#they've been reminded they have finals in three days

[everyryuujisuguro]

[acid-ixx]

ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste,  "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?"  hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—"  he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic,  the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke.  not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

taglist: @neerathebrightstar , @ghostdoodlen , @prince-nikko , @daisy-spot , @strawberryglass , @h0neybun-was-here , @confused-they , @weirdcore-fantasy , @mystyque234 , @marssthings , @notwhoy0uthink , @aliengutzstuff , @lilyalone , @luffyadolover , @bunbunsonny, @lazyemmy , @questionthegrapevine , @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu , @winter-world , @budijojo , @budijojo , @altruisticbeauty , @dopepursebasketballplaid , @the-holy-pigeon , @red-phantom-0 , @em-draws14 , @thypplover , @cens0r3d-blog , @yl90 , @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch , @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo , @flyingpansaurus , @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog , @rogueofbullshit , @earlqurl , @dotomuses , @sheep-from-rad , @tsuniio , @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o , @radiantharry , @iwasveronica , @kdjhubby , @ashstwin , @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2 , @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

[ckret2]

Chapter 81 of human Bill Cipher not enjoying being the Mystery Shack's prisoner but being even less keen on being the government's prisoner: the feds are snooping around the shack, nobody likes this, and so a family meeting is called to discuss how to send them packing.

####

"I just kept telling him I didn't know anything," said Soos. He was slumped bonelessly on the couch, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and holding a soda in one shaky hand. "I accidentally said I don't know anything when he asked where he could get lunch in town!"

"You did good, Soos," Stan said. "That's how you handle feds—don't tell 'em anything."

Stan and Ford had called a household meeting, and now everyone was packed into the living room: Soos and the kids on the couch, Stan and Abuelita in the armchairs, Bill and Wendy at the living room table, and Ford out in the entryway so he could pace.

(Everyone was wearing deely boppers. Mabel had had a very productive day.)

Even Waddles and Gompers had been dragged to the mandatory meeting. Gompers had already eaten the pink pompoms off Waddle's deely boppers and was now trying to eat the hem of Dipper's shorts while Dipper tried to push him back from touching the sunburns on his legs.

"What are we gonna do?" Dipper asked. "Last year these guys tried to arrest Stan, and he was still using a fake name back then—so now, the agents could be after Stan or Ford."

"Dial back the pessimism. Right now, they're not after anybody," Bill said. "They're just following up on the eclipse from last week." And a tip about somebody dangerous in the shack. Bill pushed those worries aside. "They don't have any reason to come back!"

"Except the flash drive," Soos said. "Which they know is here. Inside the shack. Cuz they sensed it."

"Right. Yep. Except that," Bill said. "Hey, Dolores—howsabout you whip up one of your special 'welcome to the shack' dinners for them? I'm sure they'd enjoy it just as much as I did."

Dolores nodded thoughtfully. (The tiny sleigh bells on her deely boppers jingles.) "I could," she said. "But what would we do with the bodies?"

"We've got the perfect in-house body disposal! Chop 'em up and feed 'em to the pig."

"Nooo!" Mabel flung her arms protectively over Waddles. He oinked neutrally. "We're not feeding people to Waddles!"

"He'd probably love it!"

"Uh-uh."

"Fine, then the gnomes," Bill said.

Ford said, "Let's call murder 'Plan B.'"

Bill rolled his eye. "All right, smart guy, what's Plan A?"

Ford didn't immediately reply. He paced for another few seconds in the entryway, gathering his thoughts. "There are three ways this could end badly. We have to find a way to prevent all of them," he finally said. "One: the agents discover that there's something under the house and find the portal. Two: the agents remember there's something under the house, and realize they've been brainwashed. Three: the agents retrieve their flash drive, and that reminds them something's under the house."

Stan added, "And if any of those happens, we're both going to jail. Probably Soos too, as an accomplice. Kids might even be in trouble for escaping custody last year." Dipper and Mabel exchanged an alarmed look.

Bill looked at Wendy. "Hey, look who's off the hook." He held up a hand.

"Woo-hoo!" She high-fived him. "We'll visit the rest of you guys in jail."

Mournfully, Mabel asked, "If we get arrested, can you send me crayons?"

"I'll get you one of those boxes with a hundred crayons," Bill said. "And hide a shank in that yellowy green one you never use."

"Thanks."

But if any of those three scenarios came true, that meant government agents crawling all over Bill's portal. Best case scenario, it'd end up halfway across the country in a secret military base. There was tech left in the wreck in the basement that couldn't possibly be synthesized using Earth's current technology, and the Trilazzx Betian ship didn't have backup parts for all of them.

And that wasn't even taking that anonymous tip into account...

"I shouldn't have to go to jail," Ford grumbled. "I wasn't behind the crimes committed in my name, Stanley was."

"Hey," Stan said, "you're the one who impersonated a government agent! Besides, did you really not commit any crimes while building your dumb portal?"

Ford winced. "What's the statute of limitations on burgling radioactive waste?"

"Don't worry, Mothman," Bill called. (Ford self-consciously adjusted his deely boppers, which had paper moths taped to the ends.) "I tossed most of the incriminating evidence in the bottomless pit while you were asleep!"

