doctor, wake up." Yates said desperately as he shook him slightly.

"You see? He's been like that for hours." Jo said.

"Well, shouldn't he be in the hospital?"

"No!" I said knowing that's a very bad idea.

"Well, Doctor Reeves said that we shouldn't move him." Jo said trying to explain what's been going on.

"Then we'll have to wait. Are you two all right?" Yates asked. Me and Jo nodded.

"Eureka!" The Doctor said sitting up suddenly. We all looked at him surprised. I went over to where we took off the Doctor's wet clothes and handed them to him. We all left the room even me. I'm supposedly the Doctor's wife, but I haven't known him long enough yet. After a bit, the Doctor was dressed and up.

"Now you're sure you're all right? Look, you'd better come and sit in this chair over here. Come on." She said trying to pull the Doctor over. I knew he was not going to do that.

"Jo. Jo, please, stop fussing." The Doctor said getting her to stop pulling.

"She's right, you know. Better take it gently." Yates said.

"Like he's going to do that." I said.

"Right like always, Kate. Look, I tell you, I am perfectly all right. It was a bit parky up there for a while, I'll admit, but it soon warmed up." The Doctor said.

"That wave of heat." Jo said finally coming to the conclusion.

"Yes, the final confirmation of my theory."

"You mean you know what caused it?" Jo asked.

"Yes, I think so. Kate do you have an idea?" He asked looking at me.

"I might have an idea. You know I don't know very much about a lot of adventures in your early regenerations." I said.

"Tell us then." Yates said getting anxious.

"No, not just yet. I want to wait until I'm absolutely sure, and Kate won't tell just yet either. Right, I'm going back up to the dig. Come along Kate." He said as he grabbed my hand. We started walking out.

"Doctor, haven't you had enough of that place?" Jo asked following us.

"Hello? You better? I thought you'd had it." The bartender said coming towards us.

"Fortunately, no. Captain Yates, you'd better wait here, all right?" Just then Hawthorne came in carrying an almost unconscious Benton.

"If I drop him, he'll go with a most dreadful wallop!" Hawthorne said.

"He's out on his feet!" Yates exclaimed.

"Get him over to that bench, quickly!" I walked over and grabbed Benton's other arm and put it around my shoulders.

"What's happened to your boy?" The bartender asked.

"He's been beaten up. By an expert, I'd say." Yates said.

"Oh, you might indeed say that! You might indeed." Hawthorne said.

"Oh, no." Yates says.

"Oh dear, he's a very heavy young man."

"You can say that again." Since I was really short a lot of the weight was being put on me, but Hawthorne was doing her best to help me out. We finally got to the bench and put him down gently.

"I'll get a doctor." The bartender said as he started walking away.

"Yes, it's all right. I am a Doctor." The Doctor said as he started looking over Benton. "Well, there are no bones broken or anything. Look, could you get me some hot water and some hot sweet tea, perhaps? Get some for Kate as well. She need some." I nodded.

"Yes, sure." The bartender said as he walked off.

"Thank you very much, and thank you too, Miss Hawthorne."

"You know who I am?" She asked surprised.

"Yes, of course. It's a great pity they don't listen to you in the first place." The Doctor said.

"If only they had. Oh, what a tale I'll have to tell them now!" I chuckled slightly.

"It was this fellow, Garvin, who did him over?" Yates asked as we were still by Benton patching him up.

"No, no, no, it was elementals in the cavern." Hawthorne said.

"Elementals?" The Doctor asked stopping for a second.

"Yes, creatures of the Devil." Hawthorne said turning to him.

"Did you say the Devil?" Yates asked.

"Yes, dear boy. Satan, Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, the Horned Beast. Call him what you like, he was there."

"You saw the Devil?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And what did he look like?" The Doctor asked.

"Well, it was a glimpse, no more. Twenty, thirty feet high, but the horns were there, and that face." She said having that look of disgust on her face.

"The Devil?" Jo asked.

"Look, Miss Hawthorne, I agreed with you from the first about the danger, but now I think you're utterly mistaken. Whatever else you saw it certainly was on the Devil." The Doctor said.

"But it was! There's a Satanist cult in this village and last night they held a sabbat." She said desperately.

"A sabbat?" Yates asked.

"Yes, an occult ceremony to call up the Devil." She said turning to Yates.

"And it worked! The Devil came!" Jo exclaimed.

"Nonsense, Jo. Miss Hawthorne, who is the leader of this cult?" The Doctor asked.

"The new vicar. He calls himself Magister." She said. I knew where this was going once she said that.

"Magister." The Doctor gave me a look that meant we were on the same page. "Yes, of course, I should have known. Did you know Kate?" I shook my head.

"What?" Jo asked still confused.

"Jo, did you fail Latin as well as science? Magistrate is the Latin word for Master!" I knew it! I'm getting good at this. Once we fixed Benton, me, the Doctor, and Jo decide to try and clear the tree from the road. After a while, we finally got it down into smaller pieces.

"Right. Get the saw, will you Jo?" The Doctor asked.

"Yes." She said as she went over to Bessie and grabbed the saw we brought. We moved everything out of the way and was ready to go. We headed off to the dig site to see what we can find. When we arrived, we found the Constable still lying under the remains.

"Poor fellow." The Doctor said with a sad look on his face.

"Do you know what killed him?" I asked still very confused by what happened.

