#sorry for going off in the tags over something inconsequential again but I have thoughts and I've already written this much I'm not deleting

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Bad Batch Finale Analysis

Spoilers for TBB Season 2

Tagging some people who want to see some longer analyses: @saturn-sends-hugs @phis-writing @eriexplosion @heyclickadee @questforgalas @panther-os

So... that was a lot. We all have many feelings about things and I'm not sure anyone really knows how to express them. I'm not entirely sure where I stand on some things, so I don't totally know how I feel about these episodes overall, but I can say that I liked them. They're not my favourite of the season, but I did still enjoy them (as painful as they were).

I'm going to try and break down some of my thoughts about bits of the episode, but I don't know how coherent this is going to be. I've been jotting things down in my phone when they come to me, so I'm going to attempt putting them in a slightly more organised order, but no promises.

Probably best to get the heavy bit out of the way first.

Is Tech dead?

No. At least, I don't think so and there are a few reasons for this. The first is that we don't see a body and if we've learnt anything from Star Wars, is that no body = don't trust that they're dead. And even if we do see a body, we can't always trust it! (Looking at you Maul). The second is that he was found by Hemlock. Seems a bit suspicious that he happened to be found by the guy who likes experimenting on clones is it not? I'm sure he'd be happy to scoop Tech up and take him to do whatever awful experiments he has planned. Sorry, but the goggles aren't proof that Tech is dead. Hemlock is probably just throwing them out to break the Batch's resolve and put them in a more vulnerable state.

And the final reason is that if he is dead, it's really cheap. We've already discussed how members of the Batch dying this season wouldn't work particularly well narratively. For a death like Kanan's, it happened near the end of the show, where it made sense for his story to end. It doesn't make sense for Tech's to end here. And yes, an argument can be made that death is unforgiving and that so many people die before their time (in fiction and reality) but from a narrative standpoint it doesn't work. It doesn't hold the emotional gut-punch that it should. Yes, we all cried in the moment (and are still crying now) but how many people are angry? How many people find this "death" pointless and inconsequential? How many people think that it fell flat? I said months ago that I wouldn't be happy if all of this development that Tech was getting was just leading to him dying at the end of the season. It's weak storytelling imo. And that's why I think he's not dead. We may not always agree with the direction that writers choose to take characters, but I think that killing Tech here would completely miss the mark and I trust that they wouldn't do that.

Parallels to Echo's "death"

Coming off that point and characters not really being dead, this whole situation with Tech feels very reminiscent of what happens to Echo. A character that sacrificed themselves and was left behind, believed to be dead? If he has been taken by Hemlock and is going to be experimented on, then it really parallels what happened with Echo. And if I'm completely honest, I don't totally know how I feel about this. Yes, I'm happy that it means that there is a good chance that Tech is alive, but I also worry that that narrative is going to start feeling very repetitive.

We've touched on the idea of Crosshair's story paralleling Echo's and how that could lead to some interesting character dynamics. I have always been really interested in exploring that and how it could create an interesting understanding between those to characters. But now having the same happen with Tech? I don't know. Part of me worries that they are at risk of just telling the same story over and over again. It removes the idea of this unique dynamic between Crosshair and Echo. Don't get me wrong, I would love to see Tech and Crosshair having something as personal as this to bond over, but we don't know much about their past yet. I feel like it would've been interesting to explore a connection between those two from their past and let Echo keep this story beat as a way of becoming even more entangled with the Batch. I guess I'm just worried that they are going to make this a connection point between Tech and Crosshair and Echo is going to get sidelined again.

Also, three members (aka 50% of the Bad Batch) having very similar story arcs involving being left, experimented on and then rescued? I don't hate it, but it could get a bit too repetitive for my liking.

Wrecker

Time for some character breakdowns! Oh, Wrecker... I wanna give him a big hug, I really do. Back in TCW, Wrecker was shown to be really close to Crosshair. With the competitions that they had going on, you could tell that there was a strong bond there. And even at the beginning of TBB season 1 when he's hitting Cross with Lula, you can see that close brotherly dynamic. And then all the stuff with Crosshair happened and Wrecker lost that. It would've been a massive blow to suddenly no longer have that presence there. We've seen Wrecker say that he misses Cross, you can hear the heartbreak when he confronts Cross about not trying to come back, and you can hear the hope in his voice when he finds out that Crosshair might have betrayed the Empire. Losing Crosshair was a massive blow, especially for someone who is as emotionally in-tune as Wrecker.

And then season 2. Crosshair isn't there, so we really get to see one his deep connections with another brother: Tech. Him helping Tech at the riot race, him helping Tech during 2x9 even though they had been bickering the whole time, and then him teasing Tech in 2x13. We really got to see the bond between those two this season, which makes it all the more heartbreaking. Wrecker lost Crosshair and then he lost Tech.

And then he lost Omega. We know how close he was with her. He had one of the most prominent connections to her in S1 and even some really sweet moments in season 2. They were incredibly close and now she has been taken as well. Wrecker is having everyone taken away from him and it hurts so much to watch, especially for someone who is as open about their emotions as he is. I just want to give him the biggest hug.

"Yeah. Me too."

And you know what, he probably blames himself as well. He was going to go to grab Tech but it was too unsafe. Tech knew this, that's why he sacrificed himself. But Wrecker was the one to try and grab him and instead he just had to watch his brother fall into the clouds. And then he couldn't protect Omega either. He lost two members of his family in quick succession and he probably blames himself for both of their losses. Everyone does, but with Wrecker especially, he probably believes that he didn't do enough to protect Tech.

Echo

(Fun fact I actually started full on crying while writing this section)

*Deep sigh* Okay. Time to mentally prepare myself for this bit.

Anyone who knows this page will know that I love Echo so much. He is hands down my favourite Batcher and one of my favourite Star Wars characters of all time (along with Rex), so anything sad to do with him is painful to watch. I'm not gonna lie, I think I might actually be handling Tech's "death" better than the scene of Echo alone in the cockpit. I can think of Tech falling and just about hold myself together, but I think about that scene with Echo and it breaks me (although that may also be the denial I am in about Tech).

But enough about my personal feelings on this bit, let's break that scene down.

"I don't enjoy solitude."

Yeah... that somehow hurts even more than it did. He hates being alone and yet instead of going to be with one of the Batchers (e.g. sitting with Wrecker), he chose to go and sit alone on the Marauder. That deep sigh and the despondent look over at the empty chair next to him is one of the hardest things that I have had to watch in this show.

This man has already lost his entire squad. He was there when Droidbait, Cutup and Hevy died. He came back from Skako Minor only to find out that Fives was gone too. He lost the brothers closest to him and now that he's found this second family, he's losing them also. We know how close Echo was with Tech especially. Those two were in sync a lot of the time. We didn't see them together as much this season as we did in season 1, but we have moments like in 2x8 when they are working together to get the information off the Venator. Tech was Echo's partner in crime, much like Fives used to be, and now he's gone as well. As much as I don't want Echo to die, I don't want him to be the last one standing and this is why. Just thinking about how much this must hurt Echo is beyond heartbreaking.

And just because this wasn't sad enough, I'm going to throw another thought out there: Echo feels guilty for not spending more time with the Batch. We don't know for certain, but I definitely wouldn't be surprised if he felt this way. I've spoken before about relating to Echo and seeing a lot of my own feelings reflected in him and this would be one of those moments. I've lost people before who I wish that I had spoken to more. All you can think about is every time that you wish you had just stayed on the phone longer, or said hi when you could, rather than being distracted by other things. Echo probably feels the same way. He spent what was probably over a month with Rex and while we know that it was the right thing for him and the right choice to make, he probably regrets not spending more time with the Batch and with Tech. In that moment, I imagine that he's thinking about many things: Crosshair, Domino Squad, whether he would've been able to spend more time with or even save Fives if he hadn't blown up, and all the time that he spent with Rex that he could've spent with Tech.

Even if you make the right decisions in life, it can still be hard to look back and not regret things. I think that this is one of those things for Echo. He made the right choice in joining the Rebellion but now he's lost Tech and he will never get to spend that time with him again.

Hunter

This is where things might start getting controversial because I seem to disagree with a lot of people about Hunter's reaction to things and by that, I mean that I understand why he reacted the way he did. Now, I want to preface this by saying that me understanding his response doesn't mean that I'm not angry at him on some level ("Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you" *gets sad thinking about tech again*).

I've seen some people saying that Hunter's response was apathetic and out of character for him and I've got to say this... no it wasn't. I find it interesting that a lot of the people that I've seen defending him are (like me) not particularly big Hunter fans. A lot of Hunter stans are going off about how this response doesn't make sense but to me it does. Now this is just speculation, but I wonder how much people's headcanons and perceptions of Hunter started to cloud their idea of who he is as a character. As much as I don't love Hunter, I do recognise the fact that he is a man with a lot of those flaws and those flaws can make him interesting, but I think that some people miss them because they look at him with rose-tinted glasses and see him as the perfect dad. But let's break down why I think Hunter's response makes sense.

I'm not going to lie, when I first heard Hunter say that they were going to get Omega back, my first response was "where was this energy with Crosshair?" and its that response that opens this up for analysis. Hunter wasn't sure if Crosshair needing help was a trap (which I've already said in another post was a valid response), so he was never going to react to Crosshair needing help in the same way as Omega needing it. Yes, it's harsh, but that doubt would've always been there. And Hunter's just lost one of his brothers trying to go back for Crosshair. They have no idea where Hemlock is, they don't actually know what is happening to Crosshair, Hunter has never been 100% certain that the whole situation isn't a trap and now Tech has just died because of it.

Yes, Tech sacrificed himself to not just help the others, but to also help Crosshair, but all that means nothing if they're all dead. Hunter, Omega, Wrecker and Echo just about escaped with their lives and with no information, it didn't seem reasonable to carry on with the mission. They couldn't do it with five of them, how would they manage with four? And you also have to remember that Hunter has a child to worry about. Yes, they could get Crosshair back but that's a very big ask. What happens if another one of them dies? Omega is left alone? All of this needs to be taken into consideration. Making the decision to settle on Pabu was a reasonable choice, even if it hurts to know that Crosshair is going to stay trapped with the Empire.

You can disagree with it, you can be angry at it, you can list all the reasons why Hunter is wrong but you can't ignore all the reasons why Hunter is right either. Like I said, I am also angry at it. But tbf, I think I'm more angry at the situation than I am at Hunter. It took me a few hours to work that out, but I get why Hunter chose what he did. I wanted them to carry on fighting for Crosshair but I also understand why he chose to stay on Pabu. And I also get why he chose to go back for Omega. Yes, she's a child, but he also knows for certain that she is actually in trouble. He could never be sure of that with Crosshair, he knows that Omega is in a situation she didn't choose. It's frustrating, but it makes sense.

And going back to people's perceptions of Hunter, I think some people fail to see that actually, a lot of what Hunter does is with selfish intentions. A lot of it is disguised as things that are for the greater good, and I think he believes that as well, but a lot of his decisions are based on what he feels. Yes, he's the one that is in charge of the squad, but his decisions tend to be more self-centred than some people realise. I think that's why Echo is an interesting addition the the squad. He's not only second in command, but he's also not afraid to push back against Hunter and his decisions; he's more willing to question the sergeant's choices. And I think part of that is from Echo's own stubbornness as well. (Side note: Echo's choices can also be a little self-centred (like when he agrees to going to Coruscant without much discussion) and I acknowledge that). We know that Hunter's choices aren't always what the squad thinks because we see them choosing to vote against his decision in 2x1.

I think that if you really look at Hunter and realise just how flawed he is, and how many of his choices are selfish, it makes sense why he said what he said in this episode. It isn't out of character for him.

However, that's not to say that you can't get angry about it. Hunter's devotion to Omega has caused him to make some weird decisions and at points it can feel like he cares more about her than his brothers. I think a lot of that may be down to the fact that he's never been in this position before and isn't use to what it's like to be a father. Parents can make some odd sacrifices for their children and we may not always agree with them. So while I think it's perfectly reasonable to not like Hunter that much here, I don't think that it's necessarily strange behaviour for him. It's exactly what I'd expect given what we've seen from him up until this point.

Random additional point that I somehow missed: Hunter has now lost half of his squad. Do you realise how much stress that man must be under? He probably feels like a failure, so it makes sense for his initial response to be "let's go and find somewhere safe" and then hitting a breaking point that leads to "we're not losing anyone else" (although that breaking point is also heavily influenced by his selfish thoughts).

Emerie Clone Reveal

Honestly, I don't have a whole lot to say about this bit, just that it kind of fell a bit flat? I have two reasons for why this might be.

We predicted that it would happen. That's not to say that twists like that can't be satisfying, but rather than ending on a shock revelation, it ended on more of a "we know" moment.

I was in such an emotional state over the rest of it that I just didn't care. I had greater concerns at this point so it didn't really hit that hard.

But those are my opinions. I don't know how this scene was for other people, but for me, I don't think it had quite the gravity that they were going for.

Feelings now vs 2x8

This is less of an analysis of the episode itself, but more of a reflection of my own feelings. What surprised me is that even though this episode destroyed me in the moment, I'm weirdly not going through the same "crying every time I think about this episode" moment that I did after episode 8. I really struggle after 2x8. Every time I thought about that final scene I just cried (which led to me trying to pull myself together on the way to lectures before I started sobbing in public). But with the finale... I'm sad but I don't cry about everything? Or at least not the parts that I expected to be in bits over. I can think about Tech falling without bursting into tears, but I think about that 20 second moment with Echo and have to grab the nearest box of tissues.

I think it's because of a mixture of things. One is that I am in denial over Tech's death. I don't believe that he's actually dead and even if I did, then I'd just be more annoyed at weak storytelling than actually being sad about it. Another is that as much as I love Tech, Echo will always mean so much more to me. I connect with Echo on a level that I don't with Tech, so I'm always going to have a stronger emotional reaction to content with him in. I cried so hard when Tech "died" but now I'm having more of a breakdown over Wrecker and Echo's reactions. It's strange, but there are a lot of complicated feelings over this episode.

Summary

...I don't know. There are a lot of thoughts and emotions swirling around with this episode. I do have some criticisms and worries, but I don't think that they're bad episodes. I preferred this season over the last (despite having gripes over the lack of Crosshair and Echo) and I think that the entire team did a really great job.

The ending was always going to be controversial. People have ideas of what they think is going to happen and when that doesn't happen, the default reaction can be "this is bad". I think everyone is just a little bit lost atm, but I'll be interested to see what the consensus is a little bit further down the line. Feelings are very much a mess right now.

But I guess that these are my thoughts for now. Turns out that a lot of my predictions were way off the mark but I'm not mad about it. I'm glad that it didn't go exactly how I expected. I'm a little bit cautious about some story elements moving forward (as mentioned in the rest of the post) but I'm looking forward to where they take this show (preferably more Echo and Cross content).

I've just realised that I didn't say anything about Omega's feelings. Oops. Clearly that's not where my head is at right now.

[queen-mabs-revenge]

#like. sorry but the same group of footballers so incensed by nate’s SYMBOLIC rejection of the in-group (the believe sign)#that they played like shit just to be able to beat up on ppl who had nothing to do with the sign#are not (believably!) going to come back to nate on a whim#like. even without getting into all the points abt colins demonstrable fears of coming out to ppl he doesn’t trust 110%#the idea that the players incredibly intense sense of us vs them (as seen by them closing ranks in front of Trent on roys word) is#something. inconsequential to their characterisation and can just be papered over off screen is so insulting!!#like. BEFORE they knew it was a personal betrayal they were threatening violence! why would that passion DECREASE?#and that’s INTERESTING! it’s one of the subtle but rlly worrying flaws of Ted’s system#like. that instead of seeing teds open mindedness and good will and continual efforts to give them both the room + the reason to improve#themselves and then in turn extending that open mind + heart to others. they instead get really protective + defensive OF their space in#that ‘circle of grace’ and will push and shove anyone who doesn’t ‘deserve’ that treatment away#like. ted is uncomfortable with that at least as of s1 (‘we’d die for you coach!’ ‘bit intense for me sam!’)#but beard + roy have no problem both acknowledging it and leveraging it for their own ends (ie: icing Trent out + the nate video)#and#fuck man to just write that all off??? like that’s INTERESTING! that’s a really tasty and juice conflict!#and to act like NONE of those pressures exist in the context of welcoming nate back to richmond??#like again im not at all anti nate or thinking he needs to lower himself#but ur so right in that the idea that richmond would welcome him back freely just feels painfully ungrounded#in the stakes + character motivations the SHOW ITSELF conditioned u to expect#like.#ted lasso follow through on the plot lines + motivations u set up challenge [IMPOSSIBLE - APPARENTLY] (tags via @time-is-restored)

i am CLAWING AT MY FACE because YES YES YES YES YES gOD

i didn't even really think through this aspect of the Lasso Way but GOD you're so right and ALSO exploring this would have been SUCH a good way to have the same exact scene with beard and nate re: beard's backstory reveal except it could have been tied in with the team Going Through It about whether or not to trust nate/give him a second chance???

like i do think the scene with ted and beard was narratively satisfying bc beard's backstory has been such an intimately kept secret btw the two of them -- but at the same time, ted did have to hold his hand through it all? if they're setting up that ted has done all he can for everyone and the lasso way is good to go now... uhhhh this didn't really prove that, did it? this could have been a moment where beard took that lesson he and roy learned after the west ham match and put it into action himself!

how much more cathartic would it have been to have beard observing a debate btw the team about nate - some arguing in favor of wanting him back bc, some saying that no matter the reasons he sacrificed his career he can't be trusted. maybe someone points to trent in the corner as an example of the pro side ('look what that prick did to ted, but now he's our prick!'); someone else tries to bring beard in as backup against nate bc it's clear beard has been the model for the hyper-defensive us-v-them i'll-kill-for-tedthis-team and that be the catalyst for beard realising that he's not giving the grace he's been given to the extreme, and that's causing knock-on effects on the team antithetical to the dynamic he's purportedly so protective of. i'm not a writer but drop a cryptic beard one-liner in here that lets the audience and the team know he's not on the side they thought?

(i could see a very beard reaction to that realisation being him walking up to ted and bear hugging him out of nowhere [maybe a confused ted reaction like 'everything ok, coach?' and beard dead serious saying ted's line in response: 'i appreciate you'] and just nodding and walking away, and then cut to the scene with nate exactly as it was).

the way that would have actually created a path through which so many of the obstacles to nate returning are worked through on screen while developing all the characters!! and i do mean all paths bc like after the team's unhinged violence during the west ham match literally why would nate want to come back to that environment, too??? why should we the audience believe that the team isn't holding a grudge that they're smiling through and that will snap back and harm nate in some way??? SHOW ME. SHOW ME TO MY FACE ALL OF THIS PLEASE FUCKING HELL, JASON. YOU SET THE PINS UP NOW KNOCK THEM DOWN, JASON. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

OK so first of all i am not a nate-needs-to-mortify-his-flesh-to-be-redeemed girlie so fucking jot that down. i don't think he needs to grovel, i don't even think we need an extended boo hoo apology scene for anyone involved. nate's story is about reconciliation with himself and others through real self-esteem and contentment, not about whatever christian penance brainrot ppl are coming up with.

but i am fucking baffled by that opening scene with isaac, colin and will visiting nate at work and how -- yet again -- really essential character beats are just happening off screen and we're supposed to be super chill and emotionally swept along by it all?

(long ass v critical post under the cut)

"we want you to come back to richmond" uhhhhhhhhhh "the whole team talked about it and it was unanimous" …….?????????????? like besides the fact that there is literally no established tactical reason why the team feels that they need nate to come back considering they're pretty fucking successful at the moment, the show has given us no reason to believe that would be a decision made by a team that is and needs to be protective of its current interpersonal dynamic!

now again, i want to be very fucking clear as i go through the following that i don't think that nate is homophobic and i'm not accusing him of that, and again i'm not here like 'oh colin needs an uwu special apology'. but lay out the facts as far as the players know (because that's all that's been on screen): nate tore up the sign and ~~someone~~ exposed information about ted's panic attacks to the press - they're himbos but i mean come on. the last interactions between nate and the team - and especially colin - were pretty targeted cruelty and belittlement laced with misogynistic language (that yes, has been used pretty casually throughout the dressing room - not just a nate thing), and then nate goes to work for a club owned by the man who fostered the toxic swamp richmond was to begin with? bro. bro.

literally my first thought was -- how is colin eager to invite someone back who - as far as he knows - clearly very personally hates him, and has leaked information about someone he supposedly liked and respected that he was told in confidence to cause targeted harm to that person… when he just came out within a trusted organization with no intention of coming out publicly??? like no matter how this show tries to shorthand that everything is OK now, because they put no work into reestablishing trust… there is no way colin would take his safety as 100% guaranteed in this situation, and him being the person to insist on talking to nate doesn't shorthand that away!!!

like for me, this mismatch stands out as some fucking straight nonsense again bc you cannot use the horrifically queerphobic atmosphere in and around professional men's football irl for your very special episode and then just never address the personal vindictiveness involved in the character dynamic that was created between nate and colin previously, especially in the face of seeding the idea that someone would be afraid to come out to their trusted best friend because of the 1% chance the casual homophobia they tossed around was indicative of their actual beliefs.

and like ok the tendency of this show to just use experiences that reflect stuff of incredible real life consequence without considering the context or implications is already established. i get it. but like this is just another example of how by not actually engaging with the full consequences of the experiences they're capitalizing on, they've not done justice to any of the characters or representative stories involved.

the reconciliation between nate and the team had such great potential to bring out everyone's issues and have a real chewy resolution! nate getting tossed back into the rupertsphere and seeing the manipulative bullying inherent to rupert's concept of power, and consequently really understanding how that created the environment mirrored in the team's treatment of him, and how he held on to that concept of power and mirrored it back in vindictiveness.

maybe if they brought forward the bex and ms. kakes story to play out earlier (during one of these insanely bloated episodes), and if nate is tied in with letting them both know what was happening with rupert, the two women going to rebecca for advice could have been something that one of the players found out about (idk overhearing rebecca asking keeley for press/legal advice while passing her office or smth). that could have precipitated a conversation among the team that we were actually privy to about how nate stood up to rupert, put whole ass career on the line to protect people being deeply wronged instead of cozy up to power, and did it without publicly Exposing Their Business in order to get public kudos.

that conversation could have been the perfect way to get the team to understand nate's growth from what he did to ted by revealing and having them work through the implications of nates willingness to put protecting people from being harmed above his own need for power and validation, while also protecting their privacy and not seeking public validation at their expense! colin could have had a part in that conversation that both brought his queerness back into the story as something of actual consequence and not just a token feel-good moment, and it could have showed why the team would trust nate enough to hold a vote to ask him to come back to richmond while also showing the audience that the team has truly grown from its unhinged emotional reaction during the west ham match, and not just because they lost a game bc of it!

like idk man this just isn't good enough for me. this whole thing just isn't good enough for me, especially because they've made the implications and the stakes so fucking high by bringing in the incredibly consequential social issues they have. nothing feels earned, and everything feels cheap and flimsy because of it! everything from the journey we deserved to go on with all of these characters, to the seriousness and respect with which the show has treated the experiences they've profited off of, to the patronizing chintz of the last minute emotion-bombs being tossed to us as good enough wallpaper over the structural cracks we're meant to ignore.

[awildtrashcan]

Everyone thinks ED1 Ash is just a wimp, but consider the following

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 5

WC: 1526

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: angst, mentions of physical congenital defects, name calling, Freud, mention of psychological disorders, mention of disabilities

🧠

Maybe it was naïve of you to hope for an apology from him after the incident in the classroom. He was a dick, after all.

Six weeks into the term and things had not gotten better, but in fact much worse. Every little thing he did drove you up a wall. He would talk to himself out loud about who knows what. He would ask you your thoughts and opinions on the theories he studied, and then try to challenge everything you said. He would make you feel small as he spoke down to you or he would laugh at your ideas. He would ask for help with the dumbest things too, like picking up pens and typing up all his notes. And worst of all, he would just watch you. It probably wasn’t really all that creepy, he didn’t actually give you those vibes, but you felt like a bug under a microscope.

The only time you could tolerate the doctor was when he was giving his lectures. It was like he was a totally different person. Gone was the calculating and stubborn doctor, and in his place stood a thoughtful, passionate, intellectual that tried to see the world from as many facets as possible. He was so incredibly open minded. You'd even seen him crack a smile or two.

You wondered what he might be like if that was his personality all the time. Would the two of you get along better and argue less? Would he think more highly of you, and not just as some dumb assisstant? You doubt it.

“-And then he handed me a stack of notebooks and asked me to type everything up. All his handwritten notes. Like oh my god, get with the times and just type them the first go yourself.” You were set upside down on Bitsy’s bed. This week Kreizler had amped up your workload, so of course you had to vent to your friends.

Feeling the blood pool in your head you roll over and sit up with a huff. “He’s just so strange… and he’s left handed but to the extreme. I don’t think I’ve seen him use his right hand once the entire time we’ve worked together. Like how odd is that?”

“Maybe he’s got OCD or something?” Margo, your mutual friend suggests.

You contemplate what she said. Perhaps he did have something else going on? The more you think about it the more you realize he really didn’t ever use his right hand; when he asked for your assistance it was always for a two-handed job. Perhaps… You are broken out of your trance when Bitsy interjects.

“You need to either find a new hobby to distract yourself or you need to hate-fuck the guy already.” She doesn’t look up from her phone.

Her comment catches you so off guard you choke on your own spit. Margo pats your back as you overcome the coughing fit. “Bitsy what the actual fuck?” She just gives you a ‘what?’ look. Clearly she’s grown two heads to even consider suggesting that to you.

“It’s not so crazy. You like older guys, you said it yourself that he’s smart and he’s cute. Maybe this is what you both need. Get out some frustration.” She tosses her phone to the bed. “And to be honest I’d like to be able to talk to you about literally anything other than how much you can’t stand the ‘good doctor dickwad’.”

Your mouth is gaping at her in your shock. Her words settle in you like a bag of rocks. “Oh my god I really do talk about him that much don't I?” Shame and embarrassment wash over you as you realize that yes, the majority of your day is spent complaining about Kreizler. “I’m sorry guys, I’ll make an effort to tone it down.”

“It’ll probably help with the stress too if you stop,” Margo adds.

“That and getting dicked down - how long has it been for you?”

“Yeah no,” you get off the bed and walk out of the room, “I’m not answering that.”

“Too long then!” Bitsy calls after you with a laugh.

_

He really thought he had been doing better with you. He couldn’t say you were his favorite person by any means, but you were proficient at your job and the tasks he gave you. A hard worker. He tried to engage in friendly conversation or to talk about the lessons he was planning with you. As little as you had actually studied psychology he found your insights to be most interesting and enlightening. He actually enjoyed it.

You, on the other hand, apparently did not.

Today was going the usual route - he attempted to engage you in discourse; you were determined to defend and fight your way out of it. Oddly enough, for as much as you loathed talking with him you were always giving him your opinion on things.

“How could you be so base to believe that? We are all individuals with our own wants, needs, and desires, sure, but to only be subject to that? To have no freedom or choice in anything we do or say? It’s ridiculous.” You sat with your arms across your chest, a sneer on your face as you argued with him.

His face remains calm through your tirade. He himself took Freud’s work with a grain of salt, but he was interested in your reaction to his questioning. So he pushed you. “And yet you sit here now with the most basic principle being exhibited - the presence of Freud’s Id hard at work - as you become frustrated and angered by my words. Is that in itself not the desire to let anger take control? Acting without fear of consequence? To be exactly what you now claim is ridiculous?”

You scoff. “No, Doctor, because I’ve chosen to not put up with the bullshit. I choose of my own free will.”

“But what is free will, if not chained to our deepest desires and fears? Us acting on the primal needs within us so out of our control? You have no choice in the matter, only impulse. Nothing you choose matters, you are inconsequential.” Laszlo found that he liked to rile you up. You were more forthcoming in your ideas and defenses; a worthy partner to discuss psychological theory with. But today he had pushed you too far.

By this point you had had enough. His constant instagation had driven you to the end of your rope. In reality it probably wasn’t that bad, and you really weren’t that confrontational of a person. But god, with him you just couldn’t seem to hold yourself back. He drove you up the wall.

“Is that what you want? To study me like your little project, seeing how you can get me to crack? Your own personal basket case to psychoanalyze? What - does that get you off at night or something?” You don’t even care that he’s your boss anymore or how inappropriate your suggestion is. If he can push and push and push without regard to what is considered socially allowed then you’d be damned if you didn’t too.

His face is merely curious, a hint of a smirk on it, as you all but yell at him from your desk. He sits back, a pen in his left hand, his right resting atop the desk. You notice his right thumb twitch.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” blurts from your scowled mouth. You don’t know why you ask. Maybe his idea about being chained to our deepest curiosities, no matter how questionable, had some weight behind it.

"I beg your pardon?" His eyes change the second the question slips from your lips. No longer is he eying you with amusement, but he looks as if he might snap at any second. His face is hard, you can see his jaw clenched under the full beard he sports.

At his reaction you know that you screwed up. You never should have said anything at all. Sure he could be as rude as the day is long, but he wasn’t necessarily a cruel man. He had little moments where he was genuinely kind to you. He even made you tea once.

“I’m sorry- I…. I don’t know where that came from. It was inappropriate of me and I apologize, Dr. Kreizler.”

The silence that overcomes the room is deafening, so unlike the boisterous discourse that was taking place a moment ago. You turn away hoping to resume your work. You even take a moment to pray to whoever is listening that you didn’t just get yourself fired.