"Wh— Is that where my lockpicking kit went?!"

"Haha, yeah!" Bill had bought Keyhole's loyalty for the next three hundred years with that.

Wendy waved a hand between Bill and Ford to interrupt their banter. "We can probably keep them from discovering the portal by just not giving them a reason to look behind the vending machine, right?"

"And if we keep them from getting Gompers, they won't get the flash drive," Dipper said.

Mabel said, "What if we put him on a plane to Japan! Do you wanna go to Japan, Gompers?"

Gompers looked at Mabel impassively.

"It's no good," Abuelita said. "It will take weeks to get a passport for the goat."

"Aww."

"There are plenty of ways we can keep their hands off the drive," Ford said. "We could just hide Gompers underground, for instance—there's no way their sensors can reach that far.

Oh no, not when it was clear someone had been down there tinkering with the portal. "Do that and they'll know we did something to hide it! We'll never get rid of them then."

"True," Ford sighed.

Bill said. "I'm most worried about them remembering something on their own. The agents mentioned the portal's gravitational anomalies from last summer—are they remembering something they shouldn't, or did you leave them with those memories?"

Ford hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Stan. Stan shrugged.

"Oh, right. You aren't the expert on how the memory gun operates." Bill rolled his eye toward Wendy. "You see how helpless he is without me around to feed him information?"

"Pshh, shut up. Keep me out of your weird old people academic grudge."

Dryly, Ford said, "Care to enlighten us with your superior knowledge, o god of wisdom?"

No, he really didn't. Not for Ford, anyway. He wouldn't even be grateful for it.

But, under the circumstances—knowing that the agents were after him, too... "Oh, why not," Bill said. "What did you enter in the gun? The exact wording."

Ford frowned, glancing toward the ceiling as he concentrated. "It was... I didn't know exactly how much they knew—I didn't even know which names they knew Stan under—so I tried to make it as broad as possible. I think it said something like 'Pines Household's Secrets'?"

Bill thought that over. "Okay. Okay, yeah, that works. That's perfect, actually—best answer you could have given. You never disappoint, IQ."

Ford was visibly unmoved by the flattery (which was just as well, because Bill had given it out of habit as he slid back into the role of teacher, and had immediately regretted it). "And I suppose you're going to explain why that wording is so important."

"I could," Bill said. "Do you want to know?"

Ford glowered at Bill, lips pressed together in a thin line. Bill stared back, brows arched expectantly. (Wendy looked between the two of them and snorted. Bill pushed her without breaking eye contact with Ford.)

Mabel said, "I wanna know."

"Good enough for me!" Bill hopped from his seat and crossed the living room to a spot where he could address the group more easily. "The memory gun doesn't actually destroy memories, it just severs the connections between those memories and the rest of the brain. Like snipping a squid's tentacles to free it from a squid king."

"What's a squid king?" Soos asked.

"It's like a rat king made of giant squid. It takes at least four to qualify because if their tentacles are knotted in a circle that's just a squid ring," Bill said. "So! Usually you find your own memories by their relationship to other memories. Driving by the grocery store reminds you that you need to go shopping, which reminds you that you're out of straws, which reminds you of when your doctor's eye got gouged out, which reminds you of those vampires in the library, which reminds you of that book you need to return, yadda yadda."

Stan said, "Wait, your doctor got what—?"

"He was fine, he had it coming, and I was nowhere nearby."

"And how's that get you to vampires?!"

"The tangy taste of blood left in your straw. Please hold any other questions to the end!" Bill said. "But, since the memory gun severs a memory from the ones connected to it, you can't be indirectly reminded of it—the chain's been broken. But the memory'sstill there. All it takes is a direct reminder to recall it, and then it starts reattaching to your other memories. Everyone with me so far?" He directed the question in Mabel's direction.

Mabel nodded. Ford opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Great," Bill said. "But! What gets severed is determined by whatever you programmed into the gun. So, for example, if you run into a vampire in the library, then get shot with a memory gun programmed with the word 'Vampires,' there's no more jumping from your doctor to that late book! And you won't remember your vampire encounter if you wander around the library—at most, you might get a sense of deja vu—but you will get back your memory of the whole thing if you run into another vampire!"

He nodded toward Ford. "So 'Pines household's secrets is the best phrase you could've picked. It means they forgot any Pines secrets—including Stanley's criminal record—any household secrets—including the machine in the basement—and since they only forgot the 'secrets,' they can run into anything that isn't secret without recovering their severed memories—like, say, the entire upstairs of the shack."

Slowly, Ford said, "Then that's why they remember last year's gravitational anomalies. The cause is one of our secrets, but the anomalies themselves aren't a secret—they're a matter of public record."

"Bingo," Bill said. "Well! That should be simple enough. Any questions?"

Mabel raised a hand.

Bill pointed at her. "Yes!"

"Are there vampires at the library?"

"Not anymore!"

"Aw."

Dipper asked, "Did you murder your doctor with a straw?"

"I did not and I won't be taking any more questions on the topic, it was a very traumatic experience" for the patient who went in after Bill.

Stan asked, "Why are you wearing a bedsheet for a skirt."