"Well, it certainly wasn't the Devil. At least, not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm going in. Would you two prefer to wait outside. I scoffed.

"No, I'm going with you. Why would you even consider that an option." I said crossing my arms.

"I hoped just this time you wouldn't want to get into the midst of trouble. What about you, Jo?" He asked turning to her.

"No. I'd rather stick with you two, if I wouldn't be in the way."

"No, of course not. Come on." We followed the Doctor into the tunnel in the middle of the mound, but I had a feeling something was watching us. Usually that meant something was. We kept walking till we got to a large chamber. It looked like it had been sealed till the door was blasted away. The Doctor grabbed a torch and started looking around.

"What are you looking for?" Jo asked.

"If my theory's right, we're all in mortal danger." The Doctor said.

"Everyone in the village?" Jo asked.

"Everyone in the world."

"That sounds like the Master." I said.

"Ah." The Doctor said as he leant down and brushed the soil away from something on the ground.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Metal."

"It looks like a model spaceship." Jo said.

"That's right. Except that it isn't a model."

"What is it then?" Jo asked.

"Jo, look at the shape of this tomb."

"Well, it looks like that spaceship." Jo said.

"A different size, that's all. Now you try picking it up." Jo got down and tried to pick up the small spaceship.

"I can't. It's fixed down." She said as she stood back up.

"The reason why you can't pick it up is that it weighs about seven hundred and fifty tons, at a rough guess."

"Oh, come on, be serious." Jo said crossing her arms.

"Be serious. All right. About a hundred thousand years ago-" The Doctor went on a while, but then I heard something coming from the entrance. I grabbed the Doctor's arm to get his attention. He stopped instantly and looked at me.

"I hear something." I said. Just then something that looked like a gargoyle came into the chamber.

"Hold this!" The Doctor said as he handed me the torch and held a trowel up towards the creature. "Clokleda partha mennin klatch." The creature took a few steps back and started to shake. After a while he retreated out of the chamber. "Phew." The Doctor said as he sighed.

"How did you do that?" Jo asked still shaken by the gargoyle showing up.

"Iron. It's an old magical defence." The Doctor said.

"But you don't believe in magic." I said.

"I don't, but he did. Luckily."

"Was that a spell you said?" Jo asked.

"No, it's the first line of an old Venusian lullaby, as a matter of fact. Roughly translated it goes, 'Close your eyes, my darling. Well, three of them, at least.'"

"Doctor."

"I must admit, that thing took me completely by surprise." He said.

"But it was alive."

"There's a lot you don't know about statues. Just stay away from the angels that weep." I said. The Doctor gave me sort of a confused look. I don't know if it's out of him not knowing about weeping angels, or he's surprised I know about the weeping angels. Those things creep me out.

"But, in a sense, yes it was alive."

"But that wasn't what Miss Hawthorne described, surely?" Jo asked.

"no, the creature she saw must have been a hundred times more hideous."

"And neither of them were the Devil?"

"No, not your mythical devil, Jo, no, but something far more real and far more dangerous." We then headed back to the bar to gather ourselves and figure out what to do next. The Doctor asked Miss Hawthorne to gather all her books about occults she had. She soon came back with a fairly large stack of books in her arms.

"Here you are, Doctor." She said as she came over.

"Oh, thank you, Miss Hawthorne. Let me help you." He grabbed a lot of the books she had and put them down on a table.

"Thank you. The pick of the finest collection of occult material in the country, though why you wanted me to bring it, I don't know." She said.

"You've all been asking me for explanations. Perhaps these will help me to provide them."

"Well, there is only one possible explanation. This is the supernatural at work." I thought about that show Supernatural I used to watch. If only Sam and Dean, worked a case like this. I could take it down easily, but I had a feeling this was alien, which is more Doctor Who.

"Nonsense." The Doctor said slightly offended.

"Yes, well, what about the thing that got me? That was real enough." Benton said. He looked better than when we left him thankfully.

"There's nothing more real than a forcefield, Sergeant, even a psionic one." The Doctor stops to look at some pictures in the books.

"You're being deliberately obtuse. We're dealing with the supernatural, the occult, magic." Hawthorne said getting mad.

"Science."

"Magic!"

"Science, Miss Hawthorne."

"Look, whatever it is, how do we stop it?" Yates asked putting an end to their bickering.

"And how can we stop it without knowing what it is?" Jo asked.

"Well done, Jo. You're being logical at last. I'll turn you into a scientist yet. Right, if there are no more interruptions, I'll tell you what it is." Jus then there was a beeping noise.

"Sorry. Greyhound Two. Come in, please. Over." Yates said into his walkie talkie type thing.