“It was a congenital defect.” You turn back towards him, but he does not meet your eyes. He speaks low again. “My arm never developed correctly so it is weaker and has less function. That is all.” You nod at him, swallowing. The look in his eyes does not match what he tells you. He has the look of someone haunted by their past. It is a look you are all too familiar with yourself. You both finish your work in silence.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 3

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), PRAISE KINK, sex in a public place (voyeurism if you squint?), Oral sex (Female receiving), PIV sex, gratuitous use of the pet name ‘good girl’

Authors Note: Yeah, we sped right on into smut town in this one. This smutty addition should conclude our little story, and now this ADCU character will forever be known to me as Praise Kink Paul.

Part 1 + Part 2

~

It was eerily quiet as you stared at Paul in bewildered shock, not fully knowing if the word he just spoke actually left his mouth. It didn’t seem real. A man you’d met barely hours ago returning for you. Needing you. But what exactly did that mean?

Paul’s expression had kept its hesitation long into the silence, his body unmoving. He had never been so bold before. Making a move like this, so soon after a first meeting, was absolutely unheard of in his past. And yet here he was now, watching over your face, trying to gauge the thoughts hidden behind your eyes. There was an essence of shock clearly shining in your irises, and Paul could only come to the conclusion he’d scared the hell out of you.

“I- I, uh, I’m sorry-”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his bid at cooling your fear. “What do you mean by… needing me?”

Paul nervously pulled at his blazer collar, realising now how vague and outright creepy the statement must have sounded. Somehow he needed to explain himself without coming off more strange than he already did. “Oh, I just… I wanted to see if you were free for a late dinner. There’s are great dumpling house around the corner and-”

Your lids had narrowed as Paul continued to stumble his way through his words, stopping him again mid-sentence. “You said… you needed me.”

Fuck. He’d definitely freaked you out. He could tell you it was a lie, a colourful way of offering a date, but suddenly the prospect seemed rather difficult. Because in truth, he’d meant exactly what he’d said. He needed you, in a way he hadn’t needed someone for a long time. He needed to know what your lips tasted like, the softness of your skin, the sound of your quickened breaths-

“Ask me again,” you shot out, your demeanour having morphed into one of resolve. Paul could feel his heart rate pick up.

“What?”

“Ask me out. To dinner. Ask me on a date.”

The rhythm of beats turned erratic - a smile already desperate to spread across his face. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined his chances. With a steadying breath, Paul kept his tone light, hoping to hide the excitement rattling inside his chest. “Would you like to get some dinner with me?”

“No.”

The word pierced the air with such a stinging jolt it made Paul want to recoil. “Uh… oh, but I thought… Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You took a step from around the service counter, a single finger sliding over the cheap marble, keeping your eyes locked with Paul as you moved. The only answer you supplied was a shake of your head, treading closer to the flustered man, his face creased into a positively adorable look of uncertainty.

It was your time to be bold now. You weren’t sure how it happened, when the rush of confidence flashed through your limbs, pushing you into a determination you’d not been allowed to embrace very often. Maybe it was because you’d already endured a horrifying dose of embarrassment today. Maybe it was because you found this stranger so attractive it physically burned your insides. Maybe it was because you had been fantasising about the things he might do to you for the last several hours and your logical brain was currently suffocated by lust. No matter the reason, you treaded towards Paul with a measured composure, until finally you were standing at his front, a thickened air of tension sifting around the two of you, the dimmed lights softly bouncing off the frames of his glasses. You saw him swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, evidently nervous at the proximity. But he wasn’t retreating, he wasn’t edging himself away. When his stare flickered down to your lips, pupils swelling at the sight, you knew this was your opening.

“I don’t want a date. I want what I sent in that message,” you breathed. “In fact, I think I need it.”

To your surprise, Paul didn’t waver like you assumed he would. Large palms were quick to scoop under your jaw, pulling you forward into an impassioned kiss. Two sets of lips colliding in a hungered clash, bodies melting into one another, your own hands clutching at the scratchy tweed jacket he wore. The entanglement was frenzied, rough, much more forceful and impatient than either of you would normally act in your separate lives. In these moments those pasts selves seemed like distant memories, both of you shedding the bondage of your doubts in mere seconds, succumbing to the impulses sparked to life by what should have been an inconsequential meeting.

Each kiss never wavered in its intensity, only thriving with heat and fervour, feeling Paul beginning to suck and bite at your lower lip while his hands wandered over your clothes. The irritation that arrived at the barrier between his touch and your flesh was enough to make another decision resolute.

This man was gasoline to your waiting fire, and you wanted him to pour himself all over you, not caring if the world around you burst into flames.

Before you could get the words out, what was going to be an eager plea, he stole them from you.

“M-More?” he gasped, trailing delicate pecks down your neck. “Would… Would you want more?” The question was followed by the slow push of his hips into you, providing another show of evidence that was too persuading to refuse. Into his collar you grabbed two fists of fabric, pulling him backwards with you. He followed your lead gladly, a tangle of legs treading somewhat haphazardly over the shop floor, avoiding the circular displays of dress shirts until your back finally knocked into the dressing room door.

Even if you’d had second thoughts at the risk this was to your job if you were caught ravaging a newly obtained client on the security cameras, they would have been erased at the way Paul clutched at your hips and ushered you inside the small cubicle, refusing to let his mouth stray from yours as a single hand moved to fiddle the lock closed behind him.

The second after it clicked into your confinement, there was a pause, with a rushed whisper into your ear. “I don’t… I don’t usually do this…”

“Me either,” you rasped back, nails clawing into his hair as he set another deepened kiss on you. “This… I’ve never been… so hasty.”

There was a low groan that rumbled from Paul’s throat as you pulled lightly to tilt his head back, skating your lips under his jawline. He took the opportunity of your parted mouths to catch his breath. “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. “I’m not… rushing you… am I? We can stop… If you want to stop-”

You smile, warmed by his gallantry, before nibbling at the rise of his collarbone. “I want to keep going. Please… Don’t stop.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Say please. Again.”

“Please,” you whined back, delving into a begging tone.

The fingers clutching at your waist tensed at the proclamation, moving down to the curve of your ass as another gradual thrust was pressed into the apex of your thighs.  You could feel it, feel him, the physical indication of just how sincere his desire truly was. It made you ache, made you suddenly feel too empty, too incomplete. Instinct made you about to reach for the buckle of Paul’s belt so you would know the full scale of what would hopefully be yours to take, but he was too quick.

With impressive dexterity, Paul unfastened the button of your slacks, slipping one hand inside while the other became curled around your neck, anchoring you into place. He hesitated at the hem of your cotton panties, his tempered breath warm over your face while your stares held one another’s.

“I want to touch you… Would that be okay?”

You immediately nodded, rolling your hips upward to meet his stilled hand. “Touch me Paul. Please.”

It was a magic word, dashing any of his reservations in an instant. Fingertips swiftly slipped underneath the thin fabric, skimming over the trail of pubic hair that the feel of made Paul’s cock throb even harsher than before. While never explicitly voiced out loud, he loved the natural state of a woman, knowing it set off something primal in him he couldn’t quite explain. The recognition made a hurried groan escape before even dipping into the line of your folds, only for another one to follow at the sensation of slick essence waiting there.

A gasp leapt from your throat, the sound settling into a delighted whimper as Paul explored you, letting two of his fingers trace up and down, teasing the edge of your entrance.

“You’re so wet,” he panted, capturing your lips in another fevered convergence. “Have you… Have you been like this since…?”

“The whole time,” you finished. “Since I first saw you, heard your voice…”

Paul’s subsequent groan echoed in the small space. The people in his life were never this forthcoming with their information, and here you were being so unrestricted and honest. He wanted to reward you for it. His movements shifted to centre on the swollen nub of your clit, placing sweetened kisses just below the lobe of your ear. “Do you want to come?”

You mewled as increasingly more intense pulsations of ecstasy began to billow out from your core. Every motion this man made with his fingers was unlike anything you’d encountered before. There was finesse, an elegance in every subtle action, smooth and severe at the same time. “Oh god, yes. I want to come, I want you to make me come.”

“Will you be a good girl for me?”

The question had arrived without Paul being able to prevent it, and he immediately felt a wash of dread simmer through him. What if you weren’t into that? What if he’d fucked this all up with one slip of the tongue?

He needn’t have worried.

“Do good girls get to come?” you asked, nails clawing into the hair at the nape of Paul’s neck.

He couldn’t have been more relieved, increasing his pace on you, a positively beaming smile being pressed into your throat in between the small licks and open-mouthed kisses he began to coat under your jawline. “They do. And you’ve already been such a good girl. So good for me. So wet… So willing...”

“A-anything for you,” you puffed out, breathless at the rising pleasure Paul was igniting, mind blurred from the combination of his exhale skating over your skin and the expert flourishes he traced over your bundle of nerves. “I’ll be anything. Your good girl, bad girl, anything you want.”

“You’re already everything I want,” Paul cooed. While true he’d only seen glimpses of your full self so far, he was already convinced of the words he’d spoken. It made him feel even more courageous, more ravenous to please you. “And I want to show you how much. Does my good girl trust me?”

A delirious hum filled the air as your agreement. How could you not say yes to such a question? You were already putty in Paul’s hand the moment he’d finally kissed you, and with his hardness pressing against your thigh as a promise of what might be to come, there was no way in hell you would have refused. It wouldn’t have been a lie either. You did trust him. Not that you could explain why right now.

With your consent given, Paul retreated from you, only to snatch at your wrist at the same time he unlocked the changeroom door. You gasped softly as he pulled you out into the now darkened space, thankfully having the shop lights set on a timer to switch off before you were meant to leave. Although, it now appeared your night was long from over.

The subtle glow of the computer screensaver guided Paul to exactly where he’d planned, steering you to the edge of the counter and immediately propping you onto it. You would have squealed in surprise if not for the way he led another assault on your lips, standing between your spread legs, also beginning to tear apart the buttons of your blouse and wrench the covering away. The dull, beige bra you wore underneath was the next item to be taken from your body, Paul having the latch unclasped with a single flick of his fingers. As the straps were dragged down your arms, he moved his mouth downwards to a perked nipple, tongue toying with the bud as you rocked your head back with a decadent sigh.

“So beautiful,” he rumbled against your chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your fingers snaked into Paul’s hair again, relishing the praise you’d rarely been afforded as he set himself onto your other breast, darting the tip of tongue around the sensitive centre. You could have let him linger there, but you became acutely aware of the shifted balance of your exposure, your torso bared while Paul’s remained irritatingly layered. That needed to be corrected.

You pulled on the inky strands to force Paul’s head back before starting work moving the jacket from over his shoulders. He allows it to slide off easily, hearing a small thud below as the heavy article fell in a crumpled heap. The sweater was next to be peeled off, finding yourself smirking at how Paul’s glasses became crooked from the woollen material slipping over his face. He caught your amused expression, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you giggled softly, fixing the frames to properly sit on the bridge of his nose. “You’re just… so cute.”

A gawky smile spread across Paul’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d been called cute before. He liked it more than he would have thought. The warmth it set off in his chest made him capture you in a kiss once more, although this one was significantly less urgent and more… affectionate. Slower, delicate, mouths moving in a hypnotic synchronicity, so much so Paul didn’t notice you’d unlocked the buttons of his shirt until you were pulling the tucked in portion out of his trousers.

As the dreadful, yellowed fabric was finally abandoned to reveal the torso beneath, you heard Paul release a rumble of satisfaction when your hands began to roam over the uncovered skin. You, yourself had to stifle a moan just from the feel of him alone. You’d imagined in your idle daydreaming a toned form hidden underneath those god-awful clothes, but it hadn’t prepared you for this. Every muscle was defined, tightened, firm underneath your touch, his chest so broad even your two splayed out hands didn’t cover the full expanse. You couldn’t stop yourself from withdrawing backwards just to view it with your own eyes, biting hard on your lower lip as you took in the sight.

It made Paul suddenly self-conscious, casting his eyes down. “I don’t- My job keeps me so busy… Getting to the gym is a little hard-”

“What? No!” you stopped him, realising where his train of thought had gone. You tilted his chin upwards to force your stares to meet. “I was actually just thinking how much more I hate that terrible outfit for hiding all of this-” You let your hands skim down his front, leaning in close, “-from me.”

Paul’s lips curved upwards. “You were?”

“I really was.” You set your lips under his jaw, reaching around Paul’s flanks to scratch your nails lightly over the middle of his back. “By far the sexiest customer I’ve ever had walk in here.”

Paul wanted to scoff. Being called sexy was even rarer for him than being called cute. And yet, with the way you pressed your naked breasts against him, clutching him closer to you while your hot breath at his shoulder made his hairs stand up, it was the first time in his life he believed it might be true. So, instead of dismissing the sentiment, he allowed it to take over, embracing the swell of fearlessness it brought.

Suddenly your pants, along with the panties underneath, were being excitedly wrenched down the curve of your ass, Paul having them stripped from your legs within seconds. If anyone walking past peered into the shopfront, they might have seen you draped over the register now completely devoid of clothing. But, you didn’t care. Not when Paul had proceeded to lower himself between your opened thighs, holding them apart with his large hands, his eyes wide and wandering over your cunt.

“Fuck,” he marvelled. With one long stripe, his tongue travelled up the divide, groaning into your centre. “Tastes even better than it looks.”

Leaning on your elbows, you whined as Paul began to gently lap at you, dipping further inside each time, occasionally holding his focus on swirling over your aching clit. It made you whimper and writhe against him, overwhelmed with an incessant need of the release he’d been sparking for what seemed like hours.

“You want to come huh?” Paul spoke out loud. “Grinding your pussy on my face like that?”

“Please! I need it! So, so, badly.”

Ah, that magic word again. “I know,” Paul soothed, having to palm himself over his trousers just to calm some of the impulse to fuck you right then. “You’ve been so good, doing so well. And you’ll get to come real soon. Just promise me one thing okay?”

“Whatever you want,” you heaved, watching while Paul’s fingertips drifted over the slippery flesh, teasing in and out of the folds.

“Be a good girl and ask my permission when you’re about to come. Can you do that?”  

Again, it was only a pitiful moan you could supply as your answer, which this time wasn’t quite enough to satiate the man gliding his touch over you infuriatingly slowly.

“I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell me what you’re going to do.”

Another cry left you as Paul slipped two fingers inside your heat, your mind blurred from the feel of knuckles moving past the edge of your entrance, stretching you open. “Be… Be a good girl… I’ll be your good girl and ask permission.”

Hearing you say the words, Paul was sure he’d never been so hard in his whole existence. It was almost painful, his cock straining against the zipper he was trapped by, but it was a pain he savoured more than ignored. Even if this was as far as he got, if this scene ended with your cum smeared over his lips and nothing more, he would be grateful for the throbbing down below and gladly thank you for it. So, he dove in.

As the duel sensation of Paul’s tongue and fingers rose in their intensity, your back became flush with the marble countertop, only to have it arched as the rippling currents of ecstasy started shooting through your whole body. Muscles twitching, thighs trembling, you were astounded at how proficient he was at drawing your climax to the surface, somehow knowing the motions and spots that brought it ever closer to the point of breaking. Usually, in those uncommon occurrences a man would want to put forth the effort, many minutes would float on while you chased the seemingly unreachable high. Paul needed only a few of them before your breaths turned staggered and toes began to curl, scrambling to find your voice.

“I… I’m… oh god, Paul, you’re going to make me… Please… please let me…”

He didn’t dare to pull away to speak his encouragement out loud, instead silently spurring you along while keeping his pace steady.

Get the words out, you can do it. Just ask the question. I want to see you come. I want to see how pretty you look when you come.

You bolted up, stomach tensing, snatching both sets of fingers into Paul’s hair. With him captured in your stare as more waves of pleasure crested from your core, you turned begging. “Oh please. I’m so… So close… Can I please come? Will you let me come?”

Paul groaned, the vibrations ricocheting outwards, being quick with his reply. “It’s okay, you can come. Come for me baby, come nice and hard for me.”

Back slumping down onto the cold countertop, you did as you were told. Walls clenched around Paul’s fingers in quickened spasms as your coarse sighs filled the balmy atmosphere. He’d never watched something so enthralling, the way your chest rose and fell with sweat clinging to your skin as you rode out the heavenly bliss you’d fallen into. Only when he was positive you’d slipped into the beginning of your afterglow did Paul retreat, resting over your body to place adoring kisses at your forehead and cheek.

“You did so good,” he murmured.

The connection rattled you back into the current reality, moving to rub your palm over his hidden erection. “We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not?”

You were far beyond the point of playing coy. “Can you please fuck me now? I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

Your pleading tone set something alight inside him, dragging you down until your feet made it to the floor and spinning you around in one swift action. Bent at the edge of the desk, a jingle of a belt buckle rung out, finally feeling Paul’s hardness press against your rear. And he felt huge. Thankfully still seeping from your climax, it was with ease he was able to eagerly sink into your waiting cunt, a rousing groan escaping from each of you.

“Oh fuck. You… feel so fucking good.” An arm slinked around your waist to wrench you flush against Paul’s torso, having his panting breath directly in your ear as he continued to drive himself further inside, gradually building his momentum. “Such a tight, wet pussy for me to make mine.”

“It’s yours,” you mewled. “It’s all yours.”

Paul lost his ability to speak, merely producing a growling moan into your neck as the pace and strength of his thrusts amplified, having little restraint left to hold himself back any longer. Repeated lewd, slapping sounds mingled with the coupled moans and whimpers of your collective satisfaction, passion radiating off your bodies in the form of feverish heat. It wasn’t long until you noted the stuttered exhales rushing out of Paul’s chest, a clear sign you didn’t miss.

“Want you to fill me. If… If you want to… You can… Fill me all the way up.”

Sure, it was reckless as all hell, but Paul trusted you like you’d trusted him, and the sound of your begging hit him like a lightning bolt. He lost complete control, plunging harder and faster into you, feeling your ass bounce against him, the pulsing below growing harsher and harsher until finally… release.

His embrace around you was suffocatingly strong as he spilled himself within your walls, sure the grip of his fingers would leave marks to find in the morning. Not that you minded. As the last of his energy dwindled into slackening thrusts, you again felt the dotting of small, sweetened kisses touch your skin, lining the curve of your shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Paul awed, still tracing his palm over your bare flesh. “That was… amazing.”

About to chuckle at his lack of originality, a worrying thought sparked. “Oh my god!” You spun on your heels to encounter a bewildered expression. “The security cameras! They would have filmed everything! Oh god, I’m so fired.”

To your confusion, Paul had a toothy grin spread across his face. “I’ve got some experience in surveillance. I can handle it.”

“Huh? You do?”

He kissed the wrinkled portion of your brow. “I work for the NSA. And I could have sworn there was some suspicious activity occurring in these premises in the last… 30 minutes or so.”

~

Tagging those who might be interested! Sorry if it’s not your jam

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @fathersonandhouseofgucci @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza @millenialcatlady​

[rawbins-undertale-blog]

This is a slight TW question, so feel no obligation to answer:

How would horrortale Sans react to an S/O with an eating disorder?

TW for eating disorder(s) (nearly only ARFID is spoken about, anorexia is mentioned)

If I missed any tags you think I should've included, please tell me.

This may sound a bit strange, but I’ve actually been wanting to write something for this, specifically because I suffer from an eating disorder. I’m not comfortable writing anything with an eating disorder (or any disorder in general) I personally don’t have, mostly because I don’t have the time to give it the proper research it deserves, so I’ll be writing about a lesser known eating disorder, that being ARFID. Let me explain it so people who don’t know what it is will, uh, know what it is lol

ARFID - also commonly called “Selective Eating Disorder” - stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. A lot of people with it are characterised as being “picky eaters”, but it goes to a point where it’s seriously unhealthy and crosses a line that makes it into something more serious. It has to do with sensory processing issues, rather than self-image issues (though self-image issues could also play a part in it I'm pretty sure, but it’s not the main “motivation”). Most people with ARFID actually wish they could go up in weight, but can’t because they can’t make themselves eat. I, for one, desperately wish I could just eat like a normal person, both because it’s very… not convenient to only have around 20 or less meals I can eat (and that list is slimming down as I grow tired of my safe foods*) and also I’m skinny enough to match Papyrus in looks, which isn’t very confidence-inspiring when you’re supposed to be a human and not a sentient magical skeleton, believe it or not. Whereas a person without ARFID could eat most things, including things they don’t really enjoy eating, somebody with ARFID might not be physically able to. For example, I literally throw up food that I don’t like (and I’ve gagged while eating food I do like due to seeing somebody eat something I don’t like and/or just smelling other food nearby). When I'm to try a new food, I have on more than one occasion gotten anxiety attacks. That’s how bad it can be.

*a "safe food" is food you know you can eat without panicking/throwing up/getting triggered in one way or another

I’ll be basing these HCs off of myself, so keep that in mind. You’re free to point out misinformation (and I, in fact, encourage you to point it out if I somehow got something wrong) but I ask that you stay respectful and don’t make fun of this. I doubt it would happen, but this topic means a lot to me and is really serious. So yeah please don’t be rude or invalidate people. Anyways onto the headcanons (which aren’t in the usual format, sorry if that bothers you)

Dusk (HT Sans) wouldn’t really understand. He’s able to eat pretty much anything (not like he had much of a choice for a while) and food is important… But he’ll try to understand. Especially because he can accommodate you. He’ll be fine eating the same meals, however “boring” they are, over and over because like I said: not a picky eater. Any food is good in his book. So long as you’re not restricting him and his food intake and so long as you aren’t dying from starvation and/or malnutrition, you’re free to do whatever.

It does annoy him when you go to social gatherings and you can’t eat the food because it’s not one of your safe foods. He’s not going to let you just starve yourself when there’s perfectly fine food just waiting for you. Not gonna lie, he’s pretty insensitive the first time this happens. Basically, he’ll pull you over when he notices you’re not eating anything and try to convince you to eat. Starts out really gentle and encouraging, but when you don’t budge he becomes increasingly agitated and insistent until he hisses that you’re making a fuss over nothing. Needless to say, you aren’t thrilled and it starts a pretty serious argument that probably ends with you either leaving, starting to cry or blowing up at him. He feels bad when it’s all said and done and apologises, because he realises after some thought that he wasn’t being helpful and he decided to do more research again. Even if he forgot it all like he did the first time he tried researching ARFID, it would have been worth a shot. After that, he’ll instead pack food with him for you whenever you go somewhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s “socially acceptable”, because like I said, you’re not starving if he’s got something to do with it.

He’ll also, after coming around to realise the best he can do to help you isn’t trying to push you out of your comfort zone forcefully, try to make sure there’s always at least one of your safe foods available. Don’t get me wrong though, he’ll still encourage you to expand on your list of safe foods. He’s got memory issues so he sometimes forgets, which he feels really bad about, but he has multiple alarms set to make sure you eat properly for the most part. (He’s got an alarm for nearly every minute of the day and he has his calendar full of things as mundane as “make sure s/o eats” and “do laundry”, by the way.) I have a tendency to skip lunch because I simply don’t like food, but he’d put a stop to that lol

To summarize, the whole thing with you having an ED starts off with the two of you having a rocky start before Dusk comes around to be really good at handling it.

Anyways sorry if you meant an ED like anorexia. I know most people write about things like that, but like I said: I’m not really up for writing things that I have to pour hours of research into to make sure I portray it respectfully and accurately because I don’t have that time or patience. (Or attention span, tbh.) Also, I literally hadn’t heard of ARFID for like… the majority of my life, I’ve only known it’s a “thing” for like. A few months. I really thought I was the only one who was so picky with my food and it made me feel alone and isolated (ESPECIALLY after I went to a "specialist" (not sure if she was actually a specialist anymore because her technique to get me to eat was to give my a small glass that I'd pour sauce into to try it every time it was served which obviously didn't work lmao) to help me when I was like six and she said she’d “never seen somebody this bad” before not giving me a diagnosis (as far as I know)), so if anybody with undiagnosed ARFID is reading this:

you're not alone. I know it’s difficult to deal with this - it can be humiliating and embarrassing and horrible and terrible in so many ways - but you can do it. It’s so hard, so fucking hard to step out of your comfort zone and try to expand on your list of safe foods, but you can do it. I believe in you. You aren’t alone and you can learn to have a healthier diet, please just try. I’ll be honest in that you’re probably never going to completely overcome this, ARFID is something that likely stays with you forever, but you can make it into a smaller problem. You can turn it into something so much smaller and inconsequential that you won't encounter any more embarrassing situations where you can't eat what you're given. To a point where you won't have to use the excuses "I already ate", "I'm not hungry", etc anymore. It’ll take time and patience, but you can do it. Don’t give up, okay? <3

[jerzwriter]

Delaying the Inevitable Chapter 8: Fireworks

Book: Open Heart 3 (Post Series)

Series: Delaying the Inevitable

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Rating: Chapter: Mature 18 +

Summary: Extended Series WIP – Love Triangle. In this chapter: Ethan is away on a month-long business trip; the friends gather for the Fourth of July; Casey and Tobias bond; and who is Floria and what is she up to?

Category: Extended Series (WIP)

Warnings: Discussion of sexual situations; language; discussion of pregnancy

A/N: Hello! This is long, I’m sorry! But I think it was necessary and you should enjoy it. A lot happens in this chapter, and you’ll learn some pretty exciting things. Some readers have asked how Casey, who is a brilliant woman & diagnostician, could be blind to Tobias’s feelings for her. First, she is so in love with Ethan, she isn’t even looking for those signs in anyone else; Second, she is close friends with Tobias, and they are both flirtatious, it’s not very different from her relationship with Bryce, so she doesn’t see anything happening, for now. 😊 I hope you enjoy this week’s chapter.

I wouldn't say this was an inspiration for the chapter, but it certainly expresses Tobias's feelings to me. Freaking poor Tobias, I apologize to him at least 10 times a chapter...

Not In That Way - Sam Smith

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS

If you wish to be added or removed from tags, please let me know. Comments and reblogs always appreciated. 😊

Tobias stared at the door with a sense of dread, he knew he was not turning a doorknob, but peeling the lid off a can of worms that had been buried over a decade ago. How it unearthed was inconsequential to him, his only concern was ensuring that it was submerged again as quickly as possible. Steeling himself, he opened the door to her room.

The privacy curtain encircled her bed and he grimaced as he clutched its fabric in his hand, pausing for a moment before thrusting it to the side.

“Good morning, Floria,” he said in a tone that may have passed for pleasant if his lips had not been pressed together so tightly that they vanished into a thin line across his face.

She blinked when she opened her eyes, clearly bewildered by the figure standing before her. Am I hallucinating? That appeared to be the only explanation, but then again, if she were hallucinating, Tobias Carrick is the last man she would expect to see.

“Tobias Carrick. Is that you?”

“The one and only,” he said sliding into a chair near her bed.

“Wow,” she snickered, “what the hell are the chances?”

“Probably about the same as winning the lottery, but with very different outcomes.”

“It’s lovely to see you again too, Tobias.”

He snorted. “It is something all right. What brings you to Boston, I thought you had settled in Chicago.”

“We did. But Peter accepted a position at Tufts last year.”

“Ah, so you and Peter are still together.”

“Sort of. Six months after moving to this wretched town he advised me that he was leaving me for one of his students. So, I am stuck here until our divorce is final.”

Tobias smirked, “Well, then it looks like you’ll be in Beantown for some time.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. I don’t imagine a quick divorce is on your horizon.”

“That’s a rather bold assumption for someone who hasn’t had contact with me in over a decade. People do change, Tobias.”

“Yes, they do. Have you?”

“I like to think so.”

“Well, since I am overseeing your care, I am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt. I think that approach would be best.”

“Wait? Overseeing my care? I thought Casey was my doctor.”

“Casey? And how, exactly, did you end up on a first-name basis with Dr. MacTavish?”

Floria shrugged. “She was friendly, we got to talking and she told me to call her Casey.”

“Well, she is no longer your physician,” he grinned, “now, you have me! Talk about winning the lottery!”

“Hmm… not the same outcome. Why isn’t she my doctor any longer? No offense Carrick, or offense, it really doesn’t matter, but I would prefer her to you.”

“Is that any way to treat an old friend? Come on, I’m sure you don’t want to be in here any more than I want you to be. So, we have a mutual interest, getting you well and out that door as quickly as possible. Without sacrificing your care, of course.”

She laughed weakly, “We’re old friends now. That’s a laugh. I want Casey…”

He interrupted brusquely, “Dr. MacTavish.”

“…back on my case.”

He ignored her reaction as he read her chart. “According to the tests Dr. MacTavish ordered, it appears you have a foodborne illness that is resistant to antibiotics, a superbug. I am going to order culture and sensitivity testing, this way we can determine what medication will best treat your condition. I’ll keep you on current medications and fluids to control the symptoms until we can get you better… and on your way.”

She sighed heavily.

“Tobias, if I have the slightest suspicion that you are messing with my treatment…”

“Don’t make me add paranoia to your chart, that would undoubtedly lengthen your time here.”

“Still a comedian, I see.”

“It gets me through.

Now, do you have any questions before I go? I have other patients I need to see.”

She smiled condescendingly. “Sure. Let me see…” she said looking him over, “Hmm… I don’t see a ring, did you ever get married?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Still in touch with Ethan?”

“Also, irrelevant.”

“Am I hitting any nerves?”

“You started hitting nerves the moment I heard your name; but don’t worry, I have access to Novocain. So, before I go, do you have any questions regarding your treatment?”

“No, but stop by when you have a little more time, we simply must catch up.”

“Yeah, well. I’m busy. See you, Floria.”

_______________

Casey was surprised at how taken aback she was when she saw Tobias sitting at Ethan’s desk. Although it was only his first day away from the hospital, she already missed him terribly and having their last night together stolen from them didn’t help things. Tobias looked up and immediately recognized the distressed look on her face.