"Because somebody—" Bill shot Soos a dark look, "grabbed all my perfectly clean clothes for laundry day, and left me with a bedsheet and one dirty t-shirt."

Soos chuckled sheepishly. "Whoops. Sorry, dude."

Ford grudgingly raised a hand.

Bill grudgingly said, "What."

"Are squid kings real."

"Yes. As of last summer there were seven with at least fifty giant squid, but two were negotiating a merger so it might be six by now. I haven't had a chance to check!"

"Negotiating a merger? Do—do they combine voluntarily?"

"Oh, sure. In droves. It's a huge honor! The one I'm friends with says the psychic powers are totally worth the eventual zombification—they're ninety percent undead now and haven't regretted it once in five hundred years."

Ford opened his mouth, got stuck between three questions, and didn't manage to settle on one before Abuelita raised a hand.

Bill's attention switched to her. "Yes!"

With an air of patience unwarranted by Bill's actions, Abuelita asked, "Why are you standing on my TV."

Bill looked down. So he was. "This is my lecture podium."

Abuelita's eyes narrowed. Bill cheerfully ignored her. "Any questions about the memory gun?"

There was a general murmured agreement that, no, that part had been pretty clear. Stan snapped, "Now get off the TV."

As Bill hopped down and caught his balance, Wendy said, "So... as long as they don't know any of the shack's secrets and we get the flash drive out of Gompers before they're back, we're cool, right? We can just erase their files and say 'hey, sorry, the goat pooped this out, totally not our fault.' If they don't remember anything, it's not like they've got a reason to keep investigating the shack."

Bill tried to imagine how they'd react if he told them someone had anonymously reported him to the agents. What if they decided scapegoating him could protect the rest of them from the investigation? (And was he sure it wasn't someone in the room who'd reported him?) "Yep! Pretty much! That'd solve our problems!"

"Okay," Wendy said. "Great. So... we're good, right?"

The room studied each other uneasily, everyone waiting for someone else to answer. "Yes," Ford said unconvincingly. "We're good. Er—kids, we need to... discuss the details of... how to handle this. You don't need to stick around." He looked at Stan. Stan gave him a slight nod. (It made the googly eyes on his deely boppers wiggle.)

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Dipper said, "Are you sure? We could..."

"I'm sure. Maybe you should go upstairs," Ford said. "Leave Gompers here."

Mabel sat up straighter, preparing to argue, and glanced toward Bill; but when Bill shrugged rather than ready to defend her, she sighed and poked Dipper. "C'mon." ("Ow." He pushed her finger away from his sunburned arm.) They left reluctantly, Mabel escorting Waddles along with her.

Ford tilted his head toward the door. "That means you too, Miss Corduroy. Hup hup."

Wendy groaned. "Fine." She slid out of her seat and headed for the door. "Hey Goldie, let me know if anything interesting happens."

"You got it, cool girl."

Soos raised a hand. "Am I one of the kids?"

"Not today," Ford said.

"Aw."

Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Abuelita got to her feet. "I will get dinner started." She shuffled out of the room.

Bill waited until the door shut behind Wendy and he was sure the kids were upstairs; and then asked, "So are we kicking the kids out for the reason I think?"

"Afraid so. Now that the government knows the flash drive is here, they'll be back with a warrant as soon as possible. We can't waste any time." Ford knelt next to Gompers and pulled out a scalpel. "Somebody hold the goat down."

"Whoa!" Stan jumped to his feet. His deely bopper googly eyes rattled in alarm. "Were you just carrying that around?!"

Bill was abruptly reminded of one of the reasons he'd liked Ford. He squatted next to him. "All right, I can see where the drive's lodged, I can tell you where to cut—"

"Dudes!" Soos flung himself across Gompers. 'You can't cut him open! He's like part of the family! He's been eating out of the shack's garbage for years, does that mean nothing to you?!" (Gompers attempted to eat the foam lightning bolts off Soos's deely boppers.)

Bill groaned. "Come on, who cares?! It's not like he's a person anymore!"

The room stared at Bill. Stan said, "Did you say 'anymore'?"

Bill paused. "Forget I said that."

Ford sighed. "Fine, we'll try to find a solution without surgery." (But, Bill thought, he sounded a little disappointed.) "But if we're using a slower method, the agents might be back before we can retrieve the flash drive. We need a way to stop them from finding it."

"Or from finding the door behind the vending machine," Soos said. "Now that they know the drive's been here, they're gonna keep looking until they find it! What if they think it might've fallen behind the vending machine or something?"

"What we need is a distraction," Stan said. "Something that'll keep 'em from searching the shack too thoroughly."

"And ideally, something that will keep them from coming back," Ford said. "They keep returning to Gravity Falls because of the power surges and related gravity anomalies in town, correct? Obviously, the meteor shower story wasn't convincing enough. If we give them an explanation that lets them close the case completely..."

Which was all well and good, except they weren't just looking for power surges and gravity hiccups anymore. They thought somebody in the shack was a threat to national security. Bill had kept suspicion away from himself for the day by pretending to be a tourist, but if the eagles got serious, that wouldn't last long. If they were watching the shack, they'd realize Bill was a resident; and if they tried to investigate him at all, they'd quickly realize they couldn't find any legal records of his existence. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Theraprism's reincarnation machine hadn't given him the right skin color to get away with that in this country, especially during a witch hunt for a suspected terrorist.