[lucius-ii]

a collection of firsts

i. wand

The family wand (18” elm wood with a dragonheartstring core) would be his only once he left Hogwarts and assumed his role as the head of their House. So, one sunny day in August, Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy made their way to Diagon Alley. Despite his halfbood status, Ollivander was the greatest wandmaker in the magical world and Abraxas was always insistent that Malfoys only deserve the best. His father held their family wand, tucked away in the walking stick that had been passed down alongside it for generations. Lucius wondered how close the wand that chose him would be to that ancient thing. Would his father be terribly disappointed if the core was unicorn hair or the wood was rowan or chestnut? His palms began to sweat in his pockets as his father waved the shop door open with a lazy flick of his wrist. What if no wand chose him? He could feel the magic in his veins, feel it push out of his body when his moods became extreme. Just the day before, his mother’s Augury had startled him as he left his room, his magic had sent the poor bird flying across their foyer. But what if that magic wasn’t enough for a wand to choose him? What if he was the first squib in the Malfoy family? Endless, baseless worries flew through the boy’s mind as his father spoke to the old man behind the counter – was that really Ollivander? He looked so infirm beside his father. Abraxas was an imposing presence. A tall man dressed finely in all black with emeralds clasping his summer-wool cloak, his silver-blond hair tied back in a low tail that pulled his already severe features into an expression of disinterest, disdain, and pure arrogance. Lucius straightened his back, taking his hands from his pockets. He was his father’s son. This was his world. A smirk grew on his lips as he approached the counter, a hand lazily raised to receive the first wand – holly, 10 ¼”, unicorn core – a shower of red sparks followed, setting a discarded quill to smolder. The second wand flew out of his hand practically as soon as the old man had placed it there. Abraxas sneered, “We don’t have all day, Garrick, it shouldn’t be so difficult to find my boy a wand.” The wandmaker nodded and slipped to the back of the shop. He returned a few moments later holding a 12 ¾” hawthorn wand with dragon heartstring core. Lucius took the wand and the magic in his body reached into it, his blood singing in his veins. A spray of gold erupted from the tip, straightening the wands on the shelves and putting right to the mess of papers on the other side of the counter. Even Ollivander’s clothes were freed of the dust that had fallen on him as he had searched to find this wand. A true smile grew on young Lucius’s face and he could have sworn he saw the same swell of happiness in his father’s pale eyes. A small pouch of galleons was tossed from his father’s pocket onto the counter – “Keep the change, Garrick, and perhaps invest in the purchase of a house-elf to keep your shop in better shape.” – and the Malfoys swept out of the shop. Lucius could barely keep the smile off his face as they walked down the crowded streets to continue their errands. The ghost of a smile was mirrored on his father’s lips, “Let’s stop here, Lucius,” they were standing near the entrance of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, “Such a day deserves some celebration.”

ii. fear

Ophelia Yaxley married Abraxas Malfoy for duty. He was chosen for her by her father – or perhaps she was chosen for him by his father. They had known each other peripherally at school, they had been the same year but she had found herself in Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin. She was the best wife she could be to a man like Abraxas. He wielded political power with as much confidence as he wielded magic and expected nothing less than perfection from his family. Ophelia was nothing if not an expert at feigning perfection. A carefully crafted mask painted onto her face every day, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a chignon, jewels dripping from her ears and throat. Publicly, she exuded the old power of the Sacred Twenty-Eight through every look and gesture. But behind the closed doors of their extravagant home, she was a soft woman. She loved magical creatures, caring in particular for those who took to the skies. An Augurey called Wugsworth was her favorite pet. The sad bird moaned miserably, echoes of his cries filling the halls eerily. Lucius had been afraid of the Irish Phoenix at first. He was a shy creature, more often heard than seen, his vocalizations finding their way into Lucius’s dreams. The young wizard had cried to his mother at age 5, begging for her to make the beast stop crying, to take him away, anything. Ophelia smiled and simply took her son’s hand, leading him up to the tower where Wugsworth was housed. The boy stiffened his lip, not wanting to cry if his mother was unconcerned, but the worry in his belly grew the closer they drew to the sad song. He had never been to this tower in their home, it was his mother’s space alone, and the unfamiliar twists and turns of the passageway only lent to his dread. Finally they arrived to the aviary, the grand door swinging open at their approach. The windows that paneled the room were tall and thin with no glass to keep the wind and weather from this room. The great blue-grey bird sat on his perch at the center of the room, cooing sadly to himself. At the sight of his mistress, Wugsworth took wing, a triumphant cry springing from his sharp beak. His quick approach caused Lucius to jump back, hiding himself behind his mother’s form. The witch smiled serenely, her arm extended for her beloved pet to settle himself on. He did, trilling softly as he stretched his neck to groom Ophelia’s hair. A laugh bubbled from her lips, a rare sound in their home, and she drew Lucius further into the room. Lowering herself and the bird to his eye level, she held her arm towards her son. “There is nothing to fear, my sweet, poor Wugsworth has a sad disposition. He doesn’t wish to make you scared or unhappy, he was simply born sounding so mournful. His cries tell us only that it will rain tomorrow,” a wail from Wugsworth caused them both to start, “Or perhaps tonight, with the way he’s going on!” Her smile made the boy more confident and he reached a hand to touch the silken feathers on the top of the Augurey’s head. The bird closed his eyes and cooed in a way that could almost be described as happy. Emboldened by this, a smile grew on his face to match his mother’s. For a time they stayed like that, Ophelia crouched before Lucius, holding the bird on her arm for her son to pet. Wugsworth soon stretched his wings, shaking his feathers. They caught they light so beautifully, Lucius was distracted by their glamour and did not realize what the beast was about to do. He jumped from Ophelia’s arm as if to take flight, but chose instead to settle himself on the young boy’s head. Lucius froze for a moment, unsure what to do under the weight of Wugsworth. The bird’s long tail feathers blocked his vision and a small keening noise escaped his mouth without thought. Wugsworth began to harmonize with the boy’s whining cry, causing Ophelia to erupt into true laughter, “Oh my boys, what a pair you make!”