“Morning, Casey. I know what you’re thinking, it’s hard to see someone so good-looking sitting in this chair for a change, but I promise you will adapt. By the time Ramsey is back, you're gonna miss this.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled in spite of herself. “You are such an ass, you know that?”

“Yet I am one of your closest friends. You may want to analyze that. In fact, considering Lahela is also a close friend and you’re dating Ethan, you know, I don’t need to be a psychologist to tell, you’re pretty fucked up Casey. Sienna may be your only saving grace.”

She shook her head, “Sienna is everyone’s saving grace, T. But you, my friend, are incorrigible.”

“It’s part of my charm. So, why are you in early? I swear I told you to come in at 8:00 when I dropped you off last night.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I may as well be here?”

“Couldn’t sleep? I would have thought you’d be out for the count.”

“Yeah, well my stomach was off… now before you tell me then cut back on school nights…”

He stopped what he was doing and folded his hands on the desk, looking directly at her, “Now, Dr. MacTavish, I’m going to paint a scene for you, OK? You’re at Donahue’s, on a school night, you’re having a few, letting loose, laughing a bit, turn to your left, who is seated next to you?”

“Probably you, maybe Bryce, sometimes Jackie.”

He held his hands up, “So do you really think I am going to chide you for that?”

“I guess not.”

He shot her one of those damn near-perfect smiles that gave her chills. Yes, she’s in love with Ethan, but she is not dead.

“I’m glad we cleared that up. So, while Ethan is gone if you’re bored, I can assure you have plenty of people who will be happy to entertain you on school nights, including yours truly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sat at the table and began reviewing her cases for the day.

“Uhm, T, did you take me off the Dawson case?”

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, “I saw you had a lot on your plate, so I took it on.”

“So, you reassigned one of my least complicated cases, to yourself, when your workload has doubled with Ethan gone.”

“It was an administrative decision, Case,” he said dismissively. Casey did not appreciate being dismissed, especially when it came to work-related matters.

“You even took me off as backup? Look, I may not be firing on all cylinders this morning, but I’m still functioning, why don’t you explain what’s going on.”

The uncomfortable look on his face told Casey everything she needed to know. He was hiding something.

“Tobias, you’ve always been upfront with me, please don’t give me a reason to suspect that has changed.”

Frustrated, he stood up and shut the office door. “Come over here,” he said motioning to the couch in the corner of the office.

“I’m going to tell you, but this falls under what happens in the diagnostic team office, stays in the diagnostic team office, OK?”

“Isn’t that just our standard mantra?”

“It’s just a reminder. Did Ethan ever mentioned that we both had a thing for the same woman while we were at Hopkins?”

Casey raised her eyebrows, “He has. Are you telling me that woman is Floria?”

“I am telling you that woman was Flora.”

“Wow,” Casey said stunned, “small world.”

“Sometimes, entirely too small.”

“OK, but if you hadn’t told me, I would have never figured that out and, regardless of that fact, I would still treat her as I would any other patient, and you know that. So this still doesn’t make any sense to me.”

He sighed as his posture stiffened, “Because she is trouble, Casey, and I would prefer if you didn’t interact with her.”

Casey sat back in her chair crossing her arms and legs, “I’m listening.”

Of course, she couldn’t just let it go, this was Casey after all. Normally Tobias found her stubbornness to be one of her most endearing traits, but right now he could have done without it. He began pacing slowly. Just make something up, some stupid excuse, he thought; but then he looked over and saw her eyes fixed on him waiting for a reply. She was right, he valued the fact that she trusted him implicitly, and he did not want that to change. He pulled up a chair.

“Has Ethan told you much about her?”

She chuckled, “Tobias, I didn’t even know her name.”

“Well, then sit back, because we’re about to have storytime, and I will warn you, it’s not a fairy tale.” He rubbed his hand down his face before continuing, “She worked in our advisor’s office, she was young, charming, and very beautiful…”

“She is still very beautiful,” Casey interjected.

He chuckled. “It’s funny, Bryce and I had a conversation about inner beauty being equal to outer beauty recently, let’s just say she is a perfect example of when the two do not match up. Floria loved having two soon-to-be former best friends fighting over her like she was some sort of trophy. The fact that it was eroding our friendship just made it more intoxicating to her. It was all a game and we were too naïve to see we were just pawns. Floria’s only purpose for working at Hopkins was to land a doctor, a successful doctor or one that was known to be a rising star, she wanted to live a comfortable life, with a spouse that wouldn’t be around much so she could pursue… extracurricular activities… and a busy physician seemed to fit that bill. She eventually chose Ethan, and they dated for a little over a year. Later she told me she had preferred me, but selected him because he would be easier to manipulate.”

Casey spit out a bit of her coffee, “Not to interrupt, but she felt Ethan would be more likely to commit? Oh, that’s rich. Was he different then?”

Tobias shrugged. “I don’t know, but she believed so. It was his first serious relationship, and he was just love struck. I always felt he was looking for love he never received from…”

Realizing Tobias didn’t want to say the words, Casey stepped in. “His mother. That’s not abnormal for children who were abandoned.”

“Exactly, and she knew that and used it against him. He was obsessed, if she said jump, he asked how high? She did everything she could to make him insecure, and if he dared to question her about it, she would gaslight him. For someone who was so self-confident when it came to medicine, he was just lost when it came to relationships, so she was right, he was easier to manipulate.”

“It is not that I don’t believe you, T, but… this just sounds so different from the Ethan I know.”

“How do you think he became the Ethan you know? Louise was not the only woman that handed him the bricks he needed to build that wall around himself.”

Casey sighed and shook her head, “You mean the one that I have been throwing my by out trying to help him dismantle?”

Tobias smiled tenderly, “That very one, sweetheart. Anyway… graduation was nearing and if she was going to land him, she had to act quickly. She told him she wanted to follow him when he left for his residency and he was delighted until she made it clear that doing so would require a ring. That was one thing he was not ready to give in on. Marriage scared the hell out of him, and he knew he wasn’t ready, so he said he wanted to wait a while before taking that step. Let’s just say she was displeased that her puppet did not just follow her lead as he had been all along. They didn’t break up, but not because she wanted to stay with him, she was like an animal that plays with its prey before it finally devours it. So, one day, just after they selected an apartment together in Boston, she told him to go to her place and start dinner and that she’d be home soon. It was a setup, she wanted him to walk in on her in bed with our instructor, Dr. Dawson and she went out of her way to make sure Ethan knew she was completely naked except for the large diamond on her left hand. She pretended Ethan came of his own volition and Dawson thought he was an obsessed ex. That put Ethan at risk because Dawson was powerful both at Hopkins and in our profession. If he had made one call, he could have fucked up Ethan’s chances at Edenbrook and beyond. Luckily that didn’t come to pass.”

“Jesus,” Casey gasped.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t the end of it. For a while, he still called her, tried to get her back, and she fucked with his mind something fierce. She told him he was a boy and she needed a man, taunted him about his "mommy" not wanting him, why would he think anyone could ever love him, he would never be able to give a woman what they needed…and more shit like that. The problem was, he was desperate to have her back to prove he was loveable after all, and since she controlled him the entire time they were together, he internalized everything she said. After that, the Ethan we all knew was gone. He withdrew. He was broken. Everyone tried to help but, he was building that wall, and no one was getting in. She was treacherous, Case, and I haven’t seen her in over a decade, but I don’t think people like her change. She moved to Boston not all that long ago and it appears Dawson left her for one of his students. I’m sure that shattered any stability she may have had. I don’t want her anywhere near Ethan or you.”

“Wow. That’s a lot to take in. I certainly wouldn't associate with her, but we’re doctors, Tobias, we’re supposed to treat anyone who needs our care. But, considering all this, do you think you should be treating her? Maybe it’s best to toss this one back to Dr. Reynolds?”

“I want to keep an eye on her. I got her labs back this morning, it looks like a drug-resistant super-bug, and I can probably get her out of here within 2-weeks and make sure she is long gone before Ethan gets back. I want her on my radar.”

“Does she know Ethan is at Edenbrook? I mean, she knew his residency was and he isn’t exactly low profile.”

“I can’t say with any certainty. I am fairly confident she doesn’t know about your relationship with him, and we should keep it that way. Casey, can you please just trust me on this? Please.”

“Of course. You know I trust you and if you feel so strongly…”

“I do. Ahh, I didn’t expect this to be such an angst-filled morning.”

“Ehh, we work in a hospital. Angst is our life.” She gave Tobias a quick hug, “Thank you for sharing all of this with me. And, while I am a big girl, it does mean a lot to me that you care enough to look out for me… and for Ethan.”

He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “Well, that’s what friends do. Now, enough of this bullshit, on to something more pleasant. Are you coming to my 4th of July party this weekend or what? All of your roommates, as well as Raf and Bryce, have responded, but not you and, frankly, I’m insulted.”

“I assumed it was a given! Of course, I’ll be there! The best company and, according to Bryce, the best view in Boston. Also, I’m dying to see your place; I heard it is breathtaking.”

“It’s adequate.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, that’s how Bryce described it. I guess I’ll see for myself.”

_______________

Bryce and Raf strung twinkling red, white, and blue lights around the perimeter of Tobias’s palatial apartment. He did not feel they were necessary, but he could no longer bear to hear Bryce going on about the importance of a festive environment, so it was just easier to let him have his way. Tobias made sure that the bar was fully stocked and was preparing food for the buffet table when Casey arrived with Aurora, Sienna, and Jackie in tow.

“Hey ladies, welcome to my new digs!”

“Holy crap! Bryce did not exaggerate; this place is amazing!” Sienna squealed.

“Jesus, T,” Jackie gushed, “I thought Ramsey’s place was next level, but this is insane.”

“It’s ade…”

“Tobias, if you call this palace adequate one more time, so help me…this is not merely adequate.” Casey scolded.

“OK, fine. It’s a fucking amazing apartment, is that better?” he laughed.

“Much!”

Raf agreed, “I have been in Boston my whole life and I've never seen a view like this.”

“Yeah, we won’t have to fight for a good seat to see the fireworks tonight!” Aurora agreed.

“Well, if you still want a friendly competition, I do have a balcony off my bedroom. Four can fit out there comfortably, so you can fight over who gets to sit there if you like."

“Goddamn, a balcony too!” Jackie said, “I want to see the rest of this place!”

“The grand tour will commence when the food is done.”

“Well, then let me give you a hand. I mean, being your favorite co-worker alone should guarantee me a balcony spot, but I’m not taking any chances. I was the first to offer T, remember that” she said pointing a celery stalk at him with a smirk. “So, am I on veggie chopping duty?”

“Sure, I’ll make the dip. Teamwork!” he said giving her a high-five.

“You know, when determining who gets the VIP section, I think you should remember who provided these stunning decorations and who tolerates your shit the most,” Bryce said with a nod.

“That’s some mutual tolerating there, Bud!”

“So, what made you decide to upgrade, T? I mean, this is a lot of space for one person, you getting to that settling down with a family age?” Elijah laughed.

“What the fuck Elijah? Personal much? Why don’t you just ask his favorite sex position while you’re at it!” Jackie chided.

Tobias burst out laughing, “Really it’s OK, no offense taken. No, Elijah, I am not currently looking to start a family, I just wanted my dream place and I figured, I’m nearing 40 what was I waiting for? And Jackie, for the record, it is the g-whiz.”

“G-whiz, I’ve never heard of that one. Bryce, hand me my phone, I need to Google this shit,” Elijah said eagerly.

“You don’t know the freaking g-whiz?” Bryce said incredulously, “That’s it, party game, we’re playing Pictionary – sex positions edition!”

“God, I hope you’re joking Bryce,” Sienna said blushing.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to leave this room now” Casey added.

“You can’t, you’re helping with the food,” Tobias stuck a carrot stick in dip and dabbed it on Casey’s nose.

“Seriously T, you do that knowing I am not going to retaliate in this gorgeous kitchen.”

“That’s why I did it,” he smirked.

After the food was prepared Tobias gave a grand tour, everyone was beyond impressed, but Jackie had a plan of action.

“You know our lease is up at the end of September, so I will just take the larger guest room T. I mean, I’ll even take the smaller one, I’m not picky.”

“The problem is, once I take one of you in, I have to take all of you in, and I just can’t put up with Lahela that much. But I have been meaning to ask, where are you all going now that your residencies are ending? I haven’t gotten the lowdown yet?”

“We’re all staying pretty close, which has me so happy!” Sienna beamed.

“Yeah, well, you know about me!” Casey said, “Jackie and Sienna are also staying on at Edenbrook, Aurora is heading to Brigham, so she’s still in Boston, and Elijah is abandoning us for Yale/New Haven, but he’s within driving distance, so yeah, we’re all pretty happy that the gang is kind of staying together.”

“So are the four of you keeping the same place with Elijah leaving?” Raf asked.

“Jackie, Aurora, and I are going to get a new place together, time for an upgrade,” Sienna said.

“Yeah, and Casey is abandoning us to go live in sin with Ramsey!” Jackie laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Tobias said a bit ruefully.

Casey felt guilt welling inside her. Tobias is her good friend, yet he learned that she and Ethan were in a relationship when they formally announced it to the team, and, now this is how he learned that they were moving in together. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t mentioned it T. It’s only because, officially, it’s still a way off. I’m staying at my place for the most part until the lease is up.”

Noticing the dynamic between the two, Sienna and Jackie exchanged a perplexed look.

“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation, Case.” Tobias chuckled trying to recover, “It’s great news. I have to give you credit, you’re almost making the man almost human!”

“It’s been a Herculean task but, someone’s gotta do it! But on to the important business at hand! It’s beginning to get dark, when will you announce that I am sitting on the balcony.”

“Ah, that!” Tobias stood and grabbed a bowl and off the counter. “I put each of our names in here, the first four I pick get balcony seating.”

“Four? Pick three!” Aurora stated, “You’re the host, you should be out there!”

“I agree with Aurora!” Raf said, “Just make sure I’m one of the three that you pick!”

“OK, three it is then. Now, the moment of truth! Who will the lucky winners be! And remember, you will be lucky because you’ll be watching with me, it has nothing to do with the balcony!” Tobias said with a smirk.

“The company being a winning factor will only factual if I end up on the balcony too, T!” Bryce winked.

“Now that we let Scalpel Jockey get the last word in, the first lucky winner is…. Sienna!”

“Woo-hoo!”

“The second spot goes to… Elijah!”

“Ha-ha! Suckers!”

“OK, and the final winner is…” he selected…Jackie. But he said, “Casey.”

“As well it should be!!!”

“OK, I suggest we refill our drinks because the fireworks will be starting any moment."

Everyone followed Tobias to the kitchen, except for Bryce. He was suspicious. He noticed that Tobias crumpled the three winning names together and tossed them on an end table, he surreptitiously picked them up: Sienna, Elijah, Jackie. He looked over at his friend sitting at the kitchen counter, beaming as he engaged in a lively conversation with Casey. Bud, what the hell are you doing?

“OK losers, I’m heading to the balcony to watch the fireworks!” Elijah yelled.

“Does he realize we have the same view, but we have air conditioning?” Aurora asked.

“Juveniles,” Jackie responded.

As Casey made her way to the balcony, she stumbled into a wall.

“Hey, you OK Case?” Sienna asked concerned.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” she said rubbing her head, “just a little woozy.”

“Have you had a lot to drink?” Tobias asked.

“Just one beer. My stomach has been off, so I stuck with seltzer.”

“You’re probably just exhausted. Sit over here,” Tobias said motioning to a set of plush chairs in the corner of the balcony.

“I think I will.”

“Sienna, why don’t you take the other.”

“No, T. I’ve been sitting all day, I’d rather stand at the railing anyway, I’m short.”

“Sienna,” Casey laughed, “you will see just as well from here.”

“Casey! I want a front-row seat,” she said stamping her foot.

“Well, then I guess this seat is reserved for the old man of the group!” Tobias said falling back into it.

Casey turned to him and smiled, “This is just perfect Tobias, thanks so much for inviting us.”

“Hey, you know you’re welcome anytime, kid.”

The fireworks began right on schedule. The resplendent colors exploding over the Boston skyline were truly a sight to behold and Tobias’s apartment provided an unparalleled view. Everyone stood transfixed at the dazzling display taking place above them, everyone except for Tobias. As far as he was concerned the most enchanting sight that evening could not be found in the night sky, for she was already seated beside him. Casey’s expression was as joyful as a child seeing their presents under the tree on Christmas morning, her smile was captivating, and the fireworks were casting bright colors onto her face, transforming her into a work of art, she took his breath away. He knew he should not stare but found it impossible to divert his gaze. How many nights had he sat in that very spot dreaming of her sitting at his side? How could he possibly turn away now that she was there? He found his heart both full, then shattered within the same moment; he knew he had to let go of his feelings for Casey, but he had no idea how or even if it was possible at all.

As the evening dwindled, everyone offered to help clean up, but Tobias insisted he had it covered. Bryce pointed out he was responsible for the amazing décor so he should stay and take it down and Tobias couldn’t argue with that. Once everyone made their way out, Tobias grabbed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and tossed one Bryce’s way.

“Why don’t we take a load off for a few before we clean this mess up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bryce said taking a seat at the counter “and while we do that, why don’t you explain this to me?” He tossed the crumpled names Tobias’s way.

He sighed, “It’s not a capital offense, Bryce,”

“I didn’t say it was, but…”

“Bryce, before start scolding me, we sat together on a balcony. I wasn’t making moves on her and, even if I was stupid enough to do so, she is madly in love with Ethan, remember? Nothing is happening here Bryce.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You did this to be close to her, to have more time with her, and how is that going to help you move past this? The longer this goes on, the worse it will be.”

Tobias took the pillow next to him and tossed it to the other end of the couch, clearly frustrated. “Bryce, let me ask you something. Do you know the secret to just turning your feelings off? Because, if you do, please share it with me, because I don’t how. I love her Bryce. There, I finally said the words out loud, I love her and don’t know how I just turn that off.”

“I know you do," Bryce said sympathetically, "you didn’t need to say the words, I can see it. I feel for you, man, and I wish I had the answers, but one thing I know is you looking for opportunities to be closer to her… you’re playing with fire, and it is only a matter of time before someone gets burned. You’re acting like you’re in control, but you’re not.”

“I’m fine Bryce. She’s one of my best friends, I am not going to stop spending time with her. We discussed that.”

Bryce shook his head.

“What?” Tobias said, clearly becoming annoyed.

“Nothing man, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

_______________

Two Weeks Later

Tobias sat at Ethan’s desk, he would be returning this seat to his boss and friend in just one week, and it could not come soon enough. It had nothing to do with the increased and more complex workload he inherited, he had handled that with aplomb earning praise from Naveen and gratitude from Ethan. But he needed Ethan’s presence to serve as a reminder that Casey only belonged to one person, and that was Ethan. His absence made it too easy for Tobias to deceive himself. The camaraderie and strong affection he and Casey shared had led patients and others to falsely believe that they were more than friends in the past, now Tobias realized that left unguarded, it could cause him to deceive himself as well. He needed Ethan back.

He looked at his watch: 12:35. Casey was meeting him in the office for a working lunch at 1:00, he told her he would arrange the food. Fusili carbonara and chicken piccata from Antonio’s. Why wouldn’t he get her two favorite dishes from her favorite restaurant near the hospital? Bryce was right, he was not in control.

When he returned to the office Casey was seated at the table appearing very tired and anxious. Yet another reason Tobias was eager for Ethan to get home, everyone was overworked, but it seemed to be taking a toll on Casey most of all.

“Hey Case, I got your favorites here.”

“Is this Antonio’s?” she asked.

“Yeah, I figured we may as well eat well.”

She only offered a weak smile as she placed a minuscule piece of chicken and a couple of tablespoons of fusilli on her plate. Tobias raised a brow, typically food from Antonio’s elicited a reaction similar to what the team now called the Memorial Day bagel lust incident.

“Everything OK, kid? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine. I’m reviewing the notes for the new admit, want to go over them together.”

“Well, sure, that’s why we’re here, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

She lifted a forkful of fusilli to her mouth and, gagging, immediately spit it out. After gulping down some water she said, “Tobias, taste your fusilli, is there something wrong with it.”

He took a forkful. “No, same as always to me.”

He watched as her face grimaced, she was trying hard to conceal it, so he didn’t dare bring it up.

They began reviewing the new patient's records, but Casey was not fully present.

Without a word, Casey lowered her face into her hands and said, “Tobias, I need a friend.”

He jumped up and moved across the table to sit next to her, he looked at her with worry etched on his face, “Hey, what’s up, Casey, I’m here.”

“What happens here, stays here mode in effect right?”

“You can always trust me.”

She diverted her eyes. “I’m late.”

“For what, we don’t have to meet until…. ohhh… do you mean…”

“Yep. That late. I just realized today; I’ve been so busy I lost track of time and…” she trailed off as she tried not to cry.

“OK,” he said placing a hand on her back, “Have you tested?”

“Nope. I was hoping ignoring it would make it go away.”

“Yeah, um, you’re a doctor you know it doesn’t work that way.”

She shot him a look and he took note that this was not the time for sarcasm.

“I am late. Then there are my stomach issues, and not being able to eat my favorite fusilli, thank you for getting that by the way…”

“Don’t mention it…”

“I mean and I’m crying a lot, like now, I’m going to cry and I .. I…” she closed her eyes to prevent tears from falling.

“Come here,” he said taking her in his arms. “Casey, let’s go downstairs and get you tested. You have to know what you’re dealing with and, right now you don’t, you could be worrying yourself over nothing.”

“NO! I don’t want to go downstairs. I don’t need the entire hospital talking about this!”

He looked at his phone. “Inez is on duty. You can talk to her; you know she can be trusted.”

“OK. Will you come with me?”

“That was never even a question, let’s go.”

As expected, Inez was helpful and understanding. Unfortunately, the lab was backed up and it would take about an hour for the results to come in.

“That’s not a problem,” Tobias told Casey, “we’re going to the office and I’ll clear our schedules for the next hour.”

“T, you really don’t…”

“It’s not up for discussion, come on.”

Tobias locked the office door.

“OK, why don’t you lie down on the couch, you should rest.”

“Rest isn’t likely right now Tobias.”

“Have you told Ethan?”

She shook her head as she clenched her eyes shut. “No, if it’s positive I’ll tell him, but if not, there is no need.”

“Casey, he loves you and this involves him, I think you should…”

“He’ll be mad at me, it’s my fault.”

Tobias didn’t mean to but a small smile spread on his lips, “Casey, he knows how this works and the fault would be assigned to him too.”

“You don’t understand we were at.. uhm, I’ll spare you the details.”

“Thank you. But whatever they are, Case, I know Ethan would never be mad at you over this.”

“I know, I’m just scared. Plus, he is so busy, when I do get to talk to him he is just exhausted so, I don’t want to worry him unless I have to.”

“Well, how about this, let’s get the results back and take it from there.”

She nodded.

“What can I do to help you now?”

“Can we talk? Unrelated stuff. I need the distraction.”

“Sure,” he said taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“OK, what should we talk about?” She asked.

“Your pick.”

After a moment she appeared excited to have thought of a topic.

“OK. Tobias, what made you decide to become a doctor?”

“Random, but OK. My grandfather was a biologist, my dad was a pediatrician, and my mom is a nurse, so you can see there is a little history there.”

“Really? I had no idea. How did I not know this?”

“Because I never told you, he laughed. “So, what inspired you? Doctors in your family?”

“Oh, no, not at all. But, in a way, my grandfather was responsible for me wanting to be a doctor.”

“How so?”

“He had this old toy doctor's kit; it was his from when he was a child. I was obsessed with it. It was a metal box containing a toy stethoscope, thermometer, and knee hammer. He even painted it purple for me, my favorite color. I’m sure it was considered totally unsafe by the time I was using it” she said with a laugh. “I examined my parents, grandparents, pets, stuffed animals, you name it. That’s when I started telling everyone I was going to be a doctor.”

He smiled, “Your story is much better than mine.”

“Yeah, I always said I would display it when I became a doctor myself.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She shrugged, “It got lost when my family moved, what are you going to do? Has it been an hour yet?”

He laughed, “You know it hasn’t.”

“OK, so what else can we talk about… oh, I know. How did your lunch with Ethan go? I asked him, but you know, I got a ‘very well’ and he moved on.”

“It was really nice. He said you were the inspiration.”

“Me? How so?”

“Because you’re important to both of us and he felt we should repair our relationship. I’m really glad because I realized I miss him and I’m glad we are friends again.”

She smiled. “That makes me so happy. You know, you’re both really special to me too, in case you didn’t notice.”

He grinned, “I did.”

“T, thanks for staying with me.”

“Hey, no place else I would be.”

She smiled, “How are you still single? You’re just amazing …” she trailed when she saw his face fall a bit, “Oh, I’m sorry, that was inappropriate…”

He interrupted her, “Case, it is fine, if you were just my co-worker it might be inappropriate, but you’re my friend. I’m sitting here with you waiting on a pregnancy test result, I think that qualifies as more intimate than asking me why I am single.”

“True. OK, then why are you?” she said with a giggle.

He sat in silence, considering his answer, “I spent most of my adult life avoiding anything serious, it just didn’t want that. But right now… I’m just not up for it yet.”

“You still care for her, the woman you told me about, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

He put on a wistful smile, “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“And you’re sure she’s not interested.”

“150%. She is just… she’s very special, and it is going to take some time to get over her. It wouldn’t be fair for me to date others when I feel this way, so I’m off the market for now. I will let you know as soon as I decide to get back out there.”

“Tobias, I’m so sorry. I wish you could have been there for you when all this was happening, I feel like a shitty friend. But I’m here for you now.”

“You’re not shitty friend, it wasn’t something I wanted to share. That’s not on you or anyone else.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think she’s an idiot.”

He swallowed, “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that. But you don’t need to worry about me.”

“So says the man sitting here worrying about me. What did you say earlier, that’s what friends do.”

Just then she got a text. “It’s Inez,” she said running to get her laptop “she rushed my labs. She is a freaking angel.”

Casey tapped ferociously at the keyboard to pull up her chart… “YES!” she said spinning around in the chair, “Two tests, both negative. Oh, thank God.”

“See, I told you to stay positive. Well, in this case, you didn’t want positive, but… you know what I mean.”

“Oh, thank God! I would have freaking died. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that right now.”

“That’s not true, you handle whatever is thrown at you with grace. Besides, having a little Casey out there would have made the world a better place in my opinion. Now, another little Ethan, hmm.. that’s up for debate.”

She pushed his shoulder and laughed.

“But I get it’s not the right time. I’m happy for you, and I want you to take the rest of the day off.”

“Normally I would disagree, but I think I will take you up on that today."

She stopped before heading out the door.

"Hey, T, if you get out at a decent time, want to come over and watch a movie together or something. Sienna and Jackie are working the late shift tonight, Aurora has a date and Elijah hasn’t been home a lot lately…”

“Do you not want to be alone?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“I just … I have a lot to get done here. But our friendly neighborhood Scalpel Jockey text me a while ago to see if I wanted to hang out tonight. I’m sure he’d be down for some friend time with you, why don’t you give him a buzz.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you for today, Tobias. Seriously, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

“It’s nothing, go rest. Text Bryce!”

He stared out the window after she left the room. Phone in hand, it took all his willpower to stop himself from texting her saying he was free after all. His heart and his head were competing for control, and his head finally won.

His phone rang: INCOMING: Ethan

“Hey, buddy, how are things going at Mayo?”

“They’re going well, lots of good things accomplished here. But I can’t wait to get home.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for you to be back too.”

_______________

Sienna was sitting at the nurse’s station yawning. She was one of the few people who didn’t hate the night shift because she enjoyed the relative quiet, but she was just too tired today. She started walking down the hall to get a cup of coffee when Jackie came running up behind her.

“Hey Si, wait up! Do you know if Casey is at home, or is she staying over Ethan’s tonight?”

“I think she’s home, not much sense in staying at Ethan’s until he is back from Mayo. Plus, if she wants to spend more time with us before moving in with him, her time is running out,” she laughed.

“Oh, good! I left my phone home by mistake; I was hoping she could run it over to me. Could you call her and ask for me?”

"Sure thing! I’ll do it now.”

Floria had been laying in bed, wide awake and overheard the conversation in the quiet hallway. She sat up, took out her phone and Googled Ethan Ramsey. A smirk spread across her face. So, Ethan is here at Edenbrook. “My boyfriend is the opera aficionado …” “or is Casey staying at Ethan’s tonight?” Interesting. Very interesting. She began typing a text:

Dr. Reynolds, I have changed my mind, I think I would like to discuss that offer with you after all.

Placing the phone down on the nightstand, she rolled over and made herself comfortable. A smile spread across her face.

Supplemental chapter: Experience Casdy & Ethan's 🔥 reunion before chapter 9 begins NSWF/ 18 + Good to be home...

Chapter 9: What Tomorrow Holds

Series Masterlist

@adiehardfan @barbean @binny1985 @bluerosesbloom @brokenmemoriesblog @charisworld @chemist-ana @coffeeheartaddict @custaroonie @darkswagamerpiratecowboyclown @dottie-minerva-mikas

@everybodyscreamsposts @ianna47 @katrinegrey @kat-tia801 @kiwiloss @lady-calypso @liaromancewriter @mjlbwork @moonplaychoices @mysticaurathings @panda9584 @parisa-kh @personthatlovesshippings @rosilyjj @scapsbru99 @schnitzelbutterfingers @secretaryunpaid @shanzay44 @shewillreadyou @shygirl4295 @vika-rafa @youlookappropriate @alina-yol-ramsey @jc-ckie-blog @codykosuckmytoe @dorisz

@chaoticchopshopheart @swiminthegarden @imma-too-many-fandoms @queencarb @choicesaddict5 @teenagecaliforniadreamers @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @kachris

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Mice in the Walls

CW: stalking, implied parental abuse, implied victim cutting ties with abuser, captivity, “it” as a pronoun meant to demean, choking, hitting, implied delusions, angry whumper, controlling whumper. 