And, worse—what if they did identify him?

He'd heard Agent Trigger say Soos's alien keychains resembled the "real thing." The Bureau of Covert Investigations didn't tell all its agents about all its cases—but it sounded like these two had been to Hangar 618 at least once.

So had Bill.

Over 60 years ago, a military experiment had accidentally ripped open a very small hole to the Nightmare Realm. Not big enough for Bill to squeeze his full self through (HA! Not even close), but big enough to project a hologram through—something solid enough for the soldiers who'd detected the temporary rift to see and touch. And, naturally, they'd hauled his hologram to Hangar 618—the five-sensed suckers thought the projection was his real body—where they hid all their unidentified fallen objects.

It had been fun! He'd gotten to use all his army name puns (Major Pain, General Disarray, Private Shame, etc.), he'd lived out a centuries-old dream of snorting a line of gunpowder, he'd gotten Commander I-Don't-Even-Know-'Er to sing "On Top of Spaghetti" in exchange for Bill agreeing to leave the artillery room, he'd learned a dirty joke from the nurse brought in to assist with his vivisection, he'd introduced himself to half the base...

He'd introduced himself.

Somewhere, probably in some redacted appendix to Project Blue Book, the US military had a file on Bill Cipher—and so did the eagles. They knew his name. Hell, they even had his thumbprints—obviously alien thumbprints, that he'd retained when he reincarnated. Every object in the shack he'd ever touched carried the proof that he was Bill Cipher.

If whoever had sent the Bureau a tip had mentioned his name... Well, there were a lot of Bills in America, but not a lot using the last name "Cipher." There were probably under fifty living humans who knew about the triangle in Hangar 618, but for those who did, hearing that name resurface in Gravity Falls would blow their gelatinous little minds. He was sure they would love to get their hands on him again. He bet they'd be fascinated to find out how a triangle had fit into a human skin.

Getting hauled into a secret government facility had only been fun when his true self was still in the Nightmare Realm and the part of him in captivity had been a projection made of light, dreams, and lethal doses of radiation. Plus, that had been before he really, truly knew what it was like to be a captive. Now, the thought of being hauled back to that interrogation room—with the cheap metal chairs and gray floor and gray walls and stark sharp light—made him nauseous. The idea of being questioned about himself by some arrogant buzzkill in a suit sounded too much like therapy for comfort.

And it would be so much easier for them to keep him from escaping when he was weighed down by flesh.

Nobody was protecting Bill. The Pines weren't above throwing him under the bus if they thought it might save their precious little family from arrest. There was nothing for it. If he wanted to save himself—he had to help.

"Listen," Bill said. "I have an idea. It's iffy, and it'll require you all to trust me a bit..." He paused to give them an opportunity to laugh.

Only Stan chuckled. Good enough for Bill. "But, it might be our best shot."

"Okay," Ford said warily. "What is it."

"Bear with me," Bill said. "I bet I could get the head agent off our case by flirting with him a little."

And that time they laughed at him.

Bill patiently waited. "Okay, okay, ha ha, but the guy's been leering at me the last two days. Ask Wendy, she's the one who noticed! And do you know what his love life looks like? Because I do. Woof. Dry as a bone. That man's married to his work! He's lonelier than Elvis is!"

"Wait," Ford said. "What does that mean? Where's Elvis?"

"Not important. The point is, he's a soft target, he's already into this—" he gestured disdainfully at his human body, "and he's got the loosest lips in the eagles. I make a little small talk, I compliment his mustache and pretend I think working for the government is attractive, I keep him too dazzled to notice what's right in front of his face..." Bill trailed off. "And... that's as far as I've gotten. We'll figure it out as we go! Maybe I just distract him too much to do his job, maybe I strangle him in the bathroom and sell his body parts to half a dozen inhuman vendors in the Crawlspace, I don't know! I'll improvise!"

"It's barely half a plan," Ford said.

"It's the biggest fraction of a plan we have. What do we have to lose?"

"I think he might be on to something," Stan said. "I mean, consider it. Bill's an objectively beautiful woman."

The room stared at him. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to double his stare.

"What! It's just a fact!"

"Aww, Stan." Bill laced his hands together coquettishly and batted his lashes.

"Save it."

"Stanley. I had no idea you felt that way about me—"

"Can it, Cipher! " Stan curled a fist threateningly. Bill winked at him. Stan shuddered. "Eugh. Physical attraction's only gonna carry you so far, demon! Can you attract a man when you're talking to him? Because personally, I find you less appealing every time you open your mouth—and you were in the negatives the first time we met."

Bill thought about that. Bill thought about all his human cultists. Bill thought about all his human cultists whom he'd caught having scandalous dreams about endless staring eyes and cool black hands that buzzed with static and being fully exposed before the golden glory of an ever-watching false sun. Bill thought about that one time he tried to ask one of his sects to at least invite him to his own wedding and wait for him to RSVP before symbolically marrying more cult novitiates to him and they sorta nodded and said "okay" and then went and wedded him to another dozen Cipherwives anyway. "Yeah! Sure! No problem! I attract humans all the time! They can't get enough of this!"