iii. kiss

They were 14. Hidden away on the grounds of her family’s estate, the pair had procured both firewhiskey and a clumsily-rolled joint. It was a lazy summer afternoon; the House of Black was throwing their annual midsummer ball the next night so the household had more important concerns than the whereabouts of two children. Bellatrix had lead him into the pendulous branches of an ancient willow tree, her wild dark hair catching some of the leaves on the way in. Lucius couldn’t help but smile, taking care that his own hair remained intact and without leaves. Bella rolled her eyes, “No need to be so concerned, Lady Malfoy, it’s only us,” she quipped merrily at his primping, already settling herself comfortably in the roots of the great tree. Lucius sat near her, their knees knocking together, “I’m carrying precious cargo here,” he replied, pulling the small joint from behind his ear, “Of course, I’m referring to this gorgeous head of hair,” he teased, flipping said hair over one shoulder while he took his wand from his pocket. Bella pulled the flask they had snuck from the kitchens from her own robes, taking a great swig before passing it to Lucius. The amber liquid scorched his throat and filled his chest with burning bravado. He offered the joint to Bellatrix – this little excursion had been her idea after all, as most of their adventures were – she took it with a smile, placing it between her lips. She reached for her own wand but Lucius stopped her, “Ah, ah! Haven’t you heard? Pretty girls don’t light their own cigarettes -er-joints?” a quiet incendio produced a small flame from the tip of his wand which he held to the tip of the joint. The glow of his wand was reflected in the depths of her dark eyes, her whole face was made warm by the spell. He couldn’t help but stare at the purse of her lips as she sucked in the smoke, her own eyes on his face. Her confident inhale was followed by a cacophony of coughing, the smoke puffing into a cloud between them. She giggled at her own inexperience, passing the joint to Lucius’s waiting hand. His own inhale was followed by his own cough, “Merlin, that’s harsh!” he managed to choke out, earning him a laugh from Bellatrix, “Come now, Lucy, you can’t be giving up on me!” her second draw was smoother, no coughing accompanied her exhale and Lucius was determined to keep pace with her. That’s all he could ever do, keep up with the pace she set. She was his closest friend – besides Augustus, but girl friends were so different than boy friends – and he had spent their childhood desperate to find something he excelled in over her. So far partying was the only contender and that was not necessarily a skill that befit a wizard of his status, but even now it seemed like Bellatrix was better at smoking than him, so perhaps all he had was drinking. He took another long swig of firewhiskey before taking the joint again. They sat like that awhile, passing the substances between them, teasing each other as they always did. His eyes began to grow heavy and his whole body tingled with the intermixing of alcohol and weed. He was so aware of his leg against hers, the warmth of her body beside his, an airy feeling growing in his chest. Bellatrix took a final puff, the joint down to practically nothing. As she did, the ember caught her finger tips, “Fuck!” she exclaimed, dropping the last bit to the ground and bringing her fingers to her lips to wet them with her tongue. Lucius could not stop himself from taking her hand from her mouth and bringing it to his own. So close, they were so close, the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin flooding his mind. He could not stop himself, could never want to stop himself, from leaning forward and pushing a clumsy kiss to her lips. It only took a moment for her to kiss him back, their hands clasped together. He had forgotten to breath and their kiss was broken only a moment later so he could gasp for breath. He grinned sheepishly at Bellatrix who could only give him another eye roll despite the smile on her own lips, “You’re lucky you’re so pretty or I’d never have let you get away with that.”

[fauxfables]

Without 🛋️

A/N: This piece is very long and has taken me a long time to write for several reasons. But I hope this is what these lovely people hoped for when they sent in their requests (x x x)! Love you all and I hope you have a great day :)

Harry had always been in awe of you.  

From the moment he had you in his life, his heart had been filled with your gentle compassion. He had admired your instinctive kindness, personally witnessing the way you’d give a piece of your heart to everyone in your life. “Being kind is all that I can give” he’d hear you say and it breaks him just a little when he watches your smile falter for a fraction of a second, before you arch your eyes and nod your head slightly towards him in reassurance. You’re doing it again, he gathers, putting up a front to satisfy the people around you. Making sure they remained lost in their pursuit of happiness while you’re left alone to pick up your own shattered pieces.

Harry had regretted that night the most. The first, of many, where your heart felt particularly heavy as you smiled and whispered “I’m fine” to his concerned eyes. The silk of your dress clumped at your shoulders as you walked away from him then, away from a night of celebrating your recent promotion at work and into a cab to nurse your friend that had gulped too much tequila to shove away his own misfortunate thoughts.

He looked at his watch again, recalling the ten minutes that had passed since you gingerly held his hand and walked in the club together (fashionably late as always).  Only ten minutes for someone to transform a night devoted to you to a night spent collecting tears and vomit. It baffles him really; you hadn’t blinked at the suggestion of taking poor Aidan home. No one else wanted to –  their shifty eyes had been obvious. It was as if they all had silently agreed to let your happiness become swallowed by the desperate plea of your drunken mate.

Has it always been like this? Harry thinks, and he wonders if he’d ever seen your friends return the favour; he hopes they had. It’s then he promises himself to do the same, despite your stubbornness, he’ll hold you the moment your shoulders become raw from carrying the weight of the world.