Please read the CWs on this one. I’ll be more than happy to give you a general summary if you need (will probably do so anyway) let me know if you want a specific tag, and I’ll tag everything with this topic “Bernard tw” as he’s the culprit. 

Stay Safe loves, and do what’s best for you. 

[First Part] 

The doorbell rang and Bernard took a breath. As he opened the door, he put on his smile. The friendly smile, the inviting smile. The one he used at work and for the cashier at the checkout lane.

The mask. 

“Steven! How the hell are you?” he asked cheerfully, reaching out for a firm handshake. 

“Doing well, life’s just a joy.” The body smiled back at him, cheap wine in its hand and absurdly  ignorant of how pedestrian and mediocre its life was. Bernards eye’s skimmed over the man’s obnoxious shirt pattern, its ill filling slacks and cheap shoe polish before opening the door wider and gesturing it in with a smile. 

“Well, I didn’t invite you over just to stand on my porch! Come on in, lunch’s almost ready.” He had prepared some simple things, mostly store bought. He had no intention of trying to impress this pawn. 

“So Bernie, what’s new in the Wright household?” Steven asked lightly, setting down the bottle of wine and peering at the others displayed. Perhaps it would spark some recognition of how abject of a gift that had been. 

Bernard doubted. 

“Nothing much, Steve. Just livin the good life,” he recited as he ventured into the kitchen. 

“How’s Adam doing?” 

Bernard kept his back to the man, dishing out the potato salad. 

“Oh good, getting ready to graduate.” 

He could feel Steven pause behind him. 

“Oh? I thought something got jostled when he moved schools?” 

He bristled. Adam had moved, again. Always moving, blocking his numbers, spreading lies about him. How did he not realize that he just wanted the best for him? That he could help, that he could be a resource? The world wasn’t what Adam though it was, it was dangerous and hateful and-

The plastic container cracked. 

“What was that?” Steven asked, popping its head over Bernard’s shoulder. 

“Damn cheap plastic. Good thing I already got some out, eh?” His voice was pitched light and jovial, softly concealing his rage.  He put the now broken container to the side and picked up the bowl to set on the table between them. 

Bernard ate almost in silence, the body across from him droning on and on about the most inconsequential, mundane things. Its wife, its car, the remodeling of its house. It was pitiful. Nearly fifty-years of existence with only the most boring of conversations to show for it. Surface level, meaningless accolades that only made it seem more pathetic for how much it cared. 

The only time he found himself truly paying attention was when the conversation turned to the man’s daughters. They were also highly inconsequential, but they were the link that he had been searching for. 

They knew Adam. 

“Kesly is doing great, just about to finish high school. Man, can you believe it? Feels like just yesterday she was playing princess and pirate and now my baby’s going to college. Maddie’s just made varsity at her school.” 

Steven took another sip of its drink and winked conspiratorially at Bernard. “If Adam still plays then maybe they’ll face off some time, eh? She used to to whip his butt when they played in middle school.” 

Bernard squinted slightly with a toothy smile. “Only because he let her. And he’s gotten far better over the years.” He hadn’t seen Adam play since then, but he could only assume that his skill had improved over time.  

He took another bite of his lunch and made a mental note to find Maddie’s school and locate what colleges were in the district for lacrosse. 

Irritatedly, the conversation shifted to something pointless again and Bernard was left to wait until it could be useful. As the time dragged on, there was a dull thud from somewhere higher in the house. 

“What was that?” Steven asked, turning around its chair to look behind and above him. 

The fork bent under Bernard’s hand. 

“I didn’t hear anything.” 

Steven shook its head, wiping its mouth with its napkin. “No, no there was definitely a noise.” 

“Oh, that,” he replied casually, taking an even breath. “There’s mice in the attic.” 

A huff. “Sounds like pretty big mice to me. I can call a buddy out if you ever need anyone to do something about it. He’ll do it real cheap, too.”

Bernard waved him away, keeping the utensil under the table and bending back to its correct shape. “No, no need. I’m handling it myself.” 

They continued to chat uselessly, meaninglessly, until Steven finally decided it had wasted enough air here and would go be pointless somewhere else. Bernard watched him leave, said the expected this was great, we need to do it again soon, see you later before locking the door, finally free of such a useless creature. 

Teddy was hiding. Or at least, closest that he got to hiding with the chain giving his location away. He was between the bed and the wall, in the small space where the roof met the floor. 

He had been reading, laying on the bed trying to get lost in the book he had already read a million times. Maybe it had worked, considering that he had fallen asleep. The book fell. 

Now he was shivering in his only hiding place, desperately hoping that no-one had been home. He wished he knew what day it was, he wished he knew the man’s schedule, he could tell went it was safe. But no, there was no safety here, no regular pattern for him to latch onto. It was hell. 

The locked clatter and the ladder slunk down, filling him with fear. He was here, he had heard it. Teddy curled a hand around the bedpost. 

“Come out.” 

He didn’t, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go back in the coal shed, didn’t want to be punished. It was an accident, and even then he was afraid that the nearly-memorized books would be taken away. 

“Now,” the man growled. Teddy shook his head and held on harder. 

Bernard groaned and wrapped the chain around his hand once, then twice, then pulled. The boy was still holding on so Bernard pulled again, harder this time. There was a small cry and a dragging noise as Teddy was pulled from behind the bed. 

Bernard looked down at him and only one thought screamed back in his head. 

Adam moved. 

Adam had moved again. 

He had moved, and blocked his number, his profiles, ever way that Bernard could contact his son were shut down, forbidden from him. He cut him out, disrespected him, shamed him left him to suffer through hours of meaningless conversation just for the smallest bits of information. 

Looking down, Bernard couldn’t contain his anger any longer. 

“You switched schools? Again? Without consulting with me? You ungrateful bastard,” he sneered, kicking the boy in his ribs. He yelped, eyes wide with fear. Good. He should be afraid, he should be ashamed of his pathetic behavior. He had been taught better than to disrespect him like this.

Teddy coughed and froze, tears starting to pour from his eyes. No, no no not this again. “Please,” he coughed, rolling onto his side. “Please I’m not Adam.” Every cough hurt, sending little bolts of pain through his chest and side. Still, he looked up to the man, staring into the steel cold eyes. 

“M-My name is Theodore Ramirez,” he rambled quickly, not for the first time. “My parents are Diana and Jonathan, they live in-” 

“NO!” The man shouted, pinning it down and wrapping his hands around its neck. No! No, no no no this! Stop! He squeezed, putting more and more weight on it’s thin throat. He would make it stop. 

Teddy wheezed, shoulders pinned down by the man’s knees. He was on top of him, he was choking him, he was killing him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Struggling was useless, the man being so much larger than him. His clipped nails left practically no marks, drew no blood. 

“Don’t. You. Ever say that again,” growled, lifting its neck to slam it back into the wood. “Never. You are Adam, and you’re going to stay this time.” He loosened his grip the slightest bit. 

“Understand?” His question only had one correct answer. Teddy knew it, didn’t have enough air left to deny it. His head still spun from the blows, a loud ringing obstructing some of the words. 

“Y-Yes,” he managed, only the ghost of a noise. “Yes, I’m Adam. I’m sorry - I’m Adam.” The pressure let up more and more as he complied. By the end, the man was only resting his hands over the boy’s throat. 

Bernard signed and raised a hand to brush it across Adam’s cheek gently. “There. See, things are so much better when you stop lying. Let me take care of you, keep you safe.” 

The boy coughed and cried underneath him, never leaving him again.

~~

taggy boissss @whump-me-all-night-long @starnight-whump @highwaywhump @panic-and-chaos @as-a-matter-of-whump @cowboy-anon @just-a-raccoon-in-a-party-hat @milk-carton-whump

[yoonsshadow]

ETERNAL - i

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; murder, death, violence, blood, guns, burnt bodies, nudity [nonsexual], nightmares, drugs? [sleeping pills], a bunch of boys being in love

➳ word count ; 4.8k

➳ note ; I watched The Old Guard on Netflix [a serious recommend if you haven’t already seen it] and got hit with major inspiration. Nothing better than found-family and immortal soulmates. I put of a lot of time, effort and love into this, so please treat it with delicate hands. And please, please, give me feedback if you like it. Thank you, and enjoy :)

They have done this before, enough times—too many times—to be familiar with the routine. 

The nightmares, all too vivid and yet frustratingly vague, of blood and pain and death. Glimpses of a face they have never seen, memories that do not belong to them. The lingering thoughts of why another, why now, why at all?

They have done this many times, and yet it never gets easier, never makes sense.

⎯⎯⎯

When they submit to the clutches of slumber, it is beneath the glowing moonlight that shines through the broken ceiling of an abandoned church. Overgrown with vines that hold the crumbling walls together and hidden behind bushes and weeds and shadows, this building will be safe, for them. For now. It may not provide much warmth, or much shelter, but it gives them a sense of anonymity that they so desperately depend on. Right now, it hides them from the world. They are nothing but each other’s, so long as they are here.

Usually, sleep brings peace. Long ago did they learn how to banish demons from their dreams, memories of pasts both true and terrible, and so through sleep they find temporary solace from the demands of their long lives. They hold each other in their warm arms, forget about their worries if only for a brief moment. They are but seven men, seven soulmates, seven loves, existing together without burden.

Until tonight.

It is familiar, the weight that descends upon their chests, pushes against their rib cages. An invisible force both squeezing them and pulling them apart, flooding them with vague images, sounds, feelings. In sleep, they hold each other tighter, safer, but they cannot escape the myriad of memories and thoughts that fill their minds.

A pair of eyes, so brown that they are pure, so dark that they are nearly black, blink at them as sweat begins to shine upon their skin. These eyes are young, but they hold wisdom, maturity, that can only come with death. Witnessing it, causing it, experiencing it. These eyes are filled with desperation in this moment, but also a stubborn determination; they know what is coming, and yet they will continue to fight until their dying breath, as they vowed⎯⎯

⎯⎯a uniform, black, stained with dirt and blood, without any identifying marks. No dog-tags, but a tan line around a soft neck where they would normally hang. Trained muscles behind firm fabric, knowledgeable fingers clutching a military assault rifle. Steel-toed boots, scuffs through the polish, dirt in the seams and drops of red in the laces⎯⎯

⎯⎯heart beating through chest, adrenaline spiking, but something’s wrong, this isn’t supposed to happen, how did they know we were coming? Need to get out, need to get to cover, need to save⎯⎯

⎯⎯the enemies found them, caught them, have them, bound and bloodied in a dark cave or dungeon, they can’t tell. Chains rattle against stone where bodies shift for comfort, but no comfort can be found for bleeding wounds, broken bones, bruised skin. Eyes connect, know they’re saying goodbye, can’t speak but wish they could say something, apologise, curse, plead, pray. By the time footsteps stomp their way in, handgun cocked and aimed at their foreheads, they have already accepted that⎯⎯

Gasps echo in the silence as seven bodies jerk awake, trembling and sweating and aching with pains that another is experiencing. Their minds are still clouded, submerged within their dreams, but they know this routine. They know what they have just seen.

Hands scramble beneath their makeshift bedding as they reach for their journals, their pens, and begin to scribble whatever details they can remember ⎯ eyes, blood, pain, death. They’ve all clung to different images, and they desperately remember everything they can before it washes away with their wakeful clarity.

“I saw, um, eyes,” chokes the youngest, his pencil already sketching the eyelashes with careful precision. “Brown, dark. Looked like a girl’s.”

“She had to be military,” says another. “Maybe special forces? No insignia on the uniform and dog-tags were taken off. Black-ops?”

“I saw a glimpse of a scar on her hand. Might help to identify her.”

“There were others, too; a team. I have a feeling she was the leader.”

“It was a rescue operation, but I don’t think they succeeded. The enemies saw them coming. She was confused as to how.”

“Did you see the gun she was shot with? That’s military grade. It was either supplied by somebody on the force, or they were the force.”

“God, I have a headache.” Seokjin rubs his temples, a pain lingering behind his eyes but never ceding. “Never thought after three-hundred years that we’d get another one.”

Arms curl around him, a sigh breathed into his neck. “Me too, hyung.” Jeongguk nuzzles closer, finds comfort in the warmth of his lover’s broad shoulders. “I feel sorry for her. Now she’s going to have to deal with this too.”

“Hey, what did I say about pessimism?” Namjoon’s pointed look is directed towards the youngest, but the words are for everybody to hear. A reminder. “Our lives may be long, and hard, and difficult to deal with at times. But we have the opportunity to help people, to affect change, and, most importantly,” his eyes soften, “to have each other.”

“Wah, hyung’s going soft on us,” Taehyung grins, leaning his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.

Behind him, Jimin clings around his torso like a koala. “Yeah, those are big words for somebody who so often tells us how insufferable we are,” he agrees.

Sitting up, Yoongi joins the conversation with a voice still deep with sleep. “That’s because you are insufferable. But that doesn’t mean that hyungs love you any less. Eternal life would be extremely dull if we didn’t have you annoying us constantly.”

Taehyung and Jimin smile at each other, eyes glittering with something devious, and something close to love. “You all just bore witness to that,” Jimin says, pointing at Yoongi. “You all heard him say that, so you can’t yell at us for being annoying ever again!”

“Free pass!” Taehyung agrees.

Hoseok, still lounging his head in Yoongi’s lap, rolls his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung said it, but none of us did, so we can, and will, still yell at you.”

The two pout, but question it no further. They could spend centuries arguing over petty things⎯have, regrettably⎯but they’d much rather get along. For now, forever.

“Hyungs,” a small voice whispers into the silent air, drawing attention to where the maknae still hugs into Seokjin’s back. He’s pouting, and they want to coo at him, but his next words break them out of their reverie of adoration. “What about the girl?”

Your ears are ringing when you finally wake, images of your nightmares still clinging to your mind, so vivid, so real. They were filled with pain, and fear, and the bloodied faces of your soldiers as they were shot one after the other. You remember screaming for them, pleading, hoping against hope that they’d listen. But, instead, you had watched them die.

You hope that you didn’t scream aloud, didn’t wake your team. They deserve the rest, even if you couldn’t have it.

Muscles stiff and aching from a restless slumber, you shift in your cot, move to adjust the blanket. But your cot is harder than you’d like, your blanket out of reach. In fact, you can’t move your arms at all.

When your heavy eyelids finally open, you realise why your dreams had felt so real.

The stench of blood and death is so thick in the air that you can taste it, that bitter tang against your tongue bringing bile up to the back of your throat. Your body isn’t just sore, it’s screaming; it’s as though you can feel your muscles re-knitting together after being torn apart. And maybe it’s panic that crushes against your lungs, constricting your airways, or maybe it’s grief.

Because as soon as your eyes land on the dead bodies of your teammates, you can’t breathe.

Your throat is so sore from screaming and crying that the sounds escaping it are torn and scratchy, but you can’t hold them in. Not when you see your friend’s brain splattered over the wall behind her; not when you see your second-in-command holding her hands together, mid-prayer when the shot was fired.

You sob, and yell, and cry out until your throat is raw, and then when you have no voice left, you continue. You may not be dead yet⎯and for what reason, you don’t want to know⎯but you don’t think that you’ll ever truly live after this. How does one move on from their friends, their family, being slaughtered before their very eyes? How does one process the fact that they were left behind?

Through the crushing weight on your chest and the searing pain in your throat, you hear footsteps approaching. The heavy boots do nothing to hide their owner’s steps, impatient and strong, but you can’t find it within yourself to be afraid. The worst thing they can do is torture you some more, maybe even kill you, but you’d welcome death at this stage; you’d welcome reprieve from the sorrow that threatens to swallow you whole.

It’s a man, unsurprisingly, who walks through the mouth of the dark cave, ugly face covered by a mask pulled up to his eyes. He looks at you, something in his half-hidden expression that you don’t have the energy to place, and then says something in a language that you cannot understand.

Heaving a breath and swallowing blood, you meet his sharp eyes. “I don’t understand you.” Your words scratch their way out, hardly discernible, so you try again. “I won’t tell you anything, so just kill me and get it over with.”

This time he shouts, still angry but this time not at you, though he never tears his gaze off your crumpled figure. Like if he blinks, you may disappear.

Once again, hurried and heavy footsteps make their way into the room, a pair of men joining their comrade. These ones are holding guns. You can’t find it within yourself to flinch.

More foreign words are thrown at you, some that seem like questions, but your mind is too rattled, head too sore, to even try to comprehend what they might want from you. Your shoulders ache from where your arms are secured behind you, and your legs ache from hours⎯maybe days?⎯of disuse. So you sigh, level what you hope is a glare towards the two newcomers, and repeat, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Looks exchanged between them, hesitation, and then, “You should be dead. Why are you not dead?”

In a moment of weighted silence, you try to determine if they’re serious. Because surely they aren’t asking you how you are alive while being held captive by them. But they don’t elaborate, so you’re left with an even greater migraine than before. “Are you fucking serious?”

The expletive makes them simultaneously point their rifles at you, and this time, you do stiffen. You may be feeling slightly suicidal right now, but you also have reflexes.

“I don’t know why I’m alive.” The admission is spat from between your teeth, reluctant and bitter. “Why don’t you ask whoever it was that killed the rest of my team?”

“I killed your team,” one of them says. The first one. Without a gun, obviously having thought there would be no threat in entering this dungeon. “I killed you, too, shot you in the head myself. So tell me again. Why are you alive?”

“Maybe you’re a bad shot,” you reply. “How am I to fucking know why you let me live? Now do me a favour, will you? Either let me go or shoot me for real this time.”

You don’t have time to register the sound of the gunshot before the bullet goes through your forehead.

“Anything?”

A sigh is the only response that Namjoon receives. 

“Alright,” he continues, “what do we know for sure about her?”

“Honestly, hyung?” Jimin looks up from the laptop he’s perched at. “I don’t think we even truly know if it’s a woman. We saw her⎯their⎯eyes, but not much else. Like, sure, we think it’s a woman, we’re pretty sure of it, but nothing’s certain. The visions were really vague this time around.”

“He’s right,” Yoongi agrees, never looking up from the screen of his own computer. “I’ve been searching the military databases, but it’s hard to pinpoint covert operations that don’t technically exist. We didn’t get a dog tag number, or an insignia, or even an idea of which country’s military she’s in. I hate to say it, but we might just need to wait until tonight. Get some more pieces of the puzzle.”

This is what Namjoon was afraid of, not that he was expecting anything else. His boys are good, but even they can’t work miracles.

“I feel sorry for her,” Jeongguk hums, cheek pressed into the couch cushion where he’s taken a rest from research. Not that he ever really started; that was always his hyungs’ strong points. “I mean, she’s all alone right now, probably really confused, really scared. I know I was before you all found me.”

That sentence strains their hearts, makes them pause. Jeongguk had been alone for nearly a decade before they had finally found him, lonely and of unsound mind, unaware of the curse he’d been unwillingly given. They’d spent years helping him heal, helping him accept, and now they can proudly say that he is stable and content. Happy, even, sometimes.

You, however. You are in the exact same place that he was. Maybe worse, they don’t know.

Taking slow steps towards the couch, Hoseok gently lifts Jeongguk’s legs to place them on his lap when he sits. He feels the strong calf muscles beneath his fingers as he strokes the uncovered skin, bare only for their eyes, until the young one has relaxed his worried muscles.

“I know it’s hard, Jeongguk-ie,” Hoseok says, voice just above a whisper, soft and yet sure. “I know that we all want to find her as soon as possible, but we can’t just yet. Hopefully the next dream will give us more, but until then, we just have to stay focused. Let’s not get lost in that mental spiral, okay?”

Jeongguk hums, not fully sated with the answer but understanding nonetheless. “M’kay, hyung.”

The comfortable silence in the room following their conversation doesn’t even stretch five minutes before a figure slams into the building, flourishing his arms and announcing his arrival enthusiastically.

“We’re back, bitches!”

Seokjin follows behind Taehyung, closing the church doors after the younger had slammed them open and looking exhausted. “Taehyung chatted with the cashier for half an hour before he even asked for help. We could have been back hours ago.”

“Hey.” Taehyung directs a look at the oldest. “Her outfit coordination was unlike anything I’ve seen this century. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s as old as Hoseok-ie hyung!”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Hoseok asks Seokjin, who is smiling despite himself.

“Definitely a compliment. I’ll admit, she reminded me of that one fashion mogul we knew in Paris. The one...Jimin, you know the one I’m talking about. Red hair, lazy eye?”

“It wasn’t a lazy eye, hyung,” Jimin corrects, “she was just keeping an eye out in all directions.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Seokjin says, “none of that matters. We got the stuff. Took a while, but we got it.”

Taehyung empties his plastic shopping bag onto a wiped-down old table, cardboard boxes falling onto the surface. “I’ve got to say, modern medicine is pretty ground-breaking. I wish we were smart enough to have invented it earlier.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Yoongi asks, sounding a lot less interested than he actually is. “I wouldn’t think that sleeping pills would affect us.”

At this, Namjoon bites his lip. “Usually, I’d agree with you, but I’ve been doing some thinking. If the pills aren’t hurting us, our bodies shouldn’t heal too quickly; they should still have time to take effect. Just like how we can get drunk but not have liver issues, or smoke but not get cancer.”

“But smoking’s still gross,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“So,” Hoseok ponders aloud, “if we take the pills, it should prolong our sleep so that we can lengthen the dream? Do you think it’ll work?”

“We’ve never been able to test it,” Namjoon shrugs. “The worst thing that could happen is our body processes it quicker than it works, and we have a normal night’s sleep with normal visions. It’s worth a shot.”

“I think a few of us should not take the pills,” Seokjin says. “That way, if the pills really do work, some of us can still wake up normally in case of an emergency.”

Namjoon nods his head in agreement. “Okay. We’ll rock-paper-scissors it tonight. Until then, let’s rest.”

The second time you wake up, you are significantly less disorientated. You know where you are, what has happened and, most importantly, that you should definitely be dead.

You’d seen the gun, heard the click, felt the bullet spilt through your skull. You know what a killing shot is, have dealt a few yourself, so you know that you should not be opening your eyes to an intense headache right now.

An acrid odour drifts through your dazed thoughts, a stench so strong, so unpleasant, that bile immediately rises and spills from your mouth. You don’t have much to vomit, so you spit mostly water and stomach acid onto the ground beneath you as you wretch from your aching throat.

No, not the ground. Something far worse.

When the tears from your eyes clear away and you look to the ground, you see what is digging into your skin, jabbing at your muscles; you aren’t sure why, or how, but you are lain across a pile of bones and scraps of cloth, sizzling flesh still warm to the touch and sticking to you in chunks. You are atop a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and soaked to the bone with the reeking smell of charred flesh.

Your stomach is empty, and so you can only scramble from the pile and retch.

For several minutes, all you can do is allow your body’s attempt to empty itself on the ground. Even more so than before, your mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and questions and worries, most of which lead to the fact that you are lying naked in the middle of a desert, next to a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and somehow alive.

You are at least thankful that you are already lying on the ground when you faint.

*

There are seven pairs of eyes⎯brown, warm⎯that look at you, look at each other. Words remain unspoken, for the pupils reveal every thought, every emotion. I care for you deeply, they say, now and forever. The words are not meant for you, not yet, but they feel familiar. As if you have heard them in every past life⎯

⎯Surrounded by trees, a sight which would usually calm you but now only acts as a hindrance, you run through the familiar forest without grace. Bare feet bleed trails of red through the undergrowth, sore arms never dropping the heavy weapons that slow you down so. You should not be alone, never usually are, but now you are accompanied only by your panic and the wolves that chase you. These ones, however, do not howl or gnash their feral jaws; they calculate, the way only a human can⎯

⎯Metal hangs heavy around your lithe neck, skin raw and bleeding beneath its unrelenting grip. Fingers grab into your filthy hair, knotting into your bun. Worthless piece of filth, growls a man. You are not unfamiliar with his tone, nor his insults, though this is the first time you have felt a glob of saliva being spat onto your cheek. Can’t even follow the basic rules. Somebody really ought to make an example of you⎯

⎯This room is bright, brighter than the last, and yet somehow glooms darker than all. Shadows hang heavy in the corner where invasive eyes hide, but you can look only to the man who sits in front of you, posture relaxed despite the tensity that thickens the air. Go on, he taunts as you are shoved to your knees, the pain nothing compared to the fear that fills you at the sight of the executioner’s sword. Show us that smile of yours. Grant the world one more. Grant him, he nods towards another figure who you refuse to meet gazes with, one last dazzling grin. You do not, but you do whisper an apology under your breath, one that will never be heard⎯

⎯Gold silk hangs from your broad shoulders, the fabric draping gracefully down your tall body. Each detail stitched into the delicate robe sparkles in the candlelight, patterns that tell stories of love and power and beauty. Jeonha, somebody says to you, a face that is hidden from your view. I am sorry for this, Jeonha. Gold silk soon turns crimson when the knife plunges into your back. You are not even allowed the courtesy of looking into your killer’s eyes⎯

⎯You had always thought that you would live longer, survive the odds set against you, but you know now, as your mother tends to the gash carved into your chest, that this time, luck is not your benefactor. It is not so bad, she assures, though you know the look in her eyes, see the light in them dimmed with grief of a life not yet lost. You wish to tell her everything, anything, but the words bubble up in your throat and you struggle to spit them out. She knows, though, you can see that she knows, and her calming hand rests over your heart, which beats slower and slower with each moment. I love you, my sun, my son. Rest well. Her hand grows cold, or maybe that is you. For you no longer feel, no longer worry, only close your eyes and fall⎯

⎯Urgency pumps your blood faster, the sound echoing in your ears, as your weeping eyes search around you. Nothing, not the chaos around you nor the wound in your shoulder, can stop your wobbly legs from moving, not when you have to find him. There you are, comes his voice from behind you, and you turn so quickly that you become dizzy. But he is there, wounded yet alive, and he is offering you a smile that you struggle to return. You fall into his arms, he into yours, hold each other with all the strength that you have. And when an arrow pierces through your heart, spearing through his chest, you are connected even when you fall, lifeless⎯

*

This time, you wake with a gasp and a speeding heart, images so vivid still lingering in your mind. Your chest is still sore where your heart lies, the organ heavy with another’s grief, and you are surprised to find yourself covered in your own tears.

Still in the dirt, still nude, still alive, and still confused, you know that the only way to survive is to keep moving. Memories of dreams that had felt so real may plague your mind for a while, but you cannot dwell. You have had nightmares before, strange and also plausible ones, and you know. You know that to submit to the darkness of your own mind is a death sentence in itself. So you stand up, dust off your bare skin, and begin walking in an unknown direction.

You only cast one glance back at the bodies behind you. Your team, in all probability. Your friends. You are leaving them in the middle of nowhere.

This, too, you do not allow yourself to dwell on. Not now. Not yet.

Though the night has long since begun, darkness creeping into every corner of the room, one figure lies awake, thinking. Listening.

He is selfish, he supposes, for choosing not to sleep in a time when it can be so important. He should be allowing the visions to greet him, remembering the details, soaking it all in. Instead, he blinks away his exhaustion in exchange for wandering thoughts. He is not ready to allow another’s memories into his mind; for his to enter their’s. He has unwillingly revealed his sins to far too many already.

Hoseok is afraid. And he is tired.

Around him, his six loves breathe deeply, bodies relaxed in slumber and minds lost to the visions of their eighth soul. Some stir, occasionally, and he is sure he’s heard one of the maknaes whimper, but all is otherwise silent.

He would die a million painful deaths just to ensure that they could maintain this peace forever. He supposes he has, already. But he doesn’t regret it. Not for them.

Though the silence is calming, it also beckons his eyes closed and his mind into darkness. So, in an attempt to battle the tantalising call of sleep, he rolls over, stands up, and quietly sneaks out of the crumbling building they’ve taken shelter in.

The air outside nips at his skin, prickling goosebumps down his back and arms, but it is always chilly at this time of year, in this part of Europe. He forgets which country they’re in. Possibly close to France, but likely somewhere in Italy. He can smell salt in the air, the ocean not far away.

Yes. Italy.

Through thick undergrowth and overgrown weeds he wanders, mind idle and busy all at once. His feet take him around the perimeter of the area⎯a consequence, he supposes, of living a paranoid life⎯but his thoughts are elsewhere. On a girl he has yet to meet. On you.

How will you react, he wonders, to this life? To them? Through the brief flashes he has seen of you, you are a woman who seems steadfast, capable, and determined. But he’d also seen your team; felt the love you hold for them. Will you be able to part from the life that you can no longer lead? Will you eventually accept them as your new family?

There are too many questions, too many things to worry about. This is why he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind until two arms wrap around his shoulders.

“You should be asleep.” The words are whispered beside his ear, warm breath fanning down his neck. He shivers, but doesn’t respond. “What’s wrong? Let me help.”

Hoseok sags into the strong embrace, allows the arms to tighten around his chest, and sighs. “I’m worried, Namjoon.” Namjoon hums, doesn’t say anything. “Is it selfish of me to not want to see her memories? To not want her in my head?”

A pair of plump lips kiss the tip of his ear. “Perhaps,” Namjoon says. When Hoseok stiffens, he pulls him closer. “But being selfish is not necessarily a bad thing. You are allowed to prioritise yourself every once in a while.” Namjoon can sense that Hoseok is not yet appeased, so he adds, “There are six of us here to take the visions when you can’t. And if you do decide to rest, there will be six of us here to hold you through it. Being selfish does not mean that you are alone.”