"Okay, but can you attract a human that isn't into freaky space triangle things?"

Bill tapped his index fingers together thoughtfully. "Ummm..."

####

1981

A clubber eyed the hands of the man sitting at the bar beside him.

The man noticed the look and turned toward the clubber, grinning too wide, staring at him with yellowish slitted eyes that seemed to flash in the dim light like a cat's. "Yeah, I know." He drummed his fingers on the bar top. "Six fingers."

The clubber flinched at being caught staring. "Oh—sorry."

"Don't be! It's a built-in conversation starter!" The six-fingered yellow-eyed man laughed. "Hey! Have you ever had six fingers before?"

"Uhh," the clubber said. "Nnno?"

"Would you like to?" The man winked with both eyes, one at a time.

The clubber frowned at him in confusion, and then slowly turned away without answering.

####

"Sure," Bill cheerfully lied. "No problem!"

####

There was a knock on the attic bedroom door. Mabel opened it.

Stan and Ford stood in the doorway with a sulky Bill in between them. Stan pushed Bill into the room and said, "Teach him how to flirt."

Mabel gasped in delight.

####

(Well that took way later than I wanted it to—but it's finally out.

Head's up, I've got two zine deadlines that take priority, my workload triples at the end of the year, and I'm currently preparing the house to welcome home a new baby*, so we might skip next week's chapter. Hopefully not, though; I'd hate to start the new year that way. We'll see.

*it's a snake. the new baby is a boa constrictor.

Let me know what y'all think! I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.)

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 6

part 1 | part 5

October

It's Wednesday night, which means dinner at the Hendersons. Steve finally decided to show his face — and no, not because Dustin's doorstep song and dance had any effect on him; it was partly because he was sick of hearing muted metal music from across the street and mostly because he hadn't left the trailer in three days and he was starting to feel and smell like shit.

So, anyway. Dinner. Ma Henderson's pulled out all the stops: prepped a homemade lasagna, stocked the fridge with full-sugar sodas and bought the good brand of key lime pie; invited the Sinclair and Wheeler kids to make a little party of it. (Nancy was 'unfortunately too busy to attend,' thank fucking god.)

But then Ma got stuck late at work, so now it's all hands on deck. Mike and Erica are setting the table — Steve can hear Mike bitching at her because she told him the knives go the other way, dumbass; Lucas is at the fridge filling cups with ice and Pepsi and muttering to himself about how much better Coke is; Steve's got an eye on the oven, waiting for the cheese on the lasagna to bubble up juuust right; and Dustin is using "prepping the salad" as an excuse to corner Steve and annoy the ever-loving crap out of him.

“What do you mean it’s hard?” Dustin whines, dropping a handful of shredded carrots into the wooden bowl. “Just talk to him!”

Steve takes a deep breath. Mourns, briefly, for the night he could have had; the girls he could be doing hand stuff with in the back of the Beemer instead of putting up with this kid's shit. “I don’t wanna Just Talk to Him." He bends to peek through the oven door. "And, also: get off my ass about it, alright? I came to dinner, I'm heating up the lasagna. I'm, like, participating or whatever. What more do you want?”

“For you to talk to Eddie! Obviously!" Dustin's tossing the greens so aggressively that it kinda feels like he wishes he was pummeling Steve instead, and when he throws his hands up, little flecks of iceberg lettuce go raining to the floor.

Steve eyes the leafy green confetti. "You're cleaning that up."

"Come on, dude," Dustin begs. "It's been two weeks! What's the point of having friends who are next door neighbors if they refuse to get along?”

Behind them, Lucas supplies in a weirdly strangled tone: “This really doesn’t seem like the way to get him to talk to Eddie."

Thank you. Steve couldn't agree more. He turns to tell him as much and realizes the reason Lucas' voice sounded like that is because he's trying to make one trip to the dining room at any fucking cost. He's got an armful of drinking glasses and three cans of Pepsi tucked under his chin, and he's about to fumble the whole wobbly stack.

"Jesus Christ, man, cut that out!" Steve swoops in to grab the cans before they can join the lettuce shower Dustin just made. He doesn't care how much he loves Claudia, he will leave without helping if they splatter soda all over this floor. Mews the Second can lick it clean for all he cares, he's so for real. "Two at a time," he says sternly, taking the extra cups from Lucas’ hold and handing him back a reasonable amoint. He sends Lucas out of the room with a knee to the ass.

"Hey!" Lucas pouts.

"Hey yourself," he grins.

Lucas sticks out his tongue like a child (because he is one, Steve reminds himself), and when he shoulders the swinging door to the dining room he almost brains his little sister, who makes a graceful side-step and comes strutting through undeterred.

"Are you two nerds done playing good cop, annoying cop with Steve?"

"Ah-!" Dustin gawps. "I better not be the annoying cop!"

"Uh, yeah. Obviously, you are." She props a fist on her hip, a little tyrant in the making, and Steve’s ribs go tender with a fond, vaguely proud ache. He really loves her so much. "Now scram. I need to borrow Steve."

On second thought.

Surely at some point these kids, like, owe him money or some shit for the amount of weary sighs they've caused him to let out. Like, financial compensation for the years taken off his life? Something?