And he had that early morning when you waddled home. Carelessly dropping your keys unto the floor, along with your coat and heels, you shuffled through your shared apartment when a soft smile tugged at your cheeks.  Harry was stretched across the couch, asleep, presumably waiting up for you. His arms were crossed against his taut chest, his cheek smothered into your favourite rose coloured pillow. Blood rushed from your heart to the tips of your fingers as you moved some curls away from his poufy eyes, carefully waking him up from his light sleep.

“Love,” he grumbled slowly, raising his hand to cover your small one that rested on his cheek. You kissed his raspberry lips lightly then, shoving him a tad to make room for you on the sofa and you swear you never felt more relaxed. “S’Aidan okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, closing your eyes and pressing your nose against the warmth of his neck. “Poor boy was apologizing the whole time.”

“He should have,” Harry rasped quickly, kissing your forehead to relieve the tension in his veins, “yeh should’ve been celebrating tonight.”

You nodded at his words, kissing his neck in the process. As much as you wanted to, your friend was in need, it would’ve been cruel to leave him alone in a guttered state. “Do yeh wanna talk about it?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“No,” you breathed, your mind was concerned with something else. “You didn’t have to wait for me on the couch, the beds much comfier.” His soft curls grazed your face as he shook his head and skillfully moved your five foot body to straddle his. He wrapped his legs and arms around you as if hugging a teddy bear and if you weren’t this exhausted, you would have protested to his actions (constantly asking if you were smooshing him with your weight). 

But instead, you shuffled comfortably, and allowed his soft hands to bury itself under your shirt as his raspy voice filled your ears, “Bed feels empty when yeh not there.”

⭐

Harry woke up to an empty bed the next time your care was requested. His eyes squinted through the darkly lit room when he found you hastily pulling on a pair of sweats and a shirt he wore last night that had been carelessly thrown on the floor in the midst of your collected desires.

His voice startled you as you grabbed your satchel and wove it around your head and through your arm. You turned to find Harry rubbing his eyes as he sleepily shifted and sat up to switch the lamp on. Your hooded eyes blinked instinctively from the bright light and you couldn’t help but focus on Harry.

The soft glow illuminated his angelic form, so much so that you could follow the thin hair from his v-line all the way to the swallows on his chest. The blanket had pooled in his lap, and it was very obvious he was naked underneath. Your mouth would have watered at the sight, until your eyes softened when you saw the small pout that pulled at his lip.

“Where yeh goin’ at this hour?” A soft smile tugged at your cheeks as you recognized that deep voice of his that had been scratched from slumber.

“Dante. He called me,” you sighed, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “He was crying … I think Troy left him for good.”

His tired eyes narrowed. “S’this the same bloke who shut yeh out as soon as he gotta boyfriend?”

You nodded a little numbly as you sat on the edge of the bed. In the midst of acquiring a new love, Dante had ignored your texts more often than not, mistaking your birthday to be a month later than it actually was, only to call you for advice when he was in trouble. It wasn’t fair to judge him though; he had dealt with a lot in the past year and you were happy he found someone.  But you couldn’t help but feel a little used. 

The title settled low in your stomach and your heart chipped away at its corners at the thought of him selfishly abusing your kindness. But the warmth of Harry’s hand pulled you out of your reverie as he engulfed it to leave a kiss on your shaky fingers.

He recognized the smile you showed him now; a reassuring one, that hadn’t quite reached your eyes.

“He shouldn’t be alone.”

“Bu’ why do you have to go?” He scoffed, shifting his hands to the curve of your waist. “S’not like he’d do the same.”

“I … No one should be alone,” you breathed indignantly, savouring the warmth of his thumb that massaged your skin. “I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Harry,” you mumbled softly, kissing the frown between his eyebrows and shaking your head slightly. “I don’t need a reward to be kind.”

⭐

It took almost a year for Harry to recognize that first sign, where the smile halts at your cheeks and U-turns before it reaches your eyes.  For the most part, anyone would simply smile at your late arrival, despite the hunch in your shoulders and tension between your puffy eyes. If it weren’t for Nick sprawled across the love-seat, snot on the surface of his sleeve, Harry would have gotten up to remove the red cloth off your small shoulders and place a plethora of kisses to your face because he knows it at least buys him a smirk from you on days like this.  

Instead, however, your trench coat is still glued to your skin when Nick comes dashing towards you in a bear hug, sniffling along the way to keep his teary-eyes at bay. Despite Nick’s resistance, a sob echoes the room, now paired with your sweet words as your delicate frame comforts his lanky body.

“What’s wrong, my love?” your voice drips of honey, but Nick refuses to answer, feeling the sting in his eyes and the twists in his gut for the fifth time today.

His silence confuses you for a second (as he gets quite chatty when he’s upset) but your eyes lock with familiar emerald ones over Nick’s shoulder, and Harry mimes his hands into the shape of heart which breaks apart as he points to his watch, and your eyes arch before it crinkles in concern - a terrible break up, one with the rotten excuse of “timing” as closure. Your gaze shifts down for a moment, momentarily thanking all those rounds of heads up, before settling on him again, determination shadowing the dread which once laid there moments before.

“Go make some tea, I’ll calm him down.”

It’s a silent suggestion, one made through eye contact, and Harry sighs a little as he stumbles around the wooden table to the kitchen, reminding himself to make some green tea (with ginger and lemon) for the girl who’s delaying her own tears due to the momentary intrusion.