“I’m so tired,” Hoseok whispers, and they both know that he is not referring to his lack of sleep. “We’ve all got such baggage, so much hurt, and I wonder if adding the weight of an eighth will be too much.”

“Hey.” Namjoon gently turns Hoseok in his arms, holding him close still. They look into each other’s eyes, see everything that they have grown familiar with. That they have grown to love. “We will also have another person to help share the load. For now and forever, we are in this together. It’s okay to have doubts, or worries, but never forget that you are ours and we are yours.”

Foreheads touch and eyes close, the silence of the night engulfing them as they share each other’s heat. And here, they are okay. They still have fears, still have troubling thoughts, but they are not so bad when they are together.

“C’mon,” Namjoon mumbles. “Let’s go back inside. Whether you decide to sleep or not, we should stay with the others. You know how they can get about cuddle piles.”

This does make Hoseok breathe a laugh. “Okay. And hey, Namjoon.” He presses their lips together in a brief, soft kiss. “Thank you, my love.”

“My eternal,” Namjoon replies.

That night, they both allow sleep to take them. They join the others in dreams of bloodshed, heartache, and death. And they hold each other a little closer. And they are okay.

< prev ⎯ next >

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Matter - Chapter Five Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral, Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Depression You couldn't go, not yet. The kids had to see that everything was normal. And frankly you couldn't leave them alone with Johnny. It wasn't like he was going to hurt them, but in his state he might say or do something that he's going to regret. Why had he reacted like that? Was something else going on with him? You didn't know, it wasn't something that you would know because you weren't part of his life anymore. 

Johnny came back about ten minutes later and pointedly didn't look anywhere near the office as he began the class. Though the kids weren't relaxed at first, it didn't take long for them to concentrate and get into the movements. The rest of the class went on without incident, and Johnny appeared only slightly more agitated than normal.

Something must have happened to him, it was the only feasible explanation. Why else would he grab you like that? Was there even a point trying to ask him what was going on? It had taken him long enough to open up when you were together. If you attempted it now he'd probably dismiss you with contempt.

The kids left notably quicker than they usually did, they didn't hang around for long. You couldn't blame them. Johnny was out in the back somewhere. When Miguel started to grab his bag, that was when you got concerned, he always stayed late. Was Johnny blowing off his training?

Before you could go up to Miguel to see what was going on, he came into the office looking more troubled than you'd ever seen him.

“Are you leaving already?” You asked.

“Sensei can't train me today. He's uh. . .”

“He's what?”

“Not in a good way?” Miguel responded, unsure of exactly how to put it.

“I'll go talk to him, I'll see if he can stay and teach you.”

“It's fine, a bunch of us are going to go hang out anyways.”

“Alright, well have fun.”

Both of you left the office and as you were about to go towards the storage room, Miguel stopped you.

“Sensei's uh. . .really not in a good way.” You nodded slowly in understanding. The door to the room was shut, so you knocked first and called out Johnny's name before going in. Most of the room was filled with shelves of old boxes that must have belonged to whoever owned the building. The remaining space housed all of Johnny's equipment. He was sitting on top of a punching bag faced away from you.

“Johnny?” You stepped closer to him, trying your best to hold the nerves at bay. His head turned in your direction, but he didn't quite look at you.

“Miguel's worried about you. I'm pretty sure all of the kids are.” You wanted to say that you were too but the last time you'd told him that, he had said you didn't need to do that anymore. Crouching down in front of him, you still couldn't make out the expression on his face. His elbows were braced on his thighs, his hands were playing with the black headband that he always wore when he was teaching.  

You wanted to reach out and hold him, wrap your arms around his body and comfort him in every way possible. He liked it when you ran your fingers through his hair, he'd hum in approval, bury his face into your skin and clutch onto you even tighter. It felt wrong not to embrace him. Physicality was what Johnny understood best.

“I'm here if you want to-”

“When did it happen?” He cut you off, he gazed at your mouth before meeting your eyes.

“A few days ago.”

“Where?”

“I told you it was an accident.”

“And I'm asking where it happened.” The rage bled into his expression, it was no longer unreadable like before. His fingers were clenched around the headband, he was pulling it taut. “Was it near here? By your apartment? Or at work?”

You didn't answer for a moment as you let out a sigh. Why wasn't he letting this go?

“It doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you're hurt.”

“I don't understand. It's just a split lip, Johnny. You've given me much worse than this.”

“That was. . .it was never like that.”

“I know. It was an accident, like this was,” you replied, gesturing to your lip. You hoped that he could truly put this into perspective. It probably didn't matter how much sense you made, all that mattered to him was that someone needed to be taken down. He didn't say anything in response. Taking to your feet, you stepped back and inhaled deeply.

He got off the punching bag and stood in front you, immediately closing the space that you had created.

“Why did you lie to me?” He asked, the anger in his tone was now mixed with hurt. “You didn't get hurt from biting your lip, so why did you say you did?”

“I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.” From the way he was looking at you he must not have been expecting you to own up to the lie and apologise. It was like he had lost some of the wind in his sails. “I just. . .you looked so angry I. . .”

“What? Did you actually think I was going to hurt you?”

“No, not intentionally.”

“Just unintentionally?”

“I mean you grabbed me right in front of those kids, Johnny. Do you think they knew you didn't really mean it?”

“Why can't you just tell me what happened to you?”

“Why were you so angry?” For a long moment, neither of you said anything, neither of you moved. You were at an impasse. He wasn't going to answer your question and you weren't going to answer his. Telling him about Hawk was pointless. Even if Johnny didn't mean to, he might treat Hawk differently to the other students. Johnny wasn't the kind of person to forgive easily.

He held your gaze for a while longer before he turned away. After tucking the headband into his pocket, he lifted up the punching bag that was on the floor and leant it up against the wall.

“You should leave,” he muttered with his back still turned. The distance between you was agonising. You felt an overwhelming sense of grief, realising with unquestionable certainty that you could never recover what you once had with him. He didn't trust you, maybe he never did.

“Okay.”

- - -

You hadn't heard from him for nearly two weeks.

It disappointed you more than you thought it would. He was completely justified, you'd blatantly lied to him, admitting it afterwards didn't make a difference. Not telling him about Hawk was the right thing to do. Why was it always coming down to this? You tried to do the right thing and everything always turned to shit. It never mattered how hard you tried. The fact that you could count the number of lies you'd ever told Johnny on one hand was inconsequential. He never believed you when it mattered, not when you told him it was an accident, not when you promised him that you would always care about him.

When you first got together with him, he had a tendency to rebuff the romantic gestures you'd make and disregard them as friendly jokes. Regardless of the fact that he had always made his feelings known, he couldn't accept yours at face value, not at first. As time went on and as things got more serious, you'd thought he had come to believe you. Perhaps he was just better at hiding it.

One morning you were running late for work after oversleeping. To make things worse, you had a throbbing headache that didn't take kindly to you rushing about. As you walked out to your car, you remembered that there was half a joint in the glove compartment. Maybe that would be enough to-

“Shouldn't you be at work already?” You looked up in surprise and saw Johnny standing by your car, the Firebird was parked right next to it.

“What are you doing here?” You wondered out loud as you approached him, noting that the collar of his jacket wasn't popped. There wasn't any paint peeling off his car, had he got it resprayed?

“Thought I could give you a ride,” he replied, taking his hands out of his pockets and standing up a little straighter. “I did try and call a few times earlier, wasn't sure which apartment you're in.” He'd called you? You hadn't noticed, you'd been too busy trying to get ready. You might have been tired but you noticed how he casually avoided answering your question.

“I'm late for work so uh. . .” you trailed off, unsure whether he came here to talk or something.

“I'll take you. You know I drive faster than you, so come on.” While he walked to the Firebird, you quickly glanced over at your car, knowing that you'd have to leave the joint where it was. Johnny was already turning on the ignition when you got into the passenger side. You winced when the speakers came on, the loud music made your temple twinge. He immediately turned it down as if sensing your discomfort.

After he pulled out onto the street, for a brief moment you were curious why you hadn't bothered to challenge him at all. The headache must have been the main reason why, you couldn't bring yourself to. There was also the fact that he'd driven all the way here.

“You look like shit,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

“Your lip's healed though.”

“Yeah,” you murmured awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Was he going to bring up what happened? A mile or so later you scrounged up the courage to speak again.

“So you thought you'd give me a ride?” You queried as he stopped at the lights.

“I wanted to apologise about what happened,” he replied, turning to face you. “I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.” His jaw was tight, his lips were pressed together, the guilt was evident on his expression. You nodded in reply, rather surprised that he had apologised to you. He was still looking at you when the lights turned green so you gestured towards them to remind him before people started honking.

The Firebird accelerated forwards. You couldn't think of what to say, your mind was fuzzy even though the headache had eased a little. Johnny didn't say anything else either and focused on his driving. Every couple of minutes, you'd subtly rub your temple and will yourself to string some words together. You only spoke again when he pulled up outside your workplace.

“Thanks for the ride,” you told him, ready to get out of the Firebird. You'd have to tell your boss that you'd had car trouble that morning, at least with your car not being there it added some legitimacy to the story.

“Hold on a sec.” You leaned back slightly when both of his hands reached out to your face.

“Uhh. . .?”

“Just come here.” Sitting back to how you were, he pressed his fingers into both of your temples and began rubbing slow circles into your skin. The pressure of it immediately made you feel better and you had to fight not to close your eyes.

“I should go,” you muttered, realising that this was intimate and you were enjoying this far too much.

“A minute's not going to make a difference,” he skilfully dismissed your weak protest and continued his ministration. You couldn't stop staring at him. You were grateful that he wasn't looking at you directly but concentrating on what he was doing. Johnny had always been good with his hands. If you ever had an ache, he used to take his time massaging you until it was gone. When he finally finished, he lingered for a moment before shifting back into his seat.

“I'll pick you up when you finish,” he promised. You thanked him again and got out of the car feeling much better than you had earlier.

Throughout your shift, you kept fixating on how he had apologised to you, how he must have noticed you rubbing your temple and tried to make you feel better. There was something about being taken care of by Johnny that gave you an innate sense of calm. You kept trying to chase that feeling, repeating the memory over and over, imagining that he did even more, fantasising that he was going to hold you in his arms and take you home.

When you finished work, he was waiting for you outside in the newly-painted Firebird like this was his every day routine. You were anxious getting in the car, wanting things to go well like they had in the morning. He engaged you in conversation, wanting to know whether you felt better, asking how your day was and what you'd been up to at work. It wasn't particularly eventful but he showed continued interest and seemed to want to catch up with how things were going.

“The paint job looks good by the way,” you commented after you'd updated Johnny on everything work related. “I forgot to mention it earlier.”

“Been needed for a while, huh?” You had been saving for months to get the Firebird resprayed for his birthday. All that money was gone now, spent on the deposit for your apartment. It made you feel dejected that you'd never been able to do that for him. “Can you come to the dojo tomorrow? The kids miss you.”

“I'm around. How are they doing?”

“They were upset with me after what happened. Guess they don't like their Sensei being an asshole.”

“I guess not. It shows you've taught them well though, right?”

“Pretty sure that wasn't my influence.”

“If you didn't teach them well, you wouldn't even know they were upset. They would have hidden it from you, especially after what they saw. But they still felt comfortable enough to express themselves and that's no small thing.”

“Yeah. . .maybe.”

“Maybe?” You shot back with a sharp tone.

“Alright, yeah,” he admitted, you felt a little triumphant that he had accepted what you'd told him. You were also glad of the fact that his students weren't scared of him. He'd always been better than his own Sensei. Johnny was good at heart, he just needed to open his eyes and see it for himself.

Somehow he was already pulling up outside your apartment block, the drive back had gone by too quickly. If you asked him to come up, would that be too forward? Too personal? He turned off the ignition and looked at you with a serious expression on his face.

“I saw Robby last week.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he doing okay?”

“He's doing alright, aside from the fact his mom decided to go to Mexico with her new boyfriend.”

“He's by himself?” Johnny nodded dejectedly.

“I asked if he wanted to stay round mine but he'd rather stay put.” He couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice though he tried hard to mask it.

“It's better that he has the option.”

“I guess. I'm convinced that she didn't leave him anything for the rent so I left him some money. I might talk to her landlord, make sure next month's covered too.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” He pressed his lips and nodded again. Whenever it came to Robby, he was always a mess of perpetual doubt and debilitating fear. He was scared that anything he might do would hurt Robby in some way. You hoped that what you'd said to him was going to be enough encouragement.

“He asked about you too,” Johnny mentioned. “He wanted to know whether you were still keeping me in line.” You let out a soft laugh but then the smile faded from your face. Had Johnny told him that you weren't together anymore? He must have noticed your unease because he said that he was going to go and make sure everything was sorted for Robby.

“I'll see you tomorrow then, Johnny.”

“Make sure you get some sleep.”

- - -

You were rather taken back by the warm welcome you received from the kids when you turned up at the dojo the next day. They waved and said their hellos, they seemed to be genuinely pleased to see you. Miguel and Aisha followed you into the office, making sure you were caught up on everything that had happened in your absence. Bert had apparently scored a couple points against Miguel during a practice fight last week and there was a new student who had moved to Reseda a couple weeks ago.

It wasn't long before the kids had to leave to start their stretches. Johnny came in for a quick hello, informing you that he'd spoken to the landlord of Robby's apartment and he made sure that the rent was paid for the next two months.

After he went off to begin the class, you were filled with a sense of calm. Things were comfortable between you and Johnny again, and to hear him really trying to get things right with Robby made you feel proud. You supposed it wasn't right having these kinds of feelings for someone you weren't with anymore. But this was Johnny. . .you wouldn't ever stop having feeling things for him.

The time away from the dojo meant you had a lot to catch up on. It wasn't as bad as you'd initially thought it would be, so you were glad of the progress that was made by the end of class. Aisha came into the office with Miguel trailing behind, who was rather poorly trying to conceal something behind his back. Hawk was standing by the door with his arms crossed.

Aisha explained that a bunch of them had ordered Cobra Kai shirts online. They'd been wearing them at school and they kept getting asked where the cool shirts were from and what the logo meant. Miguel then revealed what he'd been hiding, a black Cobra Kai shirt.

“We figured you should have one too,” Aisha told you with a grin. The sweet gesture took you by surprise, you didn't know what to say. You hesitantly took the shirt from Miguel and held it up to check it out. It looked great, the Cobra Kai logo really popped against the black.

“You're Cobra Kai too after all,” Miguel said. The smile on your face must have reached your eyes, you were moved by his words.

“Sensei told us this was your size but if it doesn't fit, we've got a few spares.” Aisha pointed out. They'd spoken to Johnny about this?  

“Thanks, to all of you,” you replied, looking at Aisha and Miguel before glancing over at Hawk. It wasn't clear what he felt about all this, he wasn't giving anything away. “This is uh. . .pretty cool, huh?”

“I think Sensei called them badass.” Miguel corrected you.

“Yeah he would.”

“Hawk!” Johnny called out from the dojo, as if he had sensed you talking about him. “Diaz! Miss Robinson!” The other two followed Hawk in quick succession.

While the rest of the kids left, the three of them stayed to do some additional training. With so much work still to do, you stayed put as well. By the time your concentration started to leg, Johnny had finished the extra session. Hawk was the first to leave with Aisha soon after. You heard her mention that her friend was waiting outside. It seemed like a good time to call it a day.

As you were about to stand up from the chair, Johnny came into the office eyeing the shirt that was on the desk.

“Does it fit?”

“I haven't tried it on yet.”

“Well come on,” he urged, grabbing the shirt and throwing it into your lap. You wheeled the chair back slightly before taking off your own top and putting on the Cobra Kai shirt. The material was soft and comfortable, it wasn't that thin, scratchy stuff that always seemed to itch. You raised your eyebrows at Johnny, waiting for his verdict.

“Nice.”

“Not badass?”

“That too.” He looked over the desk which you'd cleared of paperwork. “You leaving?”

“Yeah, I got a lot done today.”

“I don't know what I'd do without your help.” The smirk wasn't on his face anymore, his lips parted open slightly. There was a severity to his expression which made you still. But the tension faded when he took a step back and went to the door. “I'll call you.”

You followed Johnny out of the office a few moments later and walked past the mats, saying bye to him and Miguel. You were glad that Johnny wasn't skipping the kid's training. When you went through the lot, you almost paused mid-step as you saw Hawk standing by your car. You hadn't taken off the Cobra Kai shirt, Miguel had said you were one of them, that was more than enough ammunition.

Making yourself appear relaxed, you approached Hawk as casually as possible, not wanting to seem confrontational. This time his arms weren't crossed, if anything he looked a little sheepish.

“You here to talk?” You asked, keeping a sizeable distance from him.

“Why did you do it?”

“I'm not sure what you-”

“Why did you lie to Sensei?”

“About what?”

“You told him it was an accident when it wasn't.”

“Wasn't it?”

“I meant to punch you,” he retorted in a defensive tone.

“It looked like you regretted it afterwards.” Hawk opened his mouth about to answer back but you cut him off. “And even if you didn't, you're still a kid. You deserve the benefit of the doubt.” The fight seemed to sink out of his shoulders, his jaw was no longer tight, he wasn't glaring at you anymore.

“Just because you have that shirt doesn't make you Cobra Kai. You have to earn it.”

“Well maybe if I ever do, you can let me know.” He pressed his lips together, notably unhappy about your compromising reply.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath before walking off. Getting into your car, you were quite bewildered by how well that seemed to have gone.

- - -

It felt good getting back into the routine of going to the dojo twice a week. Things had settled out between you and Johnny, though they weren't quite what they had been. Before what happened with Hawk, there was a budding and growing friendliness between you. That was gone now. He didn't joke like he did before, he didn't tease you or wink at you as he left the office. It was going to take him time to be comfortable with you again. He held onto his anger like nothing else in this world. You didn't know how long it was going to take him.  

When he called you one evening, asking whether he could give you a ride to work the next day, you hoped that this might be the start. You told him what apartment you were in, figuring that it was long overdue that he knew exactly where you lived.

The next morning he knocked on your door after you'd buzzed him up. He was earlier than you'd been expecting so you hadn't quite managed to settle down your nerves. You sucked in a breath before opening up the door for him. Johnny looked good. He was wearing jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a grey vest underneath.

“Hey,” he said before you let him inside.

“I won't be long,” you replied as you went to grab your phone and put on your shoes. As you were getting ready, you noticed how he was looking over the apartment. It wasn't exactly a place to be proud of, rather the opposite in fact. He was trying to hide how his expression soured, it probably reminded him of his mother. He used to live around here when he was kid. When you were ready, you headed out and he followed you down the stairwell.

“Someone took a piss down there so watch out for the puddle,” Johnny warned as you neared the last flight of stairs. That must have been one of the neighbours again. Since you'd been living here, you'd been lucky enough to avoid stepping in anything. You were beginning to feel the onset of shame so it was a relief to get in the Firebird and leave the apartment far behind.

“I was thinking about running a practice tournament for the kids,” he mentioned, turning his head in your direction briefly.

“You think they're ready?”

“They need some more time, but I think they're almost there,” Johnny replied. “Would you wanna help officiate?”

“Like score points and stuff?”

“Yeah. I mean I can teach you all the rules and then you can help me organise the tournament. I want it to be as close to the real thing as possible.”

“Are you gonna get me the little flags too?” He laughed softly, the sound of it making your chest warm.

“Don't worry, I'll make sure you have the little flags. Is that a yes then?”

“I guess it is, yeah.”

Johnny gave you an overview of the rules and it wasn't long before he pulled up outside work. You hung around for a few more minutes, not wanting to leave, but eventually he told you to get going so you wouldn't be late again.

Work was tedious and you were itching to get back into the Firebird with him all day long. You kept thinking about how much the dojo had shifted his focus into a better place. There was such a marked difference in Johnny and in the progress that he had made. You could see it in the way he held himself, how much healthier he looked, the care he put into his appearance. You could tell just by looking at his eyes. They were so much brighter now.

Those last few months you were together, it was like he wasting away right in front of you. He was drowning in his pain and the booze and the grief and there was nothing you could do but watch. It terrified you. And the worst part of it was that he didn't even acknowledge what was happening. It was like you'd made up the whole thing just to spite him. You'd never felt so alone in your entire life, regardless of the fact that you slept in the same bed as him and lived in his apartment.

Johnny was waiting outside when you finished work. The unreserved smile that was on his face as you approached the Firebird made your heart ache. It hadn't even been half a day and you had missed him. Getting in the passenger seat, you put the feeling down to all the reminiscing you'd been doing. It was always particularly unpleasant to think about how bad Johnny had gotten.

Rather than turning up the music, he spoke more about his plans for the tournament. Though he had a decent idea about which students would fight each other, he wanted to mix things up and have the kids fight against people they weren't totally familiar with.

When he parked outside your apartment block, you were about to invite him up but he mentioned he had training with Miguel. He asked whether you'd be able to make it to the dojo tomorrow. Without hesitation you agreed, glad that you were seeing him sooner rather than later.

- - -

Over the next couple weeks, Johnny began to focus the classes on the fights which combined all of the various moves they'd been learning. Hawk didn't scowl or eye you with distaste anymore. You could have sworn blind that at some point he actually gave you a slight nod in greeting.

Johnny asked you to meet him at the dojo late one evening, long after class and Miguel's training session. It was just the two of you. He went over the rules for point scoring and agreed to your suggestion of going through some videos on your phone so he could explain it with visuals. Somehow he ended up placing the fold out chair right next to you, his shoulder leaning against yours as he constantly pointed at the screen and explained what the referees were looking for.

At first it had been difficult to concentrate with the sensation of how warm he felt and how his voice lulled you into a state of calmness. He tested you on a few videos, telling you to score the match up yourself. After more than a couple mistakes, you were beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea, but Johnny was patient with you, he took you through it again, showing you where to keep your focus. He seemed happy with your progress and promised to go over it until you were confident.

Later that week you were back in the office filling out some insurance forms. The medkit was standing by in front of you as the kids were doing some sparring to finish up the class. When you heard Johnny call Miguel and Aisha to fight, you turned your attention to the mats. They were Johnny's best students along side Hawk. They bowed to their Sensei before bowing to each other.

“Fight!” Johnny called out. Miguel was the first to move and Aisha immediately blocked each of his oncoming kicks. He shifted out of the way when she tried to knock him off balance. They pulled apart, and circled each other for a few moments before Aisha advanced forward.

Over the next minute it was a flurry of each of them attacking and blocking until Miguel managed to kick her in the jaw. Aisha stumbled backwards, holding her hands to her face. Johnny immediately called it and hurried to check on her. The concern was clear on Miguel's face as he began to apologise.

“Alright class, you did well today. Diaz, stretch them out.”

“Yes, Sensei.” As Johnny guided Aisha to the office by her elbow, the rest of the kids lined up on the mats so Miguel to take them through some stretches and cool down from the workout. After Aisha took a seat, Johnny knelt down in front of her, coaxing her to move her hands away.

“Could you get some ice?” Johnny asked, his eyes flicking over to you. While you got off the chair, Johnny was finally able to take a look at Aisha's jaw. You hoped it wasn't too bad.

When you opened up the refrigerator, your body stilled, blood rushed to your ears. You stared mindlessly at the pack of Coors beer sitting on the shelf. It was Johnny's beer. He had it right here in the dojo. They weren't hidden away, they were right out in the open. This was routine for him. He was drinking in front of the kids.

You could barely process the thought, a wave of dread made your hand brace against the refrigerator. Johnny was still drinking? For some reason you hadn't. . .you hadn't thought about it. Why hadn't you? When was the last time you'd ever thought about him drinking? You suddenly realised that you hadn't since you'd broken up with him. It was like your mind had just. . .blanked it all out.

The sound of Aisha grumbling in pain made you grab the ice bag from the freezer compartment. You slammed the refrigerator door shut and placed the bag in Johnny's waiting hand.

All this time you'd thought he'd been getting better, but he'd been drinking all along, right in front of these kids. You couldn't. . .you couldn't. . .

“I'm pretty sure it's not dislocated,” Johnny told Aisha as he held the ice bag by her chin. “Can you slowly open your jaw for me? Let me know if anything feels weird.”

“It just hurts,” she replied after doing what he said.

“Okay, that's a good sign.”

“I'm so stupid, I should have seen it coming,” she mumbled angrily under her breath.

“It was a good fight.”

“Not good enough,” she shot back.

“Look I know you're angry, but trust me, you have to let it go. Making mistakes is how you become a better fighter. You're still learning, don't forget that.” Aisha remained quiet and it didn't look as if she believed Johnny.

“Diaz has been training longer than you have and you held your own. You did good work today.” She still seemed disappointed, but Johnny was able to get a muted smile out of her when he gently punched her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Come on, Miss Robinson, just because you're a girl doesn't mean I'm going to sugarcoat anything for you.”

“Thanks, Sensei.”

“Now I'm going to make sure that Diaz doesn't bend any of my students out of shape, alright?” Aisha's smile widened at that. You avoided Johnny's gaze as he left the office. She looked up at you curiously while you stood in front of her without saying a word.

“Do you uh. . .can I. . .do anything?” You forced yourself to ask.

“I'm okay. The ice is helping.”

“Good, that's. . .” Trailing off, you wandered back to the chair, hands gripping onto some paper. Your eyes couldn't focus on the words.

You couldn't. . .fuck, you could barely hold yourself together. You wanted to leave the dojo, you wanted to run as fast as you could, you wanted to get away from here. Memories of Johnny's unconscious body sprawled out on the floor kept filling your mind like an endless torment. The smell of the vomit and the beer, the sound of him choking, the way his body convulsed. Johnny come on wake up, can you hear me, talk to me, please talk to me, come on Johnny just wake up, please Johnny say something, say anything, please I'm begging you, please wake up, Johnny, please, please wake up!

You looked over the office and noticed that Aisha wasn't there. Class was over, quite a few of the kids had already gone. She was chatting to Hawk and was still holding the ice bag on her jaw. Johnny was talking to Miguel as they headed towards the storage room.

The moment he was out of sight, you rushed to your feet and left the dojo, uncertain if you'd ever come back. - - - Hope you enjoyed this installment! Thanks for all your comments, they’ve been so encouraging and I love hearing that you’re enjoying this angsty fuckfest with me x Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife@80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch  @wholesomehen  @deadpoolgirl23   @sorryyoureoutofmyleague​  @princealfie​  @jackbarakms​

[samanthadalton]

Slowly falling (part 3 finale)

And here we are!! last part of the fic, I hope you guys enjoyed it. I ended it just at the end of the pool scene but I know in my version, Nicole is dead so the story would obviously play out different. So in this version, Nicole is actually a vampire and when Kamilah buried her, it helped Nicole not turn feral since Vega fed her his blood before the attack on the castle. So Nicole would obviously come out during the tribunal to back up Vega’s claims in which Adrian would be found guilty and then the gang will break him out and you guys know the rest :)

also i took some lines from the book, bc the pool scene is just too good :))))

slightly NSFW (but quite tame but I’ll tag it as that anyway)  also mentions of death 

taglist: @cloud9in @alleycat97 @thedaft1 @mrs-avamontjoy @itszdavenport @iamsimpforpoppy @otakufangirl-12 @orisasay @justavampirefan @waterinathermostat @bloodkueen @dimis-yiddies @alexlabhont @thepotatobleh @mara-re @fundamentalromantic 

wordcount: 2.5k 

Amy wakes up, dazed. Her eyelids feel heavy as she blinks away the last remains of her sleep, wondering when she went to sleep in the first place. As she takes in her surroundings, she sees she’s in Kamilah’s office, laying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, unsure of where it has come from as the sun begins to set. She rubs her eyes sitting up to see Lily typing away at Kamilah’s desk, looking slightly zombified as her fingers fly over the keyboard. 

“Hey Lil?” As if in her own world, Lily continues typing, her eyes never leaving the screen. Amy amplifies her voice louder to capture her attention, “Lily!” 

“Huh,” Lily jerks her head up, her concentration breaking. “Hey Ames.” She tiredly rubs at her eyes, shaking her head a little before mustering a small smile, “sleep well?” 

Amy yawns a little smiling back, “yeah, this couch is pretty comfy. Thanks for the blanket.” 

“Oh that was Kamilah, I haven’t gotten out of this chair since we’ve come back from the gala.” Lily stretches before continuing with her typing, already back in full attention. Amy looks down at the blanket, hugging it closer to her body, feeling a glimmer of something she can’t quite put her finger on. 

“So have you found any evidence yet?” 

Lily shakes her head, “whatever Vega is hiding, he’s done a damn good job because it’s heavily encrypted, I’ve broken past so many firewalls but it feels like there's millions.” Lily runs hand down her face, “Oh yeah, Kamilah said that if you wanted to clean up she left a key to one of the rooms.” Lily gestures towards the table before refocusing. Amy stands, and swipes the key from the table before making her way to the room to clean up. Once she’s finished taking a shower, Amy chooses a new outfit from the closet and makes her way back to the office. 

“Good you’re here.” Kamilah lets her gaze roam Amy’s body for a few seconds before meeting her eyes. Amy can see the fatigueness in her demeanour, how her body is slightly slumped and her hair slightly frizzled. 

“Are there any updates?” 

Kamilah shakes her head, “not yet. If only Lily could do her job better we could actually get the evidence,” Kamilah retorts, a hint of malice in her tone. 

Frustrated Lily slams down on the desk, “hey I’ve been working on this all day. My skills are the best of the best, it’s just Vega’s is better.” Lily, downcast, looks down at the screen, her head spiralling at the sight of the numbers on the screen. 