"Yes, Erica?" he asks, nostrils flared; eyes closed.

"You should talk to Eddie."

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." Steve looks up to the ceiling, pleading for anyone to grant him strength, then he turns to pull the lasagna out of the oven and watches the bubbles sizzle and pop in the hot cheese until he no longer feels like blowing up at a little girl. "Okay. Okay. And I should listen to you because…?"

Screw financial compensation.

He deserves a presidential medal for how calm he's keeping his tone.

Erica's glaring fiercely at him when he glances her way, and why is every kid he knows such a brave, confrontational little shit? "Because," she explains, "He's being mean to my brother."

Oh, fuck no. "What do you mean?" he asks, voice dropping to an urgent hiss as he feels his hackles raise. Like hell is he letting some Billy 2.0 hang around his kids. "Is he, like- Is he saying shit about you guys?"

She spares him from trying to find a tactful way to ask what he's really asking. "No," she says shortly. "But he is being a bastard about him joining the basketball team—"

"Language—" Oh, what's the point.

"—and those two nerds out there? Are obsessed with him. Especially Mike. Like, ob-sessed.” She writes the letters out in the air in front of her to really drive home the point. “Mike likes whatever Eddie likes, so you need to convince Eddie to like Lucas before Lucas loses his friends over this stupid 'jocks versus freaks' crap." She lowers her voice and jabs the skywriting finger into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "And if you tell Lucas I said any of this? It is on. sight, Steve. I will crush you."

"Jesus Christ."

"So, we good?"

"Uh huh," Steve stammers. "Y-yep. Understood."

Wow. So dignified, Steve. Really loved how you let a ten year old intimidate you. He's saved from any further bullying by the sound of keys jangling in the lock.

"Dusty!" Claudia calls out through the door, "Dustybunny, can you come help? My hands are full!"

In the dining room Steve hears Dustin groan while Mike and Lucas start immediately tearing into him for the name, mocking 'Dustybunny; oh, Dustybun!' in stupid sing-song tones.

"So I'm just gonna..." Steve says awkwardly, inching toward the door. "Go get that."

"Mhmm." Erica gives him an unimpressed look. "You do that."

—

"Oh, Steve, sweetie, thank you!" Claudia says when he opens the door, cheerful and sweet as always. He goes to take her bags from her, but she drops them all at her feet and steps forward to give him a hug, a firm and tender thing that makes an annoying lump form in his throat.

"How are you?" she asks, stepping back to look at him; eyes raking over his face, hands on his cheeks. Really looks. She frowns at whatever she sees. "How's your mom?"

"Can you please just talk to me?" Steve begs, shivering in the hallway because they haven't budgeted for turning on the heat just yet. Wasn't supposed to get this cold for another pay cycle. He tugs the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves. His limbs feel stiff and tense, a budding anxiety like there’s a bomb in the base of his spine.

"Steven, darling, not now," his mother sighs as she sinks demurely onto the couch. "Then when!" he explodes. He doesn't want to yell at her, but, "Seriously, when? When are we going to say anything to each other that actually fucking matters, mom? I feel like I barely even know you anymore!"

"Yes, and I feel a migraine coming on; are you quite finished?"

"….She's fine," Steve answers.

Could be true, for all he knows.

The wrinkles between Claudia's brows deepen, like she wants to press the subject but decides to hold her tongue. "That's good to hear," she settles on after a moment, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek before stepping away with a subtle look that’s not mad, just disappointed.

Steve kind of wants to cry.

"Mom! Food!" Dustin hollers from the other room.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I swear I try to teach him manners."

"Well, good luck with that," she grins, the shadow of tension between them dissipating. Her mood is good like that. Resilient. Strong. Immune to outside force.

Steve’s moods, on the other hand, are more like those stainless steel fridges that promise to remain spotless but then end up covered in grubby handprints. (Exhibit A: he’s doing it right now.)

Thankfully Claudia’s got enough sunshine in her for the both of them. “Come on,” she says, extending a hand and wiggling her fingers for him to grab hold. “Let's eat."

—

part 7

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

imagining Charlie having an Oh moment when she finds Vaggie napping in a chair one day, early on, with Razzle and Dazzle sprawled out over Vaggie like they're trying to cover as much of her small body as they can with their own even smaller ones-

Charlie pulls out her phone and stealthily inches closer for a picture (she's doesn't' wanna wake them she swears) (she's just never seen something so cuuuuute-)

but a floor board squeaks and Razzle cracks an eye open to glower while Dazzle shushes her

and Charlie stops

There's another Oh... moment, because they've never shushed her before. They were brought to life to keep her safe and they've always only cared about that one thing- it took months for them to stop following Vaggie around the house suspiciously, like they always did with anyone Charlie tried having a relationship with, like a pair of silent, plush guard dogs-

(glaring at Vaggie from shadows, from across the table at breakfast and dinner, from the pillows directly over her head when Charlie finally convinced her maybe sharing a bed would help with the night terrors)