When Harry shuffles back in, he fixes on the sight in front of him. You’ve moved Nick to the couch by now, your hands are holding his as whispers are past between the two of you. Nick pays no attention to his tears as he’s fixating on your words and the soothing rub of your fingers. 

Harry thinks he should move back to the kitchen, almost feeling he’s intrusion as he’s witnessing the interaction unfold. The clanking of the rings on his favourite mug makes his presence known, and he stiffens at his abrupt disturbance before relaxing as it’s been rightfully ignored.  

“There will be a lot of people who will hurt you. A lot of people that will take you for granted. And despite all that fear, all that pent up panic, you fell in love. You did that, you beautiful soul.” It’s the first smile Harry’s seen from Nick all day, and you mirror the smirk as the inside joke plays between you both. “S’gonna be painful for a while, I won’t lie to you, but … to quote our favourite show … Every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”

There is a low hum that centers in the living room now, and Nick’s thankful for it - for you. And he crashes into your arms again for a tight embrace that he hopes holds all his appreciation.

Harry licks the tea of his fingers once he finally sets the mugs down, and dashes to the other side of the couch to crush you both with a hug of his own and he smiles in triumph (dimples on full display) as laughter bubbles out of the three of you.

“Oi boy get off me you prick!” Nick squeals from the Hawaiian shirt awkwardly stuffed over his mouth. A warm shoulder is awkwardly shoved under your chin as his stupid six foot build nonchalantly rests over the both of you. “You’re fuckin’ heavy!”

A pinch to his love handles sends Harry off the now crushed bodies and when he stands you savour the hint of cologne and warmth that lingers in the air. A dramatic puff escapes your pouty mouth as you peer up at the perpetrator, hair sticking in all sorts of places, and it’s then he sees the smile falter from your face when your eyes momentarily shift from his own to the wall behind him.

Nick is speaking again (with a few sniffles along the way), discussing what movie to watch and Harry’s listening as he sits on the coffee table directly in front of you two, but he can’t help become distracted of the somber aura that’s disintegrated around you now. He wants to know what’s playing in your head when he catches your eyes skirt down to the fingers on your lap.

“Think we should watch the Notebook,” Harry suggests with a little smile, grabbing the two mugs behind him. “Wait – no that’s Y/N’s, this ones yours bud.”

Nick accepts it graciously, blowing over the hot beverage before he spots the mug in your hand. He’s quick to make a jab at his mate for the sheer allowance of you drinking from Harry’s ‘special’ mug, despite the times a raspy voice snapped at Nick for even grabbing at the damn thing. But the joke dies on his tongue once he’s reminded of his exes possessive nature over certain glassware – which he’d reluctantly have to pack up and move out himself. The thought sends a bubble to his throat, and he excuses himself this time, leaving with a quick promise to return before he rushes to the guest bedroom.

“Should we go after him?” Your head is turned to where Nick dashed through, and it gives Harry a moment to study the second sign of the day – dry eyes and the faint discolour of your foundation that begins at your eyes and streams downward.  

His knee bumps yours as he wiggles it closer, right in-between your legs, and his warm fingers sneak to the end of your chin, forcing your gaze towards him. He leaves your question unanswered with only a shake to his head, and he doesn’t speak again, choosing to shift his eyes around your face. The mug is still in your hand and you move away from Harry’s grip to take a sip, admiring the chip at the top from the time you accidentally bumped its glass at the edge of the sink after you scrambled to clean it once you heard a jingle of keys and familiar footsteps at the door.  

He’s observing you now, savouring your strict gaze on the faint smoke above the hot tea, and he almost had to repeat his question. Finally, you looked up with a tired smile, one not quite as strained as before. “Sorry,” you breathed, “I was just thinking.” Your voice was soft, almost tense, like someone had hit you in the gut and you were still recovering. “I get lost a lot these days,” you added shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“None of that now,” the mug was moved out of your hands and placed on the spot beside Harry. His hands instinctively rose to cup your cheeks, green eyes shifting to the doorway behind you to ensure privacy. “My love,” he rasps, licking his lips while leaning towards you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

A deafening silence danced around the room. Your eyes had fallen shut and your frail hand cupped the anchor on his wrist. He guesses you’re contemplating what to tell him, fearing you’d intrude his mind with your troubled thoughts. It’s an improvement, he gathers, when you were just friends you’d simply walk out of the room, but here it’s just him, waiting for you - as he always had. And you’re thankful for it, even more so when he wraps his arms around you when he spots the tight jut to your stomach in retaliation of the tears glistening over your irises.  

“M’here, pet, m’here … not goin’ anywhere - promise.” He kisses your forehead as if to solidify his words and he expects to feel a certain wetness on his shoulder, instead finding your lips molding on his in a sweet kiss. Before you’re able to pull back, though, he presses your lips together again, trying his best to drain all that tension around your body. And he smiles when you melt against him, choosing to pertly kiss the end of your nose as an end to his brief treatment.

He’s looking up at you now when you stand, small hands on taut shoulders as his larger ones rest peacefully on your hips. Your smile is improving now, and it drops a little when you make eye contact with his that shines unbridled. You observe his earnest smile, one to at first please thousands of fans, but the familiar eyes gleam in curiosity, and ... disappointment? 