Kamilah sighs heavily, her head hanging low, “I apologize. I’m just frustrated.” Lily musters a small smile and continues typing away on the keyboard but Kamilah stands from her chair and lays her hand over the young vampire’s stopping her, “I think that’s enough.” 

“But Adrian-” 

“He will know we did our best with the time we had. There are only a couple of hours until the tribunal, it’s inconsequential at this point.” 

“But how will we know what Vega is hiding?” Amy interferes. 

Kamilah looks at Amy, “we won’t until it’s presented.” Her head turns back to Lily, “I think since you and Amy were at the castle it’s only fitting that you two testify on Adrian’s behalf.”  

“Of course,” the girls say simultaneously. 

Kamilah gives a satisfied nod, ”we’ll reconvene in an hour, I’m going to go for a swim. Lily you should get some sleep.” Kamilah makes her way to the door but before she leaves she throws her head over her shoulder, her eyes blazing into Amy’s, “and Amy you’re welcome to join me.” Kamilah turns her head and continues walking. 

Amy looks in surprise as she whispers to Lily, “what should I do?” 

“Girl why are you still here? Go!” Lily shoos Amy out of the door. 

Amy trudges up to Kamilah as they wordlessly enter the elevator together. Amy can see a hint of a smile on Kamilah’s lips as they go up to the rooftop. As the doors open, Amy lets out a short gasp. A gorgeous pool lies in the middle of the rooftop, the water glimmering under the moonlight as the stars sparkle overhead. 

“Woah, and I thought Adrian’s rooftop restaurant was nice.” 

Kamilah merely shrugs her shoulders, “Adrian finds solace in the company of others. I find it in solitude. Swimming here alone, under the stars...it brings me peace.” 

Amy cocks her head slightly to look at the other vampire, “but you invited me up here.” 

“So I did.” Kamilah replies, Amy waits for something, instead Kamilah paces over to the bar, reaching behind it. She gives Amy a conspiratorial look, “drink?” 

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Kamilah begins mixing together a concoction of liquor before pouring it into 2 glasses. She hands one of the glasses to Amy before settling down on a lounge chair. Amy assesses the milky white liquid before taking a small sip, she squirms slightly as she coughs slightly, “it’s certainly strong!” 

“That’s what makes it good,” Kamilah watches as Amy takes a bigger sip, her features in more control as she enjoys the drink, “It’s Arak. Distilled from anise seed.” Kamilah takes a huge gulp of the drink as she looks out to the sky, while Amy takes a seat on the lounge chair near her. 

“Thank you Kamilah.” 

“For what?” 

Amy shrugs as she gazes off into the distance, her hand swirling the drink in the cup, “everything I guess. For helping Lily, Adrian,” she pauses, “me.” 

“Of course, I know Adrian would do the same if he were in my position.” 

Amy nods, “knowing him, he probably would.” 

Kamilah gives Amy a side glance, looking for something but she can’t quite put her finger on it. When she doesn’t find what she’s searching for, she places her drink down and begins unbuttoning her shirt before sliding it off her body, exposing her smooth toned upper body. 

Amy's eyes widen, “oh!” She awkwardly glances away, as Kamilah places her hands on her trousers, smoothly slipping them off. “You’re taking off your clothes. That’s a thing you’re doing.” Amy gulps uneasily, trying her damndest not to make her gawking conspicuous. 

“Well I’m not going to swim in my suit,” Kamilah bluntly answers as she enters the swimming pool. She begins swimming a few laps as Amy looks at the water droplets glimmering off of her body, only accentuating her curves more. She stops swimming before looking up at Amy expectedly, “coming?” 

Amy pauses momentarily before nodding, “yes,” she hesitantly glances over at Kamilah whose gaze is still burning on her, as she slips off her clothes, folding them neatly onto the chair before she dives into the pool. When she reaches the surface, she slicks back her wet hair, “it’s cold.” 

“Is it? I didn’t notice.” Amy turns on her back and floats towards Kamilah who’s already aimlessly floating, together they stare up at the sky, lost in the shimmering of the stars. A few moments later Kamilah breaks the silence, “it’s funny,” when she speaks her usual commanding hilt is gone and replaced with something softer, more resonating with the voice Kamilah used when she was helping Amy after discovering Nicole’s body. “How old are you Amy 23?” 

“24,” Amy replies.

Kamilah chuckles, “I remember that age. I thought I knew everything. I thought I’d felt all there was to feel. I imagine you feel the same way.” 

Amy gingerly answers, “I guess? I mean I feel like I’ve been through a lot.” Kamilah turns her head to face Amy, and when their eyes meet, the older vampire’s eyes look so deep they almost look bottomless.

“Have you ever been in love?” 

The question catches Amy off guard, as she shoots her eyebrows up. “Once.” Kamilah curiously cocks her head as she appraises the tenderness in Amy’s tone. Amy gazes back up to the sky, as if the stars are painted in her eyes, “Christopher. He- he was a childhood friend of mine. Everyone used to always make jokes that we were dating but it wasn’t until we were freshman in highschool when he asked me out.” Amy’s lips quirk up slightly, “I felt like the happiest girl in the world. We both even agreed to go to college in New York. He got into Columbia and I got into NYU.” 

“What happened?” 

“Our first year in college was the worst.” Amy’s eyes darken, a somber look in her eyes as she recollects, “we agreed to live together while we were in college but we ended up fighting all the time. During our Sophomore year, we agreed to break up. I moved out and ended up moving in with Lily.” Amy lets out an airy laugh, “but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, I was so heartbroken during my college years, I tried moving on but it didn’t feel right. Fast forward to the end of my Junior year and we randomly bumped each other. We got to talking and decided to get back together again. We agreed to take it slow, so I was still living with Lily.” 

“Well I’m guessing it didn’t work out.” 

“No.” Amy’s eyes glisten with tears as she blinks them away, her voice becomes hoarse as she continues, “a few months after college, Chris, he was- he was walking through the park, and I guess he was attacked by a wild animal but the police found his body torn to pieces.” 

Kamilah grimaces, and apologetically reaches out to Amy, and rubs her arm, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Now that I think about it, it wasn’t a wild animal.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I keep getting flashbacks to what happened in Marcel’s castle. The bodies, the way they were shredded to pieces I-” Amy cuts herself off, as she swallows down her sobs. 

“You think it was a feral?” Kamilah knits her brows together, following suit as Amy pulls herself out of the pool, grabbing a towel to dry herself off.

“I know it is. It’s why I became so triggered I guess, with everything that happened with Nicole. All the memories of his body just came flooding back and I panicked. I-” Amy closes her eyes, taking a slow steadying breath. 

“I’m sorry for asking, I did not realise this was a sore subject.” 

Amy shakes her head, “it’s not your fault, it’s just hard sometimes. For months I didn’t leave my house and it wasn’t until Lily practically forced me to start being more outgoing. She’s the one who told me to go for the job of Adrian’s assistant.” 

“I guess we have to thank her for that.” Kamilah speaks softly, her eyes boring into Amy’s and Amy can see the genuinity behind her eyes. 

“So why did you ask about my love life?” 

Kamilah presses her lips together in thought, “mere curiosity. It’s been a while since I’ve spent my time with someone with so many attachments. The company of vampires tends to make you jaded. It’s nice to be with someone so uncynical. So open to new possibilities.” 

Amy gives Kamilah a small smile, “well you’re welcome for giving you a fresh perspective.” Amy smiles hoping to alleviate the tension a little bit, but the somber look on Kamilah’s face causes her to knit her brows together in thought, huh, she thinks to herself. Maybe Kamilah isn’t as tough as she makes out to be. “Kamilah?” 

Kamilah hums, “yes?” 

“Doesn’t everyone have someone they’re attached to, I mean without Lily, I don’t know where I would be today.” 

Kamilah purses her lips in thought, “no, no they don’t.” 

“But you love Adrian.” 

“I’m quite fond of him, yes. Which perhaps is an illusion itself, because he reminds me of my brother.” 

“But you have loved.” 

“Many times.” Kamilah’s face drops, her voice quiet, “and lost. Just as many.” When Amy meets her eyes, she can see the sadness brimming in the surface of them, 2000 years worth of pain and loss just merely breaking the surface.

“2000 years is a long time.” 

“It defies imagining.” 

“You’re right. I can’t imagine even a small percent of what you’ve seen.” 

“And I’ve seen a lot. I’ve watched empires rise and fall. I’ve watched the world transform right in front of me and yet I-” Kamilah presses her lips together in a thin line, a pensive look on her face. Kamilah sharply inhales, “I’ve felt everything that there is to feel, I’ve loved, lost, grieved, but now, I feel like an empty vessel. Just detached from everything.” Kamilah looks away, as Amy watches as she transforms her expression back into her usual icy demeanour, as if the last few minutes did not exist. 

“I might not know a lot Kamilah,” Amy takes a step towards the older vampire, “but I know that you are so much more than you think you are.” 

“Please,” Kamilah scoffs, but behind the harshness, Amy can see she’s touched by her words. 

“I’m serious. You are incredible. I’m purely in awe of you every single moment.” 

“You don’t need to fuel my ego, I don’t need your pity.” 

“Pity isn’t what I feel at all.” 

“Oh? And what do you feel?” And in that moment, Amy can see the earnestness in Kamilah’s words. 

“Connection. Admiration,” Amy hesitates for a second, “infatuation.” 

Kamilah raises an eyebrow as Amy takes a step closer to her, closing the gap between the two. Wordlessly, Amy tilts her head up, and presses a soft kiss against Kamilah’s lips. When Kamilah doesn’t reciprocate the kiss, she steps back flushed, “I’m sorry.” 

Kamilah places her forefinger against Amy’s lips silencing her, “don’t be.” 

In her eyes shine conviction as her finger trails down Amy’s body before her hand cups her hip, Kamilah leans down, capturing Amy in a long kiss, the kiss full of ecstasy, driving Amy into a euphoric state. Kamilah kisses Amy harder, her tongue snakes into her mouth, eliciting a small moan from the human. Kamilah groans slightly, her hold on Amy’s waist tightening as she leads her to the lounge chair before pushing Amy flat out on it, covering her body with hers. Kamilah dominates the kiss, her kiss full of passion, as if she’s yearning for the desire it brings her. Her eyes flash red as her knee pressing against Amy’s core, evoking a small moan from the girl. Kamilah smiles devilishly, as Amy’s hips buck against her knee, slowly rubbing trying to gain any friction that will bring her pleasure. Kamilah brings her hand under Amy’s chin and kisses her breathless. Eventually the kiss breaks for the much needed air, and the atmosphere is quiet, but charged with electricity. Kamilah rests her forehead against Amy’s as the human pants heavily, and as their eyes meet, everything feels different. 

“We should get going, the tribunal is soon.” Amy swallows heavily and nods, the wind still knocked out of her after the kiss. Kamilah smiles as she climbs off her, and offers her hand for Amy to stand. “Come on.” The women silently make their way to the elevator, but Amy feels different, she feels something that she hasn’t felt since Chris and as she gazes at Kamilah, she can see she feels the same. 

[yeojaa]

they don’t love you like i love you, ii.

read parts one and three!  i loved this universe too much not to write a second part. 

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  angst because the reader is a jealous ass mf.  but also, crack and romance because these two are so dumb and still in love it hurts.  wc.  1.1k.

“You know he’s seeing someone new.”  It’s an off-hand comment and certainly not supposed to hurt the way it does, as if the words are glass shards and not an inconsequential breath of air.  They’re not supposed to dig beneath your fingernails like splinters and slip between your third and fourth rib like a dagger to the heart.  

“What?” 

How you manage to keep the emotion out of your voice, you’re not very sure.  You deserve an Oscar.

“Yeah, I was over at his place the other day while he was doing laundry.”  Jimin tells the story like it’s just another Friday - like he isn’t tearing your heart apart in his hands. “He had a thong in his basket.  Looked pretty fancy, too.”

The clear liquid in his glass swirls before he takes a careful sip, humming delightedly. 

“Wait - sorry.  Is it okay for us to be talking about this?”  You can’t deny the sweet frame of his mouth, how the Cupid’s bow rounds so cutely as he levels you with a look that could cure even the worst of broken hearts.  “I know you guys are friends still but I mean—”  He scrubs his hand across the back of his neck, sheepish.

“It’s fine, Chim.”  You don’t quite look at him when you squeeze his knee.  You hope he doesn’t notice.

Whether he only pretends not to or truly doesn’t isn’t clear.  He’s good like that - intuitive in ways most people could only hope to be.  You appreciate that now more than ever. 

You do notice, however, that there are no further mentions of your ex - or his new girlfriend.

You almost forget about it entirely.  

Until you’re standing on the curb, tired and more than a little tipsy.  You’d said your goodbyes over a half an hour ago - pressed adoring kisses against Jin’s cheek until he was red in the face and spluttering loudly - and had finally, thankfully, stumbled your way out of the exclusive restaurant.  Your feet feel awful, throbbing everywhere you apply even the slightest amount of pressure, and you lean heavily against the light post.  It doesn’t do much to alleviate the pins and needles.

Your Uber should be here any minute now.

“Need some help?”  

It doesn’t matter that it’s like listening through a door, wobbly and distorted from the alcohol that buzzes in your veins.  In a hundred life times, in a sea of thousands, you’d recognize that voice.  It’s the devil himself, called to your side like you’d made a deal at the crossroads. 

You flinch away from the sound, nearly toppling over in your haste to put some space between you. 

Because he’s seeing someone new now and you can’t lean on him, no matter how much you want to.  Not that you want to.

We’re just friends, you remind yourself.

Jungkook’s wearing the strangest expression - some heady blend of vaguely fucked up and all too observant.  The slope of his jaw shifts, grows tense as the muscle jumps.  You can tell he’s grinding his teeth by the set of his mouth.  It’s one of your favourite looks.  

When he speaks again, he sounds strange - guarded, almost.  “Are you okay?”  

“I’m fine,”  you snap, belligerent like an all-too typical twenty-something year old who’s had too much to drink.  It breaks off the edge of your teeth, snapping from your tongue like bubblegum.  

Exasperation takes over so quickly it gives you whiplash.  “You don’t look fine.”  Before you have time to react, he’s stooping down to undo the straps on your towering heels.  “You look like you’re about to eat shit on the curb, actually.”  

Despite his tone, he’s utterly gentle, easing your poor feet onto the bare ground - you shudder at the thought but god, does it feel good - and looping your Valentino’s around his forefinger.

“It’s not your problem.��  Antagonism spills out of every pore, dressing your words in a brattiness that very rarely sees the light of day.  You can feel yourself being an asshole.  You just wish you could blame it entirely on the cocktails or the three doubles of shōchū you’d knocked back with Jin but you can’t.

You’re bitter as hell and you have absolutely no right to be.

“Then whose is it?”  He’s not crowding you like you’d expected, instead pulling your loose-limbed frame against his side.  It’s easy when he’s so broad, shoulders swallowing you whole.  He smells terribly good, like sunshine and the beach.  It reminds you of your last vacation together - of ice cold beers and saltwater, skinny dipping and funny tan lines.  You almost lean into the scent, eager to wrap yourself in the memory. 

He has a girlfriend!  The angel on your shoulder is practically screaming at you, tugging at your ear in a poor effort to deter you.  

“You’re dating someone!”  The words explode out of you like a bullet.  It’s not the answer he expects, nor is it the one you mean to give.  

By the look on his face, though, they’ve hit their mark.

His grip slackens at your side and for the first time in five years, you can’t read him.  You think he’ll let you go then.  You’re ready to steady yourself back against the light post, ready to snatch your shoes out of his hand.

And then he starts laughing.  Not even a chuckle, but a full-belly, shoulder-shaking laugh.  It vibrates through his entire body and because he doesn’t let you go - still holding you far too close as the sound bounces around and fills up the entire street - you feel it too, all the way down to your aching toes.

“Stop laughing,”  you hiss, vehement and angry and more than a little embarrassed.  

“Who am I dating?”  He’s not even bothered, wiping at tears with his free hand.  You note that the other remains steadfastly curled around you, the edge of your heel digging into the exposed expanse of your back. 

“How am I supposed to know?  Jimin saw her thong in your laundry.”

You know you sound like a jealous ex-girlfriend but you’re not.  You swear you’re not.

The smuggest look fits itself over his face, crinkling his nose and slotting between his teeth.  You regard him warily because he looks like he’s really just won the lottery - or is about to prove you wrong, which is almost the same thing.  “You mean your thong?”  

You realize then that you’re an idiot.  Jungkook reminds you of it the next morning when he tosses said scrap of lace at you from across the kitchen island, nearly landing it in the cup of coffee he’s just made for you. 

[slightlycrunchy]

the color you bleed is me

A fic written for the Dead Dove exchange over at @thewitcherbog. My recipient is @jaskiersvalley who wanted a little mind control, so where else would I go but to Vampires? (Let’s see if this gets flagged heh)

Read on ao3 (which I recommend cuz the formatting is better)

WC: 5.8k // Rated E // Warnings: blood and gore, sexual violence, explicit sexual content, dub-con, mind control, blood as lube // Tags: vampire!Jaskier, top Jaskier, happy ending, geraskier, hurt/comfort, geralt is self-sacrificing

It all begins one night across from his witcher, soft amber eyes aglow with burning flame. Jaskier stands, stretching his travel-weary muscles as he endures the cracks that run up and down his spine. They have just eaten dinner, dried meat turned into a stew flavored with a handful of herbs Jaskier had happened upon. Usually it’s a good night when sweet little surprises like this happen. Jaskier loves these evenings spent around the fire, soft companionship shared with his best friend.

Friends. 

Yes, that’s what they are.

“To bed, bard?”

Geralt’s rough tone catches him unawares and he jumps. He doesn’t dare hope that Geralt didn’t see it with the small smirk that plays at his shadowed face. 

“Afraid so, dear, long day and all. You’ve worn me out something dreadful. It’s a shame I won’t have the energy for anything else”, Jaskier teases, the back of his hand held to his forehead in an affected swoon. Geralt simply rolls his eyes, far too used to Jaskier’s antics to be provoked any longer.

“Yes, what a shame. A good wank would have put you out hard enough I would be spared your snoring.”

Jaskier chokes on a laugh. He’s still not quite used to Geralt’s good-natured teasing. “Yes, well, perhaps there’s energy for that. Maybe you could do the same and spare me yours?”

“I sleep like the dead.”

“Un-dead more like it.”

Geralt’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and with a wave of his hand, he dismisses Jaskier. Turning away, Jaskier finally settles into his own bedroll. It’s a cold night, autumn’s grasp only becoming stronger each day, and yet Jaskier feels unbearably warm, his cheeks and chest alight with an inner fire.

Friends. Yes. 

The teasing, the ribbing, the fights that melt into small squabbles that are gotten over quickly. Gone are the days of getting on each others’ last nerve and Jaskier fighting for scraps of Geralt’s attention. 

Friends.

As the night closes in and Jaskier’s thoughts go in familiar circles, he feels sleep coming for him strong and fast. Gods, is he exhausted. It really is a shame that he doesn’t have the energy to take himself in hand.

This is the last thought he is allowed before sleep takes him.

 -------------------

“Jaskier!”

He’s jolted into waking, his heart racing so hard it hurts his chest.

“G-Geralt—?”

“Melitele’s tits, Jaskier hurry the fuck up,” Geralt growls from somewhere above. Jaskier’s eyes have not yet adjusted to the bright light around him, sunlight pouring down on him sharply—

Oh no. Not again.

He’s up as quickly as he can manage, bedroll hastily packed and boots put on the wrong feet. He needs to take a piss but will hold it for now, not wanting to worsen the look he can imagine lies starkly across the witcher’s face as he waits for him, ready to go with all of their things packed.

He’s done it again. For the third day in a row, Jaskier has slept through their usual dawn waking. Two decades of travelling off and on with Geralt should guarantee Jaskier’s body knows what to do and when. The sun warming his skin has always been his signal to wake, just like it is Geralt’s. Even when the witcher would leave him for the long winters, it took weeks for Jaskier’s body to recognize that it did not actually have to wake with the sun in his rooms in Oxenfurt.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“I’m sorry, Geralt, I don’t know what’s come over me,” Jaskier says, breathless as he comes to the witcher’s side, arms full of the bag he clumsily tries to throw over his shoulder. His limbs shake a bit with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so awake. 

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looks up, his first time really seeing Geralt this morning, shocked that the look he had imagined—pure, unadulterated irritation—is not there at all. There’s a furrow to Geralt’s brow as his eyes shamelessly roam Jaskier’s body. It makes Jaskier’s cheeks hot.

“Sorry. Again.”

As Geralt turns and they begin their way out of the woods, Jaskier rubs at his jaw absently where it aches. Why did Geralt look at him like that? And why isn’t he angry?

Jaskier doesn’t stop wondering for the rest of the day.

 ----------------------

Something is wrong with Jaskier.

Amber eyes roam over the sleeping body that lies close to the fire, small shivers still running up and down the blanketed lump. Jaskier has slept through dinner, and this isn’t the first time.

Geralt tears his eyes away from the man before him, looking up to the stars that shine bright and clear above them. The weather is pleasant, though cold. A human would perhaps be feeling its bite by now, but not to the degree that Jaskier seems to. Geralt has taken to holding the bard close the past few days just so his teeth will stop chattering; the man sleeps so deeply that Geralt is sure he doesn’t even notice. 

The hare Geralt caught sits heavy in his stomach, Jaskier’s portion eaten as well, as Geralt knows by now he won’t be able to wake the other man. His sleep patterns have become worrisome if he’s being honest. Jaskier is nearly impossible to wake of a morning, and more often than not he doesn’t eat before he goes to bed in the evenings. Tonight, the sun hadn’t even fallen beneath the treeline before Jaskier had rolled out his bed and folded onto it like a man who hadn’t rested in days.

And yet they don’t talk about it.

Jaskier’s appetite has waned, even midday breaks taken only for sips of water and a rest for his feet. Geralt has had to shake him awake twice, head rolling onto his chest against a tree. Jaskier seems to be able to fall into sleep anywhere, at any time. This level of exhaustion can’t be healthy.

Jaskier says nothing.

Geralt has watched his skin turn sallow and hands begin to shake, and even as Geralt shoots him knowing looks, begging the bard to say something, Jaskier looks away with a look like shame blanketing his face. Why would he be ashamed? If he’s growing sick, there’s nothing for Jaskier to feel shame over; he can’t help it.

With a sigh, Geralt thinks of Jaskier’s age. His fortieth birthday is coming up, literally within the week. Two decades Geralt has spent with this man, at first an annoyance but now someone Geralt would call his closest friend.

Friends. 

Geralt wonders at that word. So innocent and small, and yet it holds the meaning of joy in his life. Jaskier brings so much joy into his life. 

Geralt startles, half rising from the log he sits on when a shuddering sigh escapes the lump across the flames from him. Geralt waits a moment, but then Jaskier settles and the tension bleeds from his limbs. Forty years old is middle-aged for a human, a time when their bodies begin to struggle and slow. For the gods’ sakes, many don’t even make it this far. Sickness ravages too many too young, and Jaskier has always been bafflingly healthy.

But not anymore, it seems.

With a heaviness set upon his shoulders, Geralt rises and makes his way to Jaskier’s side, placing his own bedroll close. Something pricks at his mind that he doesn’t want to name as he bundles Jaskier into his arms. Geralt hears his labored breathing slow, Jaskier’s muscles relaxing into Geralt’s chest as he holds him closer and Geralt ignores the twist in his gut.

Not for the first time, Geralt wishes he had the means to know what the future holds, where they will end. He doesn’t know what he will do if he loses his closest friend.

 ----------------------------------

Jaskier can’t eat. His stomach twists and curls uncomfortably nearly every waking moment, and even the thought of food has him nearly retching. His jaw aches, a sensation that has crept up on him with every waking morning and no matter how much he massages the skin there, nothing assuages his discomfort. He knows Geralt is aware something is wrong, but the witcher never brings it up, and for that Jaskier is thankful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever this is. But he’s finding it harder to ignore.

The tipping point comes the day before he is due to turn forty, some vague and distant part of Jaskier’s mind regaling him of birthdays spent in Oxenfurt, memories drenched in too much wine and debauchery. There have been other, softer years spent with Geralt on such a day; times when Geralt has gifted him something thoughtful and sweet—useful, more often than not. If he’s honest, those are his favorite years. As he gets older, nights full of revelry are wanted far less, time with those he loves needed far more.

And Jaskier loves Geralt, by Melitele’s mercy he does.

The sky sprinkles a light drizzle all around them, grey and pressing down with a haze in the air that tugs at Jaskier’s lungs with an insistent pull. A town rises up before them out of the mist, inconsequential, looking no different than the last four they've passed through in the past two weeks. However, Jaskier thinks every town would look the same to him at this point.

His breathing is labored as he follows Roach blindly, her body taking up a dark corner of his vision even as he stares down at his own feet. It’s all he can do to keep walking; place one foot in front of the other, the pressure at his soles grounding and slightly hypnotic as he does so. He’s so unaware that he walks into her backside as she’s stopped at some point, his shoulder bouncing off with an embarrassing squeak as he’s shocked out of his daze.

“Jaskier, we’re here.”

Geralt’s voice sounds distant even as Jaskier attempts to look up at him. The back of his neck aches something awful and he can’t quite force himself to make eye contact, his gaze shifting off somewhere over Geralt’s left shoulder. Even so, Jaskier gives a wan smile. “Where exactly is ‘here’, witcher?”

“A place I know...with people I know,” Geralt answers, his voice soft and...concerned. Jaskier’s expression shutters; he doesn’t want Geralt’s pity, he’s fine, this is all fine. He ignores how his knees shake beneath him—

“You’re not fine, bard,” a feminine voice cuts through the fog.

Immediately Jaskier is at attention, more aware than he’s felt in days. He looks to Geralt’s face, a feeling of betrayal and something else that’s hot and nearly overwhelming bubbling up in his chest. He hasn’t seen her in months, and Jaskier has been grateful for it, especially since his feelings for Geralt have changed as of late, tumbling firmly into non-platonic territories. She is a threat, an enemy come to take what is his—

He startles. Where has that thought come from?

“Yennefer? Why is she here Geralt, what are you doing?” His heart rate is rising and with it comes a new wave of dizziness. He sways, Geralt bracing him firmly beneath his elbow. Geralt’s face is pinched in discomfort.

“You’re...you’re not well, Jask. It wasn’t originally my plan to seek her out, but I heard rumors of a sorceress this way and…” he trails off.

“And you look like shit, bard. Stop being so stubborn as to not accept help from someone who can do something about it.”

It’s as if it comes from nowhere really, like he’s turned a corner and it’s just there, crouched and ready to pounce on him when he’s least expecting it. Fury; hot, possessive, overwhelming fury. He is equal parts surprised and satisfied when he hisses, the sound feeling wrong coming from his mouth. Gods, his mouth aches; he wants to tear her to shreds.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier won’t look at him, eyes boring holes into the mage before him who takes a moment to look surprised before her eyes harden into steel. His head pounds.

She nearly sneers when she says, “I know what the fuck you are.”

Jaskier hardly has a moment to register her words before his legs give out and everything goes deeply, horribly, black.

 ---------------------------------

Jaskier is sleeping deeply, looking worse than ever, upon a bed inside the humble cottage Yennefer has set herself up in. The lack of wealth that usually surrounds the mage in her favored homesteads is shocking, though Geralt has more pressing matters to mind.

“What’s wrong with him, Yen?” He tries to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

She doesn’t look at him, busy bustling around in the small kitchen, gathering up herbs and water into a bowl that she heats with her magic. She places sprigs of rosemary and sage within it and immediately Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed with the earthy softness as she wrings out a cloth and fits it neatly upon Jaskier’s forehead, all with clinical ease. Jaskier has begun to sweat, his skin clammy with it. He pants harshly, and Geralt feels an urgency more than ever. 

“Tell me, Yen.”

She looks at him askance, placing the bowl upon a table that rests at the bedside. “You’re not going to like it, witcher. Things are going to change.”

“When one lives as long as I have, change is inevitable.”

Yennefer looks at the bard, and Geralt isn’t sure if he imagines her gaze to be full of pity. “Not like this, Geralt.”

Geralt feels his patience snap, “Damn it all, Yen! Tell me!”

“Don’t you yell at me, witcher,” she says dangerously, even as she finally stops before him, arms folded over her chest in defiance. “Now shut up.”

She’s silent for a moment and the anxiety that Geralt has easily pushed down with action and outward movement now comes toppling over him. Is Jaskier dying? The air in the room is foreboding, so much so that he can hardly breathe with it. He watches as she hardens her expression, her eyes darkening. He clenches his fists.

“He’s turning, Geralt.”

Of all the things she could have said, this was not what he expected. “Turning? Turning to what, Yen?”

“Turning into what, you mean. He’s a vampire, Geralt. How have you not noticed? I assume he hasn’t been eating, been sleeping more—he’s probably in quite a bit of pain as his body goes through the changes. I can see his teeth from here, how have you missed it?”

The teeth? Immediately Geralt is at Jaskier’s side, raising one pale lip to look at the canines there. His throat tightens at the sight; they match his own, now. He knows they will only grow sharper. Suddenly the thought overtakes him, stealing his breath, “His fortieth is tomorrow Yen...tomorrow.”

“Is it? What a shame.”

“Have some compassion, for Melitele’s sake,” he says without heat, but his mind is roaming elsewhere. 

He thinks back to the bestiary, of all that he knows of higher vampires. How does Jaskier not know what he is? For surely he doesn’t know, he would have told Geralt...wouldn’t he? There isn’t much known about the species, many witchers having been destroyed too swiftly to report any characteristics in the flesh. Though, they know a little: vampires come of age much later than humans, at forty to be exact. They hold the ability to thrall and speak to the beasts of the field, lack reflection or shadow and can blend in with humans almost seamlessly. They don’t require human blood, but many give into their desires and take it anyway—except on one day of their life.