-but that'd all changed, at some point. Only, Charlie hadn't noticed until now

now she does. Now suddenly, she wonders

Charlie creeping over on silent, careful hooves, to gently stroke between the tiny wings of her childhood friends, looking from them to Vaggie's relaxed and sleeping face (getting a little lost watching her, for moment) (reaching out to tuck back a strand of the hair Vaggie is growing out long, accidently stroking Vaggie's cheek, forgetting to take her hand away afterwards) (the longer hair is hard not to play with, she excuses)

Charlie leaning in and asking Razzle and Dazzle, in the softest whisper-

"....are you keeping her safe for me?"

a pair of soft little churrs rising up in answer. Two little plush demons, snuggling closer to Vaggie as Vaggie frowns in her sleep, shifting restlessly, stirring-

Charlie freezing bc she has NO idea what to say if Vaggie wakes up and finds her- well. looming kinda?? while Vaggie SLEEPS???

it feels different than just already being there when Vaggie wakes up in the night, different in how waking up like that was normal when they'd gone to bed together, but crouching down to STARE at someone like this, with your hand still on her cheek, scared to move it in case that REALLY wakes her up when she DIDN'T get much sleep last night and DIDN'T wake you up that time for some reason so you couldn't snuggle her or make her feel better and now you might startle her instead or make her feel awkward which you hate- you don't want her to ever feel awkward around you-

it doesn't matter though

because Vaggie settles down again, as Dazzle croons quietly and Razzle reaches out a little paw to gently press her arm

she used to jump and flinch a little every time she saw them

when did that change?

these days she flicks little snacks at them from off her plate, no matter how many times Charlie reminds her they have their OWN plates and their OWN donuts and are just begging to get ATTENTION, the little show-stealers-

(not like Charlie's doing that too by complaining) (noooooo) (not like she grins like an idiot when Vaggie smiles and says cute things deserve a little extra attention, while looking over at Charlie instead)

these days any annoying demon who comes looking to curry favor with Lucifer (or trying pulling one over Morningstar's "naïve" daughter) gets pinned by THREE dangerous glares while waiting at the door for Charlie to hurry downstairs and meet them

(or rather shoo them away before they say something too not nice and Vaggie grabs her spear while Razzle and Dazzle get within ankle biting range)

when she thinks about it, things have been different for a while now

better. They've been better, and Charlie still doesn't know when or how it happened, and maybe that part doesn't matter so much anyway

in the present, Charlie takes the chance to retrieve her hand (reluctantly..) so she can slip off her jacket and tuck it around the three of them- Razzle, Dazzle. Vaggie- her two old friends and one new but very important one-

important enough to be considered part of her, by them as were created to protect her

and that's a new idea too. but she likes it a lot, she thinks

she likes being part of a family again

-

Vaggie wakes up a good solid two hours of nap time later with Razzle and Dazzle draped over her like furry boas and Charlie's head in her lap, a former Exorcist absolutely COVERED in cuddly demons-

she stays completely still for another hour more afterwards, stiff neck be damned, watching the three of them sleep. Smiling.

.... (it's only the three of them, later)

(when vaggie flutters up and finds razzle curled up on dazzle's memorial, the night after the battle. when she tucks him into her shoulder and heads back to her and charlie's rebuilt room. as a relieved and teary eyed charlie scoops him up and the three up them huddle together under vaggie's reformed wings)

(it's only three of them... but part of why charlie cries that night is knowing dazzle did his job- vaggie is still here)

(dazzle did his best. and for everything charlie lost, the old hotel, too many of the cannibals who followed her, almost all the egg bois, sir pentious, dazzle himself, the faith that she could solve all this without anyone getting hurt...)

(she didn't lose the part of herself that'd held her together the night before the battle, held so many other times, through family calls and failed meetings with heaven) (she didn't lose vaggie-)

(and some of charlie's tears that night, for dazzle, are grateful)

(he died trying to keep charlie safe. and he did. he did)

[queenie-official]

Part One Of Summer Love: ‘Camp Wookiee’

series masterlist celebration event camp logo

pairing: Modern!Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader

word count: 11.4k Next part

in hindsight, you probably should have been listening to what the camp director, Bail; was saying. in your defense no one else was, which you would later find out was because they've all heard the same speech, rules, and warnings a dozen times already.

you were busy scanning over all the faces on the screen- well the ones who had their cameras on anyway. each person you'd seen so far was shockingly attractive, a few people in particular caught your eye. A girl, Padme Amidala. A boy, Ben Kenobi. and lastly the executive director who was simply watching Bail speak to make sure it was done correctly, Qui-Gon Jinn.

the only thing that snapped you out of your admiration was the sound of your phone pinging, thankfully you were muted. glancing at your phone you saw the contact belonging to your best friend Honey and made the instant decision that she was far more important than what was happening on the Zoom call.

so you not so secretly reached for the mouse and clicked the camera button off, relaxing when you knew no one could see you anymore.

'how's the call going?' her first message read, followed by 'anyone cute on the staff 👀' making you snort.

you lean back in your chair while you type back 'i think it may be a requirement to be at least an 8/10 just to get hired’ you watch as three dots appear on the corner of the phone screen.