He wants to know what’s made you upset, but most of all, he wants to know your reluctance in being vulnerable around him. He curses your dedication to ensure the happiness of others, but you’re in his home, in his arms – safe, with a man who loves you dearly – isn’t that enough?

“Let’s go check on Nick, hmm?” His hair feels soft under your touch, and he leans into it, the other hand resting on his cheek as the smooth yet prickly texture battles across his arguably attractive peach fuzz. Your hand then moves out in front of him as you step back. “Come on, bub, wanna make sure he’s okay first. Then we’ll talk.”

⭐

Harry doesn’t hear you walk back in this time. He’s waiting up for you on the couch that same night, TV playing softly in the background as he catches up on his reading. Nick is asleep on the opposite side of the couch, having been too exhausted to wait up for the junk food you had promised to buy him (ben & jerry’s ice cream to be exact). 

You shrug off your coat as agonisingly slowly as possible, frail arms burning from all the boxes you hurriedly packed and carried out of the bloke’s house, and into your car for about three hours straight. Harry had begun to worry at your absence, but a text about your general detour made him relent as he focused all his energy on cheering Nick up.  

Your eyes are straining under the dim light, your chest slumping as your heart, heavy as a ton of bricks, watches the crinkle in his eyebrows when he flicks through the old book you had given him for his birthday.  Sometimes when you see him like this, your stomach cavorts in the image – this man, adored by millions, is waiting up on the couch for you. He’s as mundane as he could be, and it takes nearly a second for you to lick your lips and ultimately declare defeat. 

There’s a quiver at your mouth then and you bite down on your chapped lips to stop the tears rimming your eyes. Your hand flies to your mouth as the vision of Harry blurs and you shuffle across the floor towards him in a soft pace. He doesn’t even notice you yet, until you sniffle and grab the book out of his hand. 

“Love, are yeh –” 

He stops immediately at the startling shake of your head, and his heart breaks at the sight. He’s frozen, almost confused at what to do, but you lead him as you pick his hands as if playing with a doll, while you snake your legs to straddle either side of his waist before you settle your forehead on his shoulders as the sobs shake your small frame. 

He’s warm right now, arms squeezing around you as tight as he can. He shifts his head on yours, whispering lowly to you, concern and relief filling throughout his body. 

“I got yeh peaches, don’ worry now.” He can feel how tight you’re gripping him and he uses his non-ringed hand to smooth the hair on your head. “Love you so much. M’here and m’never leavin’ yeh okay?” 

Each sob is a punch to his chest, but he’s glad you’re not alone, he’s glad you let him in, and most of all, he’s glad he’s here to hold you when your shoulders weaken from the oncoming storm. 

And as your tears finally decease into small hiccups, your left cheek lands on his shoulders as your swollen eyes gaze towards the TV series playing softly in front of you. Harry’s hand is rubbing soothingly against your back before it falters as relevant words echo from the late night re-run.

“Only in darkness are we revealed. Goodness is not goodness that seeks advantage. Good is good in the final hour. In the deepest pit, without hope, without witness, without reward.”  

[love-elizabeth-the-3rd-blog]

How the RFA V and Unknown would react to Mc if she had a past she wasn’t proud of

Yoosung:

he noticed that whenever you two were happy together there was a sadness in your eyes

you seemed to have silent moments where you felt sad

like you didnt deserve this happiness or him

yoosung rubbed your back sweetly and asked what was wrong

he was just so sweet

it was hard but you eventually told him, that you aren’t always a sweet person and you have done things that you feel vile about now

he listened attentively to your story

it must of been rough

He hugged you as you tried to blink away tears and comforted you, saying he loves you for you no matter how lost you might have gotten in the past

he says he would always love you no matter what version of you that you might have been and that your mistakes or past don’t define you

he loves you no matter what you’ve gone through

he reassures

Zen:

He understands

he had also had a bit of a rough past

motorcycle gangs, drinking, running away the whole thing

he gets it

it saddens him that you’re so hard on yourself, considering how much of sweet person you are now

he shares some of his stories so you don’t feel alone

he takes your hand and tells you how much he loves you and what an amazing person you are and that he is proud of you for finding your way

gives you so much love and attention

teddy bear zen comforts you for as long as you need till you learn to forgive yourself

You’re worth it, always <3

Jaehae:

you two were chatting while making coffee one day

she had noticed that you seemed to have a heavy weight on your chest that you’ve been carrying

you weren’t as chipper as you usually were, like something you had been dealing with in secret was finally forcing it’s way out

she waited until you were ready to talk but asked if you were okay and that she noticed you seemed to have something on your mind, and that you can tell her anything

you sighed for a moment and after a pause you looked her in her eyes with almost a very saddened worried look, you felt so guilty and wanted to reach out to her but also worried how she would see you if you told her, you just cared about her so much you didn’t want to scare her off

but with what Jaehae said you couldn’t help but feel like you could open up to her

you two spent quite some time talking as you told her your story and what you felt guilty about as she listened attentively

You were so so hard on yourself, she was shocked at that fact more

Mc you had been carrying this around all this time? You felt this way about yourself for such a long time?