The day they turn.

“He’s starving, Geralt—he’ll need his fill of blood tomorrow to survive the change, so what will you do? You hunt monsters like him. You can’t possibly condone even your precious bard taking a human life to save his own? What will the world come to—”

“Quit mocking him, Yen,” Geralt spits, his mind in a whirlwind.

Jaskier’s body has been slowly transitioning over the past two weeks and Geralt hates himself for not noticing, though there’s no way he could have. Without realizing it, Geralt has begun petting Jaskier’s chestnut hair, his sweat slicking it back bit by bit. With gentle hands, Geralt lowers them to the hem of Jaskier’s tunic, slowly lifting it up just to Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt sighs heavily. He’s lost weight—more than Geralt would have thought. His stomach lies sunken in slightly and the edges of his soft chest have turned sharp, ribs protruding by a small measure. His body has been wasting away and something in Geralt howls at this. It’s his job to protect Jaskier, to make sure he’s safe—how can he protect him from this?

“So what are you going to do witcher? You could wait until tomorrow to slay him or…” Geralt looks up at her, his eyes wide in surprise, “you could do it now, while he sleeps. Put him out of his misery before he even knows of the monster he has become.”

“Jaskier is no monster,” he growls, something in him jumping forth with teeth bared. He turns away from her, to look at the man below him who didn’t choose this for himself but is forced into it regardless—

Not unlike Geralt himself had once been.

Witchers are hated all over the continent, though they do thankless, dirty work that keeps the people safe in their beds, and yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter. In those early days, Geralt had wished he didn’t survive the trials, hadn’t lived to become this. ‘Monster’ they call him. He used to believe it...until Jaskier came along.

Jaskier was never daunted by his looks or gruff demeanor. Jaskier always saw deeper down, into who Geralt actually is...and now, Geralt will do the same.

“I will help him.”

He sees the way Yennefer flinches even from the corner of his eye, unwilling to look away from Jaskier’s face. The bard’s brows have knit together in discomfort now, and Geralt gently smoothes the ache away with his thumb. 

“Are you insane, Geralt? He’ll kill you!”

“That may be true, but…” He doesn’t know what it is, or why, but something in Geralt’s mind says that Jaskier won’t. He doesn’t dare trust it, but it’s there all the same. “That would be alright.”

“It will hurt Geralt, he’ll want the thrill of the hunt, he’ll tear you to shreds.” He hears the concern in her voice. It’s not as surprising as he would expect. “I— Please don’t, Geralt.”

Geralt rises from the edge of the bed, and makes his way over to where Yennefer stands, her fingers fidgeting with each other in her discomfort. Geralt feels his expression soften. 

“Is there any other way, Yen?”

She is silent. Her gaze skitters to the floor. “No. Either he dies without feeding, or I suppose you end him—which it seems you won’t do,” she says accusingly.

“I won’t.”

“Then do what you will, witcher.” She sounds resigned even as she turns away with a dismissive wave, sauntering off into some other portion of the house down a long hallway to his right. 

Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought that this may be the last time he sees her, speaks with her, and they’ve ended on such a sour note. “Thank you, Yennefer...for everything.” He says this softly, but somehow he knows she has heard him. 

With a final look down the now empty hall, Geralt turns, his eyes settling across the exhausted body before him. In three strides he’s beside Jaskier now, and takes his hand within his own. Jaskier’s skin is cold. 

“Let’s go, Jask.”

And as he slips into the night, a vague direction planned within his mind, strangely Geralt finds he feels nothing but peace. 

 --------------------------

He’s so unbearably hot. 

It’s as if his skin has molted, revealing something fresh and new and entirely too weak like a newborn's flesh and he aches with it.

It’s difficult to open his eyes, the slit between his lashes hard won and he closes them immediately in the end, the air around him bright with flickering warmth. 

“Jaskier? Jask.”

He knows that voice though it feels far away, muted beneath his pain and the tightness of his own body. He clenches his jaw, teeth and gums radiating with discomfort as he realizes he’s lying down, his back on something firm yet soft. He feels fingers run through his hair.

“Sleep. You’ll wake when it’s time.”

He doesn’t understand what that means and yet...he knows it to be true.

And so Jaskier sleeps.

 ---------------------------------

The next time he wakes, Jaskier knows he is not the same.

His body thrums, residual pain receding into something else, something that sings in his veins and calls to him from beyond. It’s instinctual, and his eyes shoot open with the hunger that would be foolish to call bodily alone. 

He can smell him now. A man. Smoky and sweet—salt and musk. His mouth waters uncontrollably.

Elongated nails, sharp at their points, dig into fabric that lies soaked with sweat beneath him. His chest is bare, but the breeches around his legs remain and immediately he knows this will not do. With a strength that feels nothing but right, Jaskier is quick to rip them away along with his braies, leaving his skin unencumbered in the night air. His cock hangs heavy between his legs and his back arches with the feel of the fire-warmed air caressing his balls that already tighten with need.

It’s nearly overwhelming, the amount of sensation he feels. He feels empty, his jaw aching and fingers itching to slash and claw, to draw blood that he can lick away, filling his body with nourishment and energy—

He needs to feed. He needs it desperately.

He looks around, taking in the room. It appears to be a cave, carved into the side of a mountain, the drop off at the mouth of the entrance steep and dark, but he can easily see out into the night with his enhanced vision. Somehow, this doesn’t phase him at all, and as his eyes scan the walls, the ceiling, across the fire to his right and through the flames, he sees him.

Geralt.

If pressed, Jaskier would be unable to explain the exhilaration that runs through him at the sight. It feels wrong when he smiles, his teeth taking up too much of his mouth but he does it all the same; he can’t help it. Seeing Geralt makes him so happy.

“Jask...how are you feeling?”

The words sound off to his ears, but even so he understands them. Answering the question however, is not his priority at the moment. 

With limbs that feel shaky for only a moment before they strengthen, Jaskier rises, his member bobbing and full with every step he takes towards the man on the other side of the fire. Geralt’s eyes glow, and Jaskier can see the cords of muscle in his neck tighten with anticipation. The witcher is nervous...interesting. 

Once Jaskier sees it, he can’t seem to look anywhere else. Geralt’s pulse pounds beneath the thin, white skin above his collarbone, and Jaskier feels himself swoon at the sight. Two quick strides have him close enough to touch and he doesn’t hesitate to bury his nose within the crook of Geralt’s neck, taking in the scent of the man, his nose picking up things he knows he never has before. Jaskier’s skin tingles with the proximity and suddenly his urges snap into place; this is his friend, this is his love, this man is his.

“Jask, do you know who you are? Who I am? Do you...do you know what’s happening?”

Geralt’s voice cracks as Jaskier licks the column of his throat, from the dip in his clavicle to the point of his chin. Geralt tastes like sweat and anxiety, and Jaskier can’t get enough.

Strong hands hold Geralt at the nape and lower him down to the rough ground, the points of Jaskier’s nails digging into Geralt’s scalp just enough to draw blood. As he straddles Geralt’s hips, Jaskier’s eyes find Geralt’s own wide with trepidation and slowly Jaskier takes the hand away, bringing it to his mouth and placing the bloodied fingers onto his tongue.

His vision goes white with the pleasure that runs through him.

At once, it’s like he’s woken for the first time. He needs this, he has to take, has to feed—

His fangs sink home into the vein at Geralt’s neck, and warmth blooms upon his tongue, heavy and aromatic as the thick glide of the witcher’s life essence slides down his throat.

Geralt’s body tenses and he swallows a cry as Jaskier suckles his skin, his teeth penetrating deeper as he begins to rock his body against the man held captive beneath him. The sensation is new and yet so familiar, right in a way that nothing has ever been as he uses Geralt’s body to satisfy his own. There’s a voice in his head, telling him to hunt, claim, mate, breed, as he takes and takes what he wants from Geralt.

“J-Jask—” Geralt stutters, but Jaskier cuts him off with a low growl. Geralt’s body is as taut as a bowstring beneath him and something in that sings wrong in Jaskier’s head, like a chord struck wrong in the song at his fingertips. 

He will do something about it.

He doesn’t know how he becomes aware of the ability, but he does all the same, activating something within himself like a switch he can turn on at will to draw himself even closer to his victim, to his meal, to his lover—

He invades Geralt’s mind.

Words do not exist here, but instead, it is feeling. Jaskier wills the body beneath him to soften and sate, relax into the curves and points of Jaskier’s body and Geralt complies without fight. Where his hands had been clenched into fists and his breathing labored, now there is nothing but tranquility, a body giving itself over to be used as it will.

Jaskier can hardly stand it.

His teeth rip from Geralt’s body, but the connection remains as Jaskier decides there is certainly too much clothing between them. With a few swift movements, Geralt is bare beneath him, and Jaskier can’t feast his eyes on enough skin. With a hunger he can’t name he decides he must see it all, as if he has been waiting for years, though time does not exist here. Right now there is nothing more than this cave and this desire and this hot, burning need. He flips Geralt over.

Scars, endless upon creamy canvas—and Jaskier knows he must add his own. It’s almost as if he is watching from above as he sees his own claws rake over Geralt’s back, drawing lines of crimson in long patterns. His tongue is quick to follow, sucking the flowing rivers out of deep trenches. Each drink goes straight to his cock and soon enough, Jaskier can’t take it anymore, his teeth sinking back into the vein that bleeds sluggishly from Geralt’s neck.

Time passes and the man below him grows colder, in increments. Still Jaskier is not satisfied. Something claws at him from within, older than the new song that plays in his head on loop, something from before, something important. After ignoring it for as long as he can, it breaks through, however.

Don’t kill him!

The thought feels wrong to his animalistic desire but it stops him all the same. He rises, his fangs leaving skin only for his tongue to lap at the wounds, sealing them as quickly as he can. Geralt’s skin has taken on a grey tint, and this does something strange to his gut.

Fear. He feels fear.

He is ours, but you cannot end him, not like this!

And yet he knows he cannot stop, his body is not ready, has not been fed, has not been filled.

Suddenly another idea overtakes him.

Geralt lies still, his breathing slow and steady even as his heart beats thready and weak. Pity lies somewhere beneath Jaskier’s skin but he ignores it, dragging his fingers through the beads of sweat and blood that leak steadily from Geralt’s wounds, two fingers drenched with it as he looks down to where he is straddled, over the rounded peaks of Geralt’s arse. His hands find themselves beneath the witcher’s hips, guiding them up until Jaskier can easily see the sweet, pink, puckered hole of Geralt before him, and without preamble, he slides two crimson fingers within.

Geralt is still warm here, and as Jaskier works him open, fast from the start with rough strokes, his teeth sink into the curve of his cheeks, small bites drawing more blood from pale skin.

Two fingers is all Jaskier has patience for.

His cock throbs, nearly purple in its fullness as he lines up with the now red rim of Geralt, and without so much as another breath, sinks home to the hilt.

Jaskier can feel within himself the way Geralt shudders though his body is kept still from the thrall that wraps itself entirely around his mind. Geralt’s body only gives—lets itself be taken by Jaskier and all at once he knows this is what he needed. His stomach, his veins full from Geralt’s nourishment, and his cock wrapped up in the witcher’s warmth as his insides batter against the length of him. The slide is sweet and Jaskier pants with pleasure, running through him like sparks set to ignite into a blazing, uncontrollable fire. His claws find purchase in Geralt’s hips, digging deep into muscle and grinding into bone. Jaskier nearly cries out with the deliciousness of it all.

This is what he has craved, every corner of his being suspended in want for years on end, coming to a glorious conclusion, a poetic end as Jaskier gives in to his every want. He plows forward, in and out of Geralt’s hole as he begins to weaken the hold on the witcher’s mind; he wants Geralt to feel this, wants Geralt to know that he is owned, held up only by the strength of Jaskier’s hands—

“Ah!”

The sound is one of pain, and yet it only drives Jaskier on further.

“Jaskier, stop— Stop...”

Geralt fights weakly, still drained of energy from the blood loss, and this of all things is what pulls Jaskier over the edge.

He spills his seed into Geralt, warmth spreading around him as he keens into the night air, a chill settling beneath his skin with a dizzying immediacy. Slowly, it’s as if his body returns to him, the harried internal screams of more, more quieting to a dull hum. He is sated...full. He can’t remember feeling like this in a very long time. He shudders through the residual tremors of his orgasm, dripping the last of his spend into Geralt’s body with a sense of relish. This is wonderful. This is heaven.

“...Jas?”

With the lightness blooming in his chest, Jaskier had nearly forgotten his witcher. With an exhausted smile on his face Jaskier finally looks down, taking in the sight before him.

Geralt is covered in blood.

And with such a sight, something within him stops.

“...Geralt?”

Somehow he had known what he had been doing and yet...the consequences of such had been shelved, buried six-feet deep, flung over his shoulder to be thought of later. His skin is pink and flushed and Geralt’s is crimson and grey-toned. The air rushes out of his lungs in one unhappy push.

“Geralt…”

He tries to be gentle as he removes himself, his limp cock bouncing against his own inner thigh as he flips Geralt over gently and with newly shaking hands, “Oh gods, Geralt—Geralt I’m so sorry, what have I done—”

“Jask…” Geralt’s voice is thin and weak, his eyes barely open even as a small smile appears on his face, and immediately Jaskier wants to slap him for it. “It’s alright...it’s alright. I’m alive, you didn’t,” —he takes a breath— “I’m alright.”

Jaskier looks around frantically, taking in the pools of blood on them both and pales, “You could still die!”

“No. I won’t. Come here.” He gestures to himself, uncaring of his nudity nor Jaskier’s even as Jaskier blushes deeply, regardless of what they have just done. 

Jaskier recoils in disgust, “No, no don’t let me touch you, I’m a monster, a freak—” he cuts off abruptly, his eyes going wide, glossy as his gaze is lost in the distance. “You have to kill me.”

Grunts of pain are heard as Geralt tries to sit upright, only to realize it’s a losing battle; he doesn’t have the strength. Still his voice is fierce when he says, “No.”

“Yes, witcher...yes…”

And suddenly Jaskier can hardly breathe for the sorrow that swallows his entire heart whole.

Geralt finally knows how Jaskier feels and yet it comes at the highest cost. Not only did he hurt his friend, the man he loves—but this will be the end. Jaskier lists to the side, catching himself on cold stone with a clammy palm. He shivers in the night air, the sweat on his skin cooling rapidly. He doesn’t much care.

“No, Jaskier, I will not.”

“And why not?” Jaskier cries, tears slipping from his eyes as he whips his head towards Geralt and stares him down, defiant. “That’s what you’re made for—to kill things like me!” Finally, he breaks down into tears, burying his head into hands still smeared with Geralt’s blood. He’s disgusted with himself. If only Geralt would just do it already, he would welcome it—

Arms come around him, warm, even if they lack the temperature Jaskier knows they normally house. His breath stutters in his chest.

“Don’t you see, Jask? Can you really not?”

Slowly, blue eyes search for golden, blazing in the molten light. They are always so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. It will be a pity to know them no more. But Geralt just looks back, his expression soft...fond.

“Can’t you see I’d do anything for you?”

As Jaskier’s face crumples, and Geralt holds him through his echoing sobs, a low timbre tells of how Geralt knew—with Yennefer’s help of course—what would happen...and came anyway.

Jaskier shakes his head in exasperation as Geralt finishes, his voice shaky as he says, “You stupid, stupid witcher. You couldn’t have known it would be alright.”

“I don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“You did tonight.”

But Geralt did it all for him, and he won’t soon forget it.

“Besides, bard, this is the only night you will even show vampiric traits, if you so wish. So stop being so dramatic. You can live your life as you always have.”

Jaskier looks up, eyes tear bright and hopeful. “As I...always have?”

Geralt hums, nodding.

“With me.”

[notyetneedcoffee]

Our Secrets, Pt. 3

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: None this chapter, mainly annoyed Bucky and fluff!

A/N: This is the follow up to my No Secrets series.

You waited, outwardly looking patient, as Senator Joseph Tucker read the report provided by Bruce. Internally, you were rolling your eyes so far back into your head you could see your brain. It didn’t help that Bucky kept up an angry internal monologue that only you could hear.

‘If this pencil-neck little fucker thinks he can bench our girl, I’ll be teachin’ him different. Start with the fingers fiddling with that pen. Break each bone, one at a time. Every one of his fingers. Bet he cries like a baby. Pretty sure I can get him to piss himself by the time I got to his thumb.’

You closed your eyes and sighed.

‘She’s probably tired.’ Steve’s concern reached you. ‘I should stop this.’

Bucky knew better. ‘That was probably for me. Shit. Sorry, Doll. Just want to break his face.’

“Are we almost done here?” Steve asked.

“You’re welcome to leave whenever you wish, Captain.” Tucker didn’t even look up from the papers.

“How about food?” You piped in. “Are you hungry? We’ve got chicken fingers.”

Bucky snorted and turned away. This caused the Congressman to look up, scowling.

You smiled sweetly. “Or sandwiches?”

“No. Thank you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve eaten. Do you care if I call in food?” You picked up your phone. “Or will we be wrapping up sooner than that?”

“Um…”

“I’m just asking because Bucky gets a little hangry.” As if on cue, he practically growled.

Tucker set down the papers. “According to Dr. Banner’s tests there’s still a measurable change in your neurological readings.”

“It’s inconsequential.” Banner spoke up. “Completely within normal ranges.”

“But it is more than her baseline.”

“Brain chemistry is not a zero-sum science. She’s within a normal range. This may be her new baseline.”

“Why do you not specify what triggered the telepathy in your report? You have the remnants of the device.” Tucker flipped through the papers some more.

‘He wants to duplicate it.’ Steve observed.

“Because we don’t know. There are too many factors. The simulations failed.” Banner provided.

“I don’t see any tests involving Miss Y/L/N. Only passive readings and blood tests.”

“I didn’t consent.” Your voice hardened.

“Was that necessary?” Tucker turned to Banner. “You had her unconscious for several days.”

‘Fucker.’ Bucky’s voice growled in your head.

“Yes, Senator, it’s still required to get an American citizen’s consent before running scientific experiments on them.” Steve snipped. “Or has there’s been an amendment passed that I missed?”

“What proof do we have that she’s no longer experiencing telepathic abilities?” He closed the folder and looked at Steve coldly. “How are we to know she’s not going to eaves drop on classified information?”

“The test indicate that her brain chemistry has returned to normal, and she says she’s not hearing us anymore.” Banner was losing his temper. “We’ve been over this a dozen times.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe her?” Tucker leaned back in his chair.

‘Let me kill him. Come on, Doll, they’ll never find the body.’

“That’s enough.” Steve snapped. “You’ve got everything you need. We’re putting her back on duty.”

“Is that so?” Tucker snapped back.

“Yeah.” You pushed your chair back and stood up. “Believe it or not, Senator, I actually know my rights in this scenario. I’ve had plenty of time to work with Stark’s best attorneys to figure out my options whether or not the telepathy went away. This meeting is a courtesy, not a requirement. I’ve been patient, but now I’m tired and hungry and you’re being rude. So, we’re done.”

‘Damn straight, Doll.’

‘Argue with her, asshole.’ Steve thought. ‘I dare you. I’ll throw you out on your ass faster than you can blink.’

“You’ll get my summary response in short order.” Tucker snapped as Steve, Bucky and Bruce stood.

“Can you find your way out, or would like me to show you to the door?” Steve gave a cold smile.

You didn’t wait to hear the answer, and just left. Bucky followed close on your heels. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and he chuckled. “Chicken fingers?”

“I think I was very well behaved.” You giggled.

“Should have let break him.” Bucky whispered.

“You would have to beat me to him.” Steve’s voice mumble behind you. “What a jerk.”

The three of you made it back to the common rooms in the living quarters. Tony and Clint sat munching away at a huge plate of nachos. Sam was on the sofa, pillows tucked around him. A rugby match played on the television. You’d missed the simple things like this.  

“Hey! There she is.” Sam called out, voice a little slurred from the pain killers. He didn’t look that bad, but you knew he had a lot of healing up to do after his surgery. “Come here and give me some love.”

“Sam, I’ve missed you.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek before kneeling down beside him. “How you doing?”

“Stoned.” He giggled.

“He just took another dose.” Clint said through a half mouth of food.

Sam was making a funny face, having you ask. “What?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Oh good.” He took your hand in his. “I can go back to thinking naughty thoughts about that fine ass of yours.”

‘Hey!’ Bucky glared.

‘What?!’ Steve’s eyes snapped up from the tv.

You laughed. “You do that, Falcon. Just don’t tell my boys about it.”

“Riiiigghhhtt.” He nodded. “Don’t piss off the super soldiers. Got it.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Are you hungry, love?”

“Starving.”

Tony snickered. “Love. That’s adorable.” Bucky smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow!”

Clint laughed.

Steve grinned like a fool as he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a beer for you and Bucky, and a platter of food. You settled on the floor next to Sam. Buck and Steve took the chairs across from you. As you popped a piece of cheese in your mouth, Sam petted your hair. “Good to see you happy, kid.”

“He’s so wasted.” You grinned at Steve before turning back and looking at Sam. “Good to see you breathing, butthead.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Hey. Who’s a butthead?”

The six of you ate and drank and caught up for another hour before you stood up and stretched. Bucky stood up too. “You as tired as I am?”

“Yeah.” A great yawn overtook you. “I’m heading to bed. Goodnight guys.”

Bucky just followed you out of the room. Steve however was having a moment. ‘Should I go too? I should. I should say something to Tony. Say what? Fuck. Now it’ll look like I’m running after them.’

You stopped before you entered your room. Bucky practically bumped into your back. You called out. “Steve! Where’d you put my purple bag?! It’s got my toothbrush in it!”

“Let me show you!” Steve jumped up and jogged toward you. Around the corner, he found you smirking. He turned pink. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You pushed up on your toes as he leaned forward to gently kiss your lips.

Bucky was already stretched out on your bed when you closed and locked the door. “These beds are way smaller than the one at the cabin.”

“That was a king size.” Steve commented. “Get your shoes off the bed.”

‘Mmm’ Bucky thought, ‘Nope, I want this pillow.’

You heard the double thunk-thuck of Bucky kicking off his shoes as you dug into one of your suitcases. Steve moved around in the bathroom and you heard him brushing his teeth. Suddenly the total normalcy of the moment hit you, the sense of complete domestic contentment.

Not so long ago the solitude of your suite was a sanctuary your defended vehemently. You’d always worn your independence like a badge of honor. Now, you felt more at home, happier, than ever before with Steve and Bucky filling up your space. They belonged here. Or you belonged wherever they were.

The immensity of it overtook you. You needed this. Needed them. You would never survive going back. They had you, completely. 

“Doll?” Bucky’s soft voice pulled your attention to him. “What’s wrong?”

Steve knelt beside you, the smell of mint on his breath. His thumb wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. “What is it?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just happy to be home, happy we’re together.”

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you and lifted you in the air. He fell back on the bed with a playful ‘ouff’. He wrapped around you. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting rid of us.”

You laughed. Steve climbed on the bed, his fingers finding your ticklish spots. His smile glowing at your peals of laughter. You wriggled, but Bucky held you tight. “Nope! You’re ours. No getting away.”

“Stop!” You squealed. “Okay. Okay. I’m yours!”

‘Damn straight, Doll.’

‘Love you so much.’

Steve relented, lying beside you with bright eyes. You pulled Bucky’s arm tighter around your middle and touched Steve’s face. “Never imagined anything this good. Not ever.”

“Me neither.” Bucky’s face nuzzled your hair.

Steve leaned into your shoulder. “Better that I ever thought possible.”

You yawned again. Steve sat up and Bucky pulled away. You whined.

“None of that.” Bucky chuckled. He tugged at your top. “Let’s get undressed and ready for bed.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned.

Steve kissed your neck. “In the morning, Love. You’ve had a full day and we can see how exhausted you are.”

“But I’m…” a yawn broke through. “Okay, I am that tired.”

Bucky pulled your shirt over your head. “Like Stevie said, in the morning.”

‘We’ll make you scream so loud you wake the whole compound.’ Bucky smirked.

You fell asleep with your head on Steve’s chest, listening to his heart. Bucky’s left arm was draped over your body with his hand resting on Steve’s ribs, with his legs wound in yours. You couldn’t move, hot and pinned down. It felt like heaven.

TAGS:

@asiaaisa77​ / @badassbaker​ / @bangtan-serendipity​ / @beautifullungs​ / @buchanansebba​ / @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ / @buckybarnesplumwhore​

/  @cashewsaremyfavourite​ / @catthecreator​ / @coffeebooksandfandom​ / @daughterofthenight117​ / @dsakita​ / @geeksareunique​ / @gifsbysimplysonia​ / @girlmadeofivory​ / @imma-new-soul​ / @itsag​ / @jesseswartzwelder​ / @josie605​ / @kalesrebellion​ / @kiki5283​ / @lbouvet​ / @lexie-mo​ / @lovely-lollipops-blog​ / @michelehansel​ / @mindtravelsx / @morganhoran1671 / @neverending-space​ / @night-cereus​ / @notyourtypicalrose​ / @person-born-winchester​ / @rainbowkisses31​ / @rayofdawnworld / @readermia​ / @rynabarnesrogers-reading​ / @saiyanprincessswanie​ / @sammghgecko / @scarlettsoldier​ / @sebbysstangirl​ / @sexyvixen7​ / @sllooney​ / @smokeandnailz​ / @theneuropsychwriter​ / @the-omni-princess​ / @the-reading-octopus​ / @thorfanficwriter​ / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @vanillabunn21​ / @wildmoonflower​ / @wwe-fanfiction-queen​ / @ykcim24-7 

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

to be [a]sundered

Summary: Kugisaki Nobara is blessed. She will never know.

Relationship(s): Kugisaki Nobara & Reader, Kugisaki Nobara/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc. Oh. And the comment section.)

There’s manga spoilers in this fic alongside headcanon.

So far, out of my menial amount of JJK fics, this one has probably been the most enjoyable to write. With Nobara’s background I can play around because it’s just there.

|||

“I’m going to Tokyo,” she says. Come with me.

“No.” Can’t, sorry.

Mahito touches her soul.

Kugisaki Nobara is blessed.

She will never know.

The first time she introduces you to her friends, Saori nearly gouges your eye out with a sugar spoon and Fumi spills the contents of her cup across the table.

“I have cake,” you say, offering a cutesy box to Saori who’s still got the sugar spoon trained on you. “It’s baumkuchen. An old acquaintance gave it to me for free but I figured it’d be too much for just one person.”

Nobara, giggling, just offers you a seat and asks for more tea.

On the outskirts of the village there is a shrine.

They say it houses a god that blessed their lands long ago and watches over them to this very day; they hold a celebration in its honour every year, a small share of the harvest season’s best crop is offered up to appease the god.

Her grandparents say it houses a malevolent wonder-terror who feasts on the soul of its worshippers once the sun goes down; her grandparents say the aforementioned god and malevolent wonder-terror are one and the same, born from a wish made by humans.

You laugh when she tells you the crap people have come up about your home. (You appreciate the free food, though.)

You are not a god or something malevolent. You’re you.

Not quite divine but too powerful to sniff at.

Humans cannot see or sense you. Not even those who can bottle their negative energy, the ones you occasionally see passing through the village. Usually, you have to will yourself into existence. But she can regardless.

Spirits, the weak and strong, good nor bad, fear you. Your presence sets their survival instincts off, running immediately when you try to approach them. She has to give chase and incapacitate them for you when the hunger becomes agony.

You taught her well, it seems.

Too well.

Mahito touches her soul and it burns, burns, burns.

-

Kugisaki Nobara was barely old enough to be out on her own, but her grandparents trusted her to stay safe. The village was small, everyone knew each other, word spread fast, so if something happened to her on her small excursion… Well, no one would come looking for her, would they?

It was a lie when she said she was just going out to play with friends at the park.

Nobara didn’t have friends.

All the other kids were boring. She didn’t like their company. Whenever there was a big gathering, she’d try her best to avoid them and hide from the adults in bushes.

Despite knowing this, her grandmother let her go.

She hated being cooped inside with nothing to do and today was perfect! The humid air made her clothes stick to her skin but at least the wide-brimmed straw sunhat she snatched from her grandfather’s shed protected her from the sun’s wrath. It meant her peers would be over at the river halfway across the village; people wouldn’t go back to working on their fields until it cooled down a bit later in the day; they wouldn’t see her; and she’d be on her lonesome.

She wanted to laugh to herself. Everything was coming together.

Finally, she could check out that place she’s been meaning to visit ever since she first heard of it: the derelict shrine.

Her grandmother warned her to stay away from it, lest she give her name away by accident to the being living there and have her life stolen, but Nobara, inwardly, thought it was a load of cow dung. She’d die? Hah?! It was all superstition! (She would never admit it did spook her a bit.) Besides, things like vampires and witches and ghosts didn't exist in the first place. She’d be fine.

Humming with a skip in her step, Nobara made it to the shrine in due time.

“Hello?”

“Why hello there!”

She took everything back.

You had to be a ghost with the way you snuck up on her soundlessly. You kept insisting you weren’t. You glided along the floor.

You had to be a ghost. And now you were serving her snacks and tea. Inside the shrine. Inside what was, supposedly, your home.

“Why don’t I believe you?” she voiced aloud.

You stared at her, face deadpan, and poured hot water over your hand. She watched your skin scald. “Does this answer your question?”

Kugisaki Nobara at five years old was a bit of a skeptic, contrary to her personal beliefs.

“No. Not really.”