It saddens her such a sweet person had such an inner conflict like this, blaming herself and feeling so negatively, while she gave everyone so much love and support, she wanted to return such love and support to mc.

she reached across the table and grabbed mc’s hand as she was lost in thought, squeezing it comfortingly and holding it firmly

“Mc, please don’t be so hard on yourself, you are only human. I care for you very much and want to let you know that I... and the rest of RFA, will never think lowly of you, we are here for you no matter what.”

at this Mc started to tear up, how can such kindness hurt so much

Jaehae comforts you and smiles looking after you and supporting you as you go through these emotions

Jumin:

Oh boy this man and emotions

though with his experience of trying to handle his emotions at his lowest he understands the storm that could be going on inside of you right now

it’s a tough thing sometimes, trying to figure things out when you feel so many conflicting emotions going at each other, so he’s more than understanding, he will be your rock. He was good at being such, according to zen, so if it can help you, he would be glad.

He noticed the one morning while you were sitting at the table, looking listless, he went over and sat with you asking you if anything is wrong.

You shook your head as he went on about if it was the pancakes or if something was uncomfortable he would fix it

“Jumin...”

“Yes, Mc?”

“I have something to tell you.”

You tell him how you feel, how you feel like you don’t deserve any of this, or him, or even friends like the rfa. You tell him you weren’t always this sweet person or innocent, and that the past still haunts her.

As she told him her story, he listened quietly and objectively, without judgement. She teared up as she expressed her fears of him or them pulling away from her because of this.

“Mc.” he said in his usual tone, but it was firm. “No matter what you had done in the past, or who you had been, I will always love you, and so will the rest of the RFA always cherish you.” he wanted to reassure her just how much this story wouldn’t change his perception or feelings for her, because despite what had happened, she was truly a loving caring person that prevailed despite the hardships and mistakes, and he found that truly admirable.

He got up and walked over to her, taking her hand and squeezing it as he kneeled down and kissed it. He lifted his hand and caressed her hair lovingly as he looked to her with admiration and love, giving her a loving reassuring smile. No matter what, he will always love you and feel that you deserve nothing less than being treated like a princess, and the angel he knows you are.

He helps you with your emotional journey and always reassures you and treats you with affection, he is happy he can be a source of comfort for you just like you were for him.

He even hired the best therapists and had other inspirational people with rough pasts speak to you to help you not feel alone.

V:

BOY HOWDY DOES THIS MAN UNDERSTAND

THAT BASICALLY IS HIM ALL THE TIME

This poor tortured soul, he understands the torment so well

he feels sad to see you feel this way though

he feels like he deserves his torment but not you, you are so sweet and warm, he doesn’t want you to feel like this

sympathetic as hell

he comforts you by rubbing your back, or your shoulder, stroking your hair and just hugging you whenever he sees you feeling so down

he whispers comforting words to you and how much you deserve love and happiness

you are not what your thoughts are saying you are

you are not your past or your mistakes

he expresses some of his mistakes and emotions as well so you don’t feel alone

however every time he does you look up to him sadly and grab his hand, your instinct to comfort him so strongly and he feels the same towards you

it helps to see that you feel like he deserves love and happiness and not to be so hard on himself and he says he sees the same when he sees you going through this

you two actually help each other out quite a lot concerning this

He loves your strength and that despite everything you became such a beautiful person

Unknown:

Again, this man understands completely

He knows the feeling of shame and guilt but also having all those negative emotions

oh boy does he understand

he is still trying to come to terms, but when he sees you feel bad about something similar then he’s like NO, HE WILL SAVE YOU FROM THESE EMOTIONS, LET HIM BARE THE BURDEN NOT YOU

You’re a sweet little flower that deserves all the compassion and understanding in the world

so help him damned if he ever let those thought and emotions torture you as if does to him, SO HELP ME HE WILL REASSURE YOU HOW WONDERFUL YOU ARE AGGRESSIVELY AND HOW MUCH EVEN HE ADMIRES YOU

Seriously this boy will not allow you to beat yourself up, no way

He will be your light if he has to, he will not let you feel alone

You always deserve the best

Seven:

No way in hell would he let you think you deserve less

he had no idea that his love had been feeling this way

he doesn’t want you to feel bad about yourself like he had

he really understands how it feels to feel tortured about choices you made or about your past

hell he spent most of his time running from it until you eventually came along

he suddenly feels bad for being hard on you and pushing you away when you were trying to help him

he hopes you’d let him help you this time

He’s always hugging you for long moments tightly, not saying anything but as a comforting gesture

he always comes and check how you’re doing

hacks your computer and leaves loving messages and pictures

sends you funny videos and tries to make you smile

he sometimes jokes around to try and cheer you up but he knows when to be serious too

one day you open up to him and honestly, whatever you did is no big deal to him, he isn't shocked or judgmental, because he can see the truth. You are an exceptional person and the fact that you are so caring and sweet is probably the reason why you feel so horrible about the past or about some of the things you did. It is horrible to be lost, that’s for sure. But he points out the fact of how everyone including him loves you and how you’ve helped them so much and they’d do the same with you, so you shouldn’t feel shame.

Sometimes though he picks you up and plays around, shaking you playfully to get rid of the negative emotions as if it can fall off like fleas or dust.

Probably runs around while holding you pretending he’s a space ship taking you far away from your problems or negative emotions where they can’t find you

Plays around like you’re both undercover and the past can’t follow you

Loves when this makes you cheer up and get out of your head a bit

Seven Zero Seven will always save a pretty lady from feeling bad

Even gathers the rest of the RFA to cheer you up and comfort you

all in all MC PROTECTION SQUAD