-

11:25 PM →

You emerge from the gaping hole where her left eye was blown out alongside a good chunk of her head, something writhing and fierce and oh-so familiar.

Ah. Right. This feeling; this foreign dread dawning upon him, piercing Mahito innermost; your dull but irritated eyes trained on the cursed spirit akin to a lizard eyeing up a cockroach. You’re like him, possessing a soul that absolutely cannot and should not be touched.

Shit—that means she too—

Hahahahaha.

You don’t even need to spare him another glance. You know what he’s thinking. You know what he’s done.

You won’t be as lenient with him as Sukuna was.

But here’s the thing. Although a student may surpass their teacher one day, the teacher might not relay all that they know to the next generation to ensure the safety of their student and those around them. However, Mahito is nothing to you. Itadori Yuuji, on the other hand, is important, so you grab him and throw the boy behind you.

“Reverberate,” you intone, bearing the exact same wounds as her.

His senses are heightened a thousandfold, but not nearly are they even close to yours.

You shove a nail of hers into yourself, saying, “Plunge.”

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, hurtshurtshurtshurtshurTshURtsHURTS.

“Quietus.”

“We’re soulmates, you and me.”

She bursts out laughing. “Like from those cheesy dramas?” Nobara asks. Because. She needs to know. Whenever she’s around you, everything feels… right. It’s hard to articulate. Her heart doesn’t rush when you graze her skin but the particular spot where contact was made always tingles with a reassuring warmth; you’re real, not a fabrication of her imagination. She doesn’t fantasise about you like the way her peers do with the object of their affections. Your very presence makes her comfortable. “Are you having second thoughts?” she jeers, poking you hard in the ribs. (She’s still bitter about your decision.)

The intended jab has no effect.

“No,” is your reply. “What I mean is that your soul and mine are the same. If something happens to you, I’ll know.”

“What? You think I’m gonna be some part of a demonic summoning ritual where I’ll be a human sacrifice?”

“Time and distance makes no difference.”

“So if I just say the word…?”

“That… that’s not what I…” You sigh and scrub the gunk from your eyes.

How are you supposed to explain the whole situation to her?

Oh, yeah, about a couple aeons ago there was a being who tore themself in two—one part immortal, the other mortal—in order to understand their reason for existing. Their immortal self would be stagnant and observe their mortal self who would continuously live, die and reincarnate, until the latter, under their own volition, sought the former out and then a conclusion would be made between the two on whether or not they would remain as separate entities or rejoin together as one again.

Your original self (you and her; her and you) wasn’t great at planning ahead, that is plain to see. They didn’t think about the consequences, they just wanted an out. And fast.

Well look at you now. Distorted beyond reason. You’re an exercise in self-destruction. You stopped considering it being a miracle that you could wake up every morning by yourself and do what you wanted: the novelty was short-lived. You want to die but you’re at the point where it’s easier to convince yourself you do not than to focus on how you will off yourself somewhere that no one (and nothing) can find your undecayed corpse because the company you keep will become worried if you let the happy facade slip.

“Never mind,” you mutter.

-

She was ten when she first saw the skull.

It tumbled from your billowing sleeve as you rummaged around your pockets, rolling to a stop at her feet.

She lifted it up. “Whose is this?”

It was a weird skull, not like those she’d seen in her textbooks. She thought of asking Fumi about the skull later, when school started back up, but the idea was literally snatched from her mind when you saw exactly what she was holding.

In your hands, the skull seemed smaller. Inconsequential. Another another weird quirk of yours: carrying around random things. Maybe it was a model? You told her to forget about it and stowed the skull away—back into your sleeve—and dragged her along the beaten path you insisted on walking.

The next time, she was thirteen and helping you clear up your home. Fumi was there too.

They’d been going through a closet stuffed full of old junk and out the skull tumbled, right into Fumi’s lap. Rightfully so, her friend screamed. It took you several minutes to calm the poor girl down, her view of you now askew. Nobara was on your side when Fumi tried convincing you whomever the skull belonged to deserved a proper burial out in the forest and you refused.

No matter how hard she tried, you would not budge.

And that was that.

(From then on, whenever you made yourself visible to Fumi, she regarded you warily before seeing the way you looked at Nobara like she hung the stars and the moon.)

The last time the skull made an appearance in her life, Nobara had just turned fifteen.

A strange pair of men were at her door at the crack of dawn, rousing her grandparents, which prompted them to drag Nobara out of bed at such a god-awful time of the day. They all sat at a table soberly, discussing her future while Nobara found her attention gravitating to you.

You were playing with a stray cat in the garden, its stomach presented to you eagerly so soon after it deemed you safe, and making the most disgusting cooing noises she had ever heard to it with a dopey grin.

It was only at the call of her name that her head snapped back forward.

Yaga Masamichi was a strange one, tinkering so openly with a corpse in front of her deeply superstitious grandparents, but, strangely enough, it was his companion, a shock of white hair and bandage, that caught her eye. The young man was looking your way.

Not at the cat pawing up at thin air. Oh no. The blindfolded stranger’s gaze was dead set on you; she saw his brow raise minutely as Yaga and her grandparents continued talking, her tools of trade that was cobbled together from old sheds and the local hardware store bared flat on the table; she watched him watch you rub the cat’s belly before you lifted it high into the air like a parent would to their child. It was obvious what the situation playing out was: you had caught on to the stranger’s sighting of you long before she did. To emphasise the fact, you even babbled to the cat, “Higher, higher! Oopsie-daisy!!” before letting it back down and nuzzling it against your face, affectionate and close.

Yaga only noticed the change in atmosphere when the cat’s meows suddenly went quiet. But the other one (white hair, bandages, feels wrong, rotting flesh and fresh) grinned, slapping an enrollment form on the table.

“You. Leave that thing behind when you come to our school,” said Gojou Satoru, his introduction earlier all pomp and a wellspring of positive energy memes a stark comparison to now as he continued watching you, all but ignoring her grandmother shouting up at him to stop spouting nonsense.

(“What drivel! My granddaughter surely won’t—”)

She went back to spacing out in your direction.

Without hesitation, you dropped the cat into your gaping maw and swallowed it whole in one gulp. The first cursed spirit you managed to catch by yourself. Your ability at masking your aura was improving. That was good.

The skull peeked out of your hoodie’s pocket, the many orbits winking at her.

Screw the rules, you were coming with her whether the bureaucracy liked it or not.

-

At this rate, she’s going to die for sure.

You know what to do.

You’re one and the same. If Mahito touched one half of your original self and corrupted it, reason dictates that giving her body (the container) yours will fix her. But there’s a problem.

The implosion practically ruined her chances of survival, reducing it to null.

Not even a high grade sorcerer could hope to reverse the damage. Bone is a special material. Bone takes time to be cultivated or to grow. For a jujutsu user, especially, a substitute of different material won’t cut it. Bone, like the soul, contains an essence of sorts, it’s one of the few natural conductors of negative energy humans can have.

Your point: bone is not easily replaced.

Kneeling over Nobara, you grab from the air the object you were entrusted with over a millennium ago for safekeeping.

“Oi, oi, oi, you. You. Freak-god-thing.” You regard Itadori Yuuji with disdain. Or rather, the lone eye and accompanying mouth that’s on his cheek. “Is that what I think it is.”

“What? Are you objecting? Or worse—obstructing?”

“I don’t know about you or the brat, but you’re gonna fuck up the girl if you do that.”

“And since when did the King of Curses grow a heart?”

“I fucking didn’t, you prick.” The eye manages to scowl without a brow. “I’m just saying… You are sending her to condemnation.”

“Says the finger shagger,” you retort. The mouth disappears; Itadori Yuuji has an indescribable expression on his face but you know he won’t try and stop your hare-brained idea, he wants what you want.

You know what you’re doing.

You’ve had to do this a few times before.

It will work.

“Hello?”

A child? Who in their right mind would—

You freeze in your tracks. It’s them, your mind exclaims. It’s them. Them. Them. Them.

… Her.

You walk up behind her, beaming.

“Why hello there!” you chime, so, so happy.

[thanks--for--listening]

tethers

hi party people guess who finally finished her fic for the wilds! i’m tagging it as leatin but you could probably read it either in a ship way or just in a friendship way. takes place after the ocean scene but we’re pretending Leah hasn’t gone into the woods to find nora yet. (also on ao3)

~~

The sun was overbearing. Leah tried to open her eyes, but the glare surrounded her, didn't leave room for anyone or anything else. There was no warmth or feeling — just light. She might have compared it to drowning, but the metaphor didn’t hold up anymore. She knew what drowning looked like; there was nothing bright about it.

The waves had been all darkness, pain and pressure toying with her like she weighed nothing at all. She’d heard the ocean described as unforgiving before, and she hadn’t understood it until she was out there. The water didn’t care about her. It didn’t care about anyone. There was fear, a survival instinct that couldn’t be ignored, but there was also something intoxicating about its indifference. Giving up control offered a serenity she hadn’t prepared for. A part of her still longed for it, although it wasn’t strong enough to break through the sun, to drag her up and off the beach. 

The constant light might have tricked her into thinking she’d succeeded, but she was pretty sure the afterlife wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Every muscle in her body groaned, as if they’d rusted over in however long she’d been asleep. There was a quiet but constant pounding in her head, and she let it ground her, let every beat sync up with her heart and confirm that she was still alive. 

Her other sensations came back slowly. The hunger, deep in her gut, made itself known in whispers that weren’t easily ignored. The sand beneath her, damp and cold, served as a constant reminder of the hell she was waking up to. But more than anything, it was the feeling of a hand running through her hair that motivated her to blink away the sun and let reality come back into focus. 

Fatin wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were cast outward, at the infinite ocean surrounding them. She stared at it like she could see past it, like there was more to look at than their own personal wasteland. Like she saw something that wasn’t there.

Leah’s eyes drifted to her hands. She could feel her right one still absentmindedly combing through her hair, but her left was in its own world. Her fingers kept moving, up and down and left to right, slowly then quickly, then slowly again. It looked sporadic at first, but the longer she watched, the more she felt like there was a rhythm to it. A pattern, although one she couldn’t decipher. 

Fatin glanced down, as if she felt her eyes on her. “You’re up.” The worry in her voice contradicted the smile on her face. “How do you feel?”

“Drowsy.” Speaking took more effort than it should have. Her voice carried it's now characteristic crack, the sound almost not coming out at all. 

“Here,” she said as she reached for a water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

Fatin helped her up, held her head as she drank. It didn’t matter that the water was warm — it came with the same relief it had in the few weeks they’d been here. Every sip calmed her, brought her back down to Earth, dampened the pounding and gnawing and rebelling going on inside her body, if only for a moment. Calm wasn’t something she held onto for very long.

She put the bottle down, shifted so her head ended up in Fatin’s lap. They’d never talked about it, this position she often found herself in. Leah wasn’t even sure how it had started. All she knew was that she liked the way it felt, to lay against her, to feel the warmth of another person underneath her. And after that day they’d spent searching, when all she could think about was Fatin dead in a ditch somewhere, Leah couldn’t deny the comfort it gave her, knowing for certain that she was okay. That she was alive. 

Fatin never stopped her, not once.

“How—uh, how are you feeling? You know, up here?“ Fatin tapped on the side of her head as she asked. The hesitation was so unlike her. Guilt reared its ugly head, reminded her of an indisputable fact: Fatin’s fear, her worry, it was all her fault. They were in hell, and she was making things worse. The way she always did.

“Better.” She answered confidently, even though she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was true or not. The desperation was out of the forefront, at the very least. But she wasn’t sure that would classify her as healed. As normal. Leah didn’t think she’d ever fit that label, not before this fucking island and definitely not on it. She did her best to ignore the sinking feeling that she might not find normal anytime after their castaway adventure, either. She would always be this way. That girl who ran to the ocean, she would live somewhere inside her forever. 

Fatin sighed in relief, and all at once she made the white lie worth it. “That’s two things to celebrate.”

“Two?”

Her face lit up. “We’ve got food now. Starvation is officially put on hold.”

She tried to smile. Truly, she did, but whether it was her body’s slow reaction time or her mind’s lingering hold on her, something wouldn’t let it happen. Pretending kept getting harder, and she couldn’t help but worry about what happened when she lost the ability entirely.

Fatin noticed. She always seemed to notice. “Aren’t you happy?” She could hear it in the way she spoke. The concern. Leah hated it, hated being the reason for it. 

“Yeah,” she answered a little too quickly. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. But that’s good, it really is.”

She didn’t look like she believed her. Leah didn’t know how to explain it, her lack of response. It was a little bit of everything: the dread at thinking about what came with survival, the fog from whatever she’d swallowed not fully faded, the lifetime spent not knowing how to feel anything the right amount. She was all or nothing, always had been. And right now, no matter what she did, she couldn’t escape the nothing. 

There was a numbness to it. She’d get moments, watching the world speed around her while she felt trapped in slow motion. The island had broken it initially, but the adrenaline faded with every day that passed, and it took any sort of regulation with it. All she was left with was her typical, fucked up self, her zero to a hundreds. And everyone else was left with it, too.

“What was that thing you were doing earlier?” She asked it mostly as a distraction. Fatin may not have been as shallow as she’d once thought, but she also didn’t pass up many opportunities to talk about herself. The attempt may have been futile, but it could work, if it managed to catch her off guard. Or if Fatin decided to amuse her and ignore the obvious avoidance.

Leah knew she had her when she scrunched her eyebrows together. “What thing?”

“With your hands. You were, like, not tapping exactly, but you were doing...I don’t know. You were moving a lot.”

“Oh. That.” Fatin didn’t blush, not visibly, but she’d seen that smile before. She knew what it meant. “It’s nothing.”

“Does it mean something?”

“No. It’s stupid. Just an old habit.”

She could hear the lie. It didn’t make sense, how something so inconsequential could be worth hiding. Genuine curiosity snuck in, made her forget about distractions entirely. “It’s not like you could embarrass yourself more than I already have, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Leah saw the smile tug at her lips. “Okay,” Fatin said, sounding more herself. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. My reputation depends on it.”

She forced her hand up to her lips, weakly mimicked zipping her mouth shut. Her arm screamed, but the effort was worth it for the laugh she got in return. 

“Alright. Sometimes, when I get bored, or when I need to get out of my head, I mentally run through whatever piece I’m learning.”

The connection took a second. “You mean cello pieces?”

Fatin nodded. “I use my thumb as the makeshift fingerboard,” she said, holding her hand up in front of her. “And I just...go through the motions.”

Leah watched as her fingers moved. She could see it more clearly now, the intentionality of it all. The routine. She moved quickly, confidently, with so much purpose and familiarity. It was something so small, but she felt like it shattered whatever was left of the misconstrued perception she’d had of her. 

Fatin stopped after a few seconds. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s cool.”

She laughed. “If you think this is cool, your social education has failed you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Leah, it’s the cello. Nothing about the cello is cool.”

“Anything is cool if you’re good at it. And I heard you’re, like, really good. Like, Juilliard-level good. That’s cool.”

The smile faded. Leah didn’t understand it, felt a quiet desperation to get it back. “Yeah. Well, if one good thing comes out of this, it’s that I can leverage my parents to make sure I never have to go there. Not sure they’ll be able to say no to me ever again.”

“You don’t wanna go? But isn’t that, like, the be-all end-all school for music?”

“Yeah, if you wanna spend the rest of your life playing concertos written by dead racist white men and wasting your best years wearing concert attire.” She tried to smile, but Leah could see right through her. “You know me, I can’t live my life confined to an all black wardrobe.”

She hesitated, just for a second, before asking, “There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?”

For a second, Leah thought she’d deny it, but instead she just shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time if you wanna explain it.” She motioned vaguely around then. “Schedule’s all clear for the foreseeable future.”

Their eyes met, and even if she’d been strong enough to move, she would have sat frozen in place. Fatin had a way of staring into her like she could see every thought running through her head, like every emotion she had was out on display. It was captivating, and fascinating, and terrifying, and Leah never wanted it to stop.

“My parents started me in lessons when I was little,” she said after a minute. “Tends to come with the territory when you’re first gen. Music is supposed to teach you discipline and patience. Immigrant parents eat that shit up.”

“I’m sure you took to that lesson real fast.”

Fatin cracked a smile. “Oh, yeah. Throw your kid into nonstop music lessons before they know how to read, and you could come out of it with me, every parent’s dream. Clearly I’m a walking success story.”

“I mean, you kinda are. That is, if you’re really that good.”

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m fucking amazing. But it isn’t because of some child prodigy bullshit, or because I have an abundance of patience. Most people aren’t born good at something. You have to work for it.”

She meant to ask it as a joke, but sincerity slipped out. “And...that’s what you did? You worked at it?”

“You don’t have to act all surprised. Yeah, I worked at it. I worked at it a lot.” She held up her hand, and for the first time Leah saw the rough calluses Dot had mentioned earlier. “You don’t get monstrosities like these without spending a lot of fucking time on it.”

“Wow.” She tried to imagine it, a tiny Fatin slaving away at an instrument that had to be just as big as her. A teenage Fatin locked away in a practice room, playing over and over and over again, wounds reopening so many times that even weeks on an island couldn’t properly heal them. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about it.”

She didn’t say anything. For a second she wondered whether she’d gone too far, crossed a line she hadn’t realized was there. An apology was sitting at the tip of her tongue when Fatin sighed and said, “I used to be.”

She could hear it, the way they were treading into delicate territory. Part of her was scared to keep going. Every one of her companions seemed to have their own personal landmines hidden in their time before the crash, and the last thing she wanted was to set off an explosion. She knew how to blow up, but she wasn’t strong the way Fatin was — if she missed a step, she may not be able to put the pieces back together. 

It was the feeling of Fatin’s left hand stalled in the movement, still fingers content to stay tangled in her hair, that made Leah push aside the fear. She could beat herself up later for whatever mistakes she was bound to make, but she couldn’t do nothing. 

“What changed?” The words were an invitation, one she wasn’t sure Fatin would accept. The pain was palpable. Her eyes drifted away from Leah and back out into the ocean, and a small part of her wanted to go back in, to find whatever it was Fatin kept searching for.

“I did, I guess.” She spoke like she was saying the words for the first time. “It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t a popular kid. I had a weird name and a weird family. I brought the wrong lunches to school and I wore the wrong clothes, and no one cared to look any deeper. But none of that mattered, because I had music.”

Leah could see the light creep into her eyes, slowly, quietly. “When I played,” she continued, “I understood everything. I could hear it, the way each note, each piece, was supposed to sound. I could practice, and practice, and practice, and I could get better. I could learn to do everything right.”

She talked about playing the way people talked at funerals: reminiscing about someone who was already gone, picking only the happy memories and pretending for just a moment that no other ones existed. And Leah knew it wasn’t the whole story, but there was something compelling about listening, about imagining a world in which everything made sense and no error was so abhorrent it couldn’t be fixed with a slight adjustment.

“By the time I was in middle school, my future had already been decided. I’d spent every day after school rehearsing, spent every summer at music camps. I never complained, because I truly thought there was nothing else. Nothing could be better than sitting on stage, impressing rows and rows of people who could only dream about having what I had.”

“It sounds amazing.” Leah hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but it was true. It reminded her of writing. Searching for the right words, the right structure, the right pacing. The satisfaction that came with it. She may not have had an audience to look out on, but she’d had glimpses of the feeling. The ability to control the world around you, just for a second.

“It was, at first. Every crowd, every teacher and ensemble member, they all wanted to hear me. They wanted to be me. And maybe it’s shallow, but there’s nothing more intoxicating than being desired.”

“It’s not shallow.” It came out as a whisper. Leah turned her eyes down, even when she was certain Fatin’s had found their way back to her. She knew if she gave her the chance, Fatin would see everything, all the guilt and pain and humiliation. The pages might have burned, but the need for them, for what they once meant, hadn’t turned into ashes yet. 

“Maybe it’s not.” Her voice felt softer as she spoke again. “But it’s easier to say that when it’s coming from an audience. From something you have to earn. It’s a lot harder when it’s coming from boys who see a body instead of a person.”

“So that’s what changed.” She tried to put some humor into the words. The last thing she wanted Fatin to think was that she was judging her. She might have done it before, but the high ground she’d once placed herself on was sinking by the minute.

Fatin chucked. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s the classic story, really. Girl turns fourteen, goes through puberty, and suddenly popularity is offering itself up on a silver platter held by boys in football jerseys and envied by girls with Pom Poms. Trends shift. What was out is now in. And for the first time in my life, I was in.”

“That sounds nice.” She wasn’t sure whether she was lying or not. It did sound tempting, but popularity had always seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

Fatin just sighed. “Part of it was. I’d spent years not really interacting with anyone outside of a rehearsal hall. I thought it’d be hard. But when you're used to searching for emotion in sheet music, faces become so much easier. All these kids projected everything, gave me all the right answers. I never even had to try.”

So much of who she was began to make sense. Her perceptiveness, her empathy, her uncanny ability to read a room. Fatin had gone from an open book to a complete mystery in the last few weeks, and for the first time since, Leah felt like she was beginning to figure her out.

“The people I started to hang with, they were so different from everyone I’d ever met,” Fatin continued. “They were bold. Independent. Filled with confidence that wasn’t reliant on anyone else. It was…” she shrugged. “It was revolutionary.”

“What do you mean?”

“They showed me an entirely different life. Everything I’d thought I could only get while performing was out there, waiting for me. And the options — there were so many options. For so long, music was the only thing I cared about, because it was the only thing that ever made me feel...I don’t know. Seen. Heard. Wanted. But when the world started paying attention to me, I started paying attention back. And the cello wasn’t enough anymore.”

“So, why didn’t you stop?”

Fatin rolled her eyes. “You say it like it’s that easy. I could complain until I ran out of air, but that wasn’t going to change anything. Juilliard was my future. My parents weren’t going to let me throw that away for complete uncertainty.”

“Even if you didn’t want it anymore?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered in that house in a long time.”

Leah hesitated, before asking, “Is that why you’re going to move?”

“You could say that.” She seemed to search for the words. “I thought I’d...my mom, I thought she’d…” Fatin sighed, and she could hear the way her breath shook, went unsteady for just a moment before she kept talking. “I don’t have anyone on my side. The only thing that could keep me there are my brothers, but I’m not what they need. Not now.”

She let the silence fill the space around them. She’d only known Fatin from glimpses in the halls, but in each one she was always talking. Surrounded by people. The idea of her alone was almost unimaginable. “At least you have your friends. I’ve only ever had one, and I went and threw him away.” She thought about Ian, about the tent, about every moment she’d blocked out when her view had been dominated by hand-written notes and whispered confessions. “You still have people to go back to.”

Fatin just shook her head. “It’s not that kind of relationship, hon. We don’t...the people I spend my time with, we don’t talk about the real stuff. I’m not sure any of them are gonna wanna stick around after I come back with all this.”

Leah frowned. “But what about the guys you…”

“The ones I’ve fucked?” Leah nodded. “No. Everything is temporary with them. It’s perfect.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah. We worked because we both knew what we were getting into. They used me, and I used them. They wanted a good time, and I...I wanted that feeling back. The applause.” She exaggerated the word, like she wanted it to be a joke. It didn’t work. “I wanted more of it. I wanted them to need me more than I needed them.”

“That sounds—”

“You can say it. I already know.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m a skank, and I’m taking all of us women down with me and my reckless promiscuity.”

“I was just going to say it sounds lonely.”

She watched Fatin bite her lip, turn her eyes up toward the sky. Leah looked up with her. The clouds could have been painted, they were moving so slowly. It calmed her, although she couldn’t figure out why. 

“There are worse feelings,” Fatin finally said, “than laying with someone who wants you, even if it won’t last.”

He crept in quickly, reminded her of the pain of being left, abandoned, desired and then repulsed. She thought about the dark that had followed and never stopped, the missed calls and the unheard screams. The deafening thud in her head telling her to swim until she reached the end. She thought about the paranoia, the intensity of knowing when something was wrong but having no way to prove it, no way to fix it. 

“Fatin,” she said softly, eyes still glued to the clouds. “I don’t want to stay here, but I don’t think I want to go back home, either.”

She could feel the stare, but she avoided it. “You don’t have to go home.”

“I have nowhere else to go. And even if I make it back, I’ll have nothing. No one.”

“That’s not true. You’ll have me.” Fatin put her hand on her chin, tilted her head, waited until their eyes met. “And there’s no if about it. We will make it out of here. I promise.”

“It’s not just the island. I can’t leave all my problems in my childhood bedroom. I can’t walk out of my own head. I…” she tried not to, but she felt the tear slip out anyway, felt it make its way down past her chin. “I don’t know how to live like this forever.”

Fatin bent over and hugged her, brought their heads together in a way Leah didn’t think was physically possible. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say that everything’s going to be easy. But I know it’ll get better.”

“How? How do you know?”

“Because nothing could possibly be worse than this.” Fatin raised her head, but she kept her hand in her hair. Leah let the motion bring her back down, let it fight off the waves as best as it could. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed there. Long enough for the panic about the future to subside. Long enough for Dot to come over with food. Fatin eased her up, helped her eat slowly, and Leah was grateful. She wasn’t sure she’d have had the self control not to over-indulge without her.

Sleep threatened, tried to tug at her eyelids when Fatin pulled her back down into her lap. She resisted, searched for something to focus on and found the ocean in front of them. The moment leading up to it had been a bit of a blur, desperation blocking out the rest of the world, but she knew who she’d left on the beach. She knew who’d had to watch. 

“Hey,” Leah forced herself to tear her gaze off the sea, to look her in the eye. To not hide from the pain. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that yesterday.”

Fatin shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I know you...you’re not wired like everyone else. You have to be stronger. And that sucks, it really, really does. But promise me something, okay?” Leah nodded, and Fatin put her hands on her cheeks, made sure she couldn’t look away, even if she’d wanted to. “If you ever start feeling that much darkness again, don’t run to the waves. You run to me.”

She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to do anything but nod. Fatin stared at her for another moment, searched her eyes for something and seemed to find it. She let go, but her hand didn’t make its way back to her hair. Instead, they formed fists at her sides, held nothing but air and frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Fatin.”

Leah could feel the breath she took. It was heavy, weighted with burdens Leah knew and ones she didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She spoke to the ground instead of at her. “When you ran out there, I didn’t know how to get to you. I didn’t know how to bring you back.”

“But you did.” This time it was Leah who searched, who’s eyes begged her to listen, to believe her. “Rachel may have carried me to shore, but you saved me, too, Fatin.”

Leah reached for her hand, unraveled it until it fit inside her own. She ran her fingers over the calluses, the marks that told a deeper story than she’d ever suspected. Part of her wondered if they’d ever go away, if any of their pasts would leave them unmarked, or if they’d have to carry those scars forever.

“You know what,” Fatin said after a moment, “you should come with us. Dot and I, you should live with us in LA after this.”

She tried to imagine it: a tiny apartment, the three of them desperately trying to figure out adulthood on their own. It sounded crazy, and unpredictable, and reckless. She wanted it more than anything.

“Okay, but on one condition: you have to play the cello for me, at least once.” 

Fatin scoffed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I just need to hear what all the fuss is about! If I’m living with a music virtuoso, I wanna get an exclusive performance before you retire all together.”

She rolled her eyes, but a grin fought its way through. “I’m not opposed to the idea of playing again, so long as it’s for you.”

“Really? Just for me?”

Fatin fake sighed. “Alright, Dot can listen too, I guess. But my piece selection will consist exclusively of Top 40 covers. If you hear the real stuff, you might become possessed like my parents and try to ship me off to Juilliard in my sleep.”

“Possessed? So what, you’re some kind of Siren now?”

She held her hands up in fake surrender. “I’m just stating facts. My playing convinced my immigrant parents to push their daughter toward a career in the arts. Who knows what other power it holds.”

They laughed, and Leah kept to herself the thought that she could never be a Siren. Sirens were supposed to be tempting only from afar, their beauty a mirage meant to lead sailors astray; the closer she looked, the more confident she became that Fatin was no facade. She might have been the realest thing Leah had.

“If I’m being honest, I kind of miss it.” She looked back at the island. Leah watched the way she stared at it, the hints of appreciation that slipped into her gaze. “This place may be a living nightmare, but it would be a hell of a spot to play. Not for an audition or an audience or anything. Just for the beauty of it.”

“What’s the piece? The one you were practicing before you came here?”

“You wouldn’t know it. Unless you’re a closeted classical music fan.”

“Can you show me what it sounds like?”

Fatin turned toward her and smiled. Leah knew she felt everything in extremes, but she was certain that she could spend forever looking at Fatin’s smile and never grow tired of it. 

She began to hum. It started off fast, the notes bouncing from high to low and back again before Leah could even really process them. The cello was about as foreign to her as any other instrument, but even she could tell it sounded hard. The movements she’d seen earlier began to make sense, the speed at which her hands had shifted. It was impressive, even now, with no instrument in sight. 

When she began to slow down, each note taking up more and more time, Leah closed her eyes. She could hear it now. The timidness that had appeared at the start faded, and all that was left was the emotion. The passion. Part of her longed to point to it, to show her that it hadn’t vanished the way she’d thought, but the last thing she wanted to do was stop the music. So instead she kept her mouth shut and just listened. 

Their hands had found their way back to one another. She let them stay there, momentarily intertwined. Her body still ached but she ignored it, forced her energy into memorizing this moment. When she’d jumped into the ocean, she hadn’t felt strong enough to pull herself back. Her brain could be so selective, so misleading. It could steal the few tethers she did have, leaving her disjointed from everyone around her, from reality itself. She still wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it, but she wanted to try. In her mind’s brief period of peace, she silently vowed to make as many as she could, to stock up on moments that made her feel grateful to be alive. She started with this: Fatin’s melody, accompanied only by the quiet push and pull of the waves.