'well it's a good thing you're absolutely stunning 😚' you read when her message finally sent and you can't help but smile big. you loved this girl, she always knew what to say to make your day brighter even on an already sunny day.

you're about to text back when the Camp Director's words finally get your attention "And i think that's everything you'll need to know! now if you have any questions feel free to message me or Qui-gon Jinn privately. though i would like to remind you all, most of the basic information you need can be found directly on the Camps Website." shit you really should have been paying attention, they were supposed to went over the different roles that would be at the camp more in-depth during this call.

like hell you'd reach out to either of them privately and admit you weren't listening though, you bite your lower lip and slink back into your chair. "We look forward to welcoming you all to Camp Wookiee in person, see you in two weeks" Qui-Gon says right before ending the Zoom call leaving you staring at your computer screen blankly. fuck.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

in the end it was Honey who had helped you calm down from the freak out you had after the Zoom call, and two weeks went by faster than you thought it would.

you still had a day before you had to be at the camp but because of how far you lived you planned on leaving within the next couple of hours.

"i think you need to calm down" Honey says from where she's sat on your bed, she'd been watching you run around her and haphazardly chuck things into your suitcase that you knew you'd need based on the email that was sent out last week on what would be supplied for you at the camp.

"i'm calm" you rush out while running a hand through your hair, pushing down the slight panic you felt in your chest. man you really should have paid attention on that call.

"you're going to be fiiiine, i doubt they'll kick you out of the camp for something as small as not paying attention during a Zoom meeting- that wasn't even mandatory by the way" to her credit she makes some good points, however the zoom meeting was highly encouraged for newcomers and you fall in that category.

“it's not like they're going to quiz you y/n" you let out a groan at her words whilst shoving the last of the items you needed in your suitcase and zipping it up.

"i know, i know- i just don't want to seem irresponsible" you huff while plopping down on the bed next to her. "or embarrass myself because i probably missed a massive amount of information" definitely missed a massive amount of information more like- the call was an hour long…

"whatever they told you in the call they'll definitely go over again at the Camp, we've been over this." Honey reaches over and lightly pinches your arm making you laugh as you pull away. "and before you say 'we don't know that for sure' we do know that for sure because it's supposed to be a staff of forty and only fifteen of you were actually on the call" she raises a pointed brow and you let out a sigh knowing she's right.

"okay, i'll try my best to not panic the whole ride to the camp" you say with a half smile, standing up and stretching. "i should probably leave now if i wanna get there on time tomorrow" you mumble glancing at the time on your phone, 8:30 pm.

"are you sure you don't want me to drive you? i just don't think it's wise to be driving all night and then be exhausted for the actual first day there" she'd already offered at least ten times and you'd already declined what felt like a dozen more.

"i'm sure, worst case i'll be a little sleepy but it's not like i'll be taking care of the campers the first day. staff has to show up a week before to get more comfortable in their roles" you say confidently, it was the one piece of info you did learn from the Zoom call before you started drooling over how attractive each member of the staff was.

"mhm, well i'll carry your pillow for you" she said while making a kissy face at you jokingly.

"awww thanks, how generous of you to leave the heavy stuff for me to carry" you say with a roll of your eyes as you begin to lug your suitcase down the stairs.

"really? no thank you kiss" Honey feigns hurt before snatching your pillow off your bed and quickly catching up to you.

"all of my kisses are reserved for my future love" you joke, and Honey purposely bumps into you with her hip before you can get to the door making you sway ever so slightly.

"lame, no boy deserves your love- they all suck" fair point you had to admit, honestly you only signed up to work at the camp for the social interaction. the most you plan is to have a hallway crush on one of the staff members just to save you from boredom and then forget about said crush as soon as you return home in the fall.

you pop the trunk of your car while Honey locks up your shared house. she was going back home for the summer to visit family, not wanting to be left completely alone for months on end and become a statistic. her words, not yours.

"i guess this is goodbye" she says with a finality to it, putting on her best sad voice. you laugh as she throws the pillow she was holding in the trunk and closes it.

"you make it sound like i’m dying or leaving forever" the drama from this girl, it’s not like you’re much better though. she fake sniffles and places a hand on her forehead putting on her best damsel in distress performance.

"my love is going off to war and she jokes as if she isn't leaving me for two months" there’s a smile peaking through as she speaks and you can't help but laugh, throwing your arms around her in a hug.

"i love you so much, i don't know how i’m going to survive without you" you say half joking as you go along with her antics. truth be told, you really don't know how you're going to survive without her. you both spend just about every second of every day in each other's company and even when you aren't you message so much you might as well be hanging out in person anyway.

you checked the Camp's Website before you applied and know that they do have wifi for staff and the kids mostly in case of emergencies, but just because there is wifi doesn't mean it's good wifi. it's the middle of the woods after all, you'll be lucky if photos even go through.

you both pull apart with matching toothy grins on your faces. "text me when you get to the camp?" Honey asks and you nod knowing she just wants to make sure you get there safe.

"of course, text me when you get to your parent's house?" you watch her smile grow wider while opening the car door.

"always" she responds while you climb in and buckle. "see you in two months" she shouts once the door is closed, you roll the window down and she pokes her head and arms through so you can both share one last slightly awkward hug.

"see you in two months, don't forget me while i'm gone" you say with an exaggerated pout as she pulls out of the window, standing a few steps back from the car so you can pull out of the parking lot properly.

"how could i forget a face like that" you hear her say as you roll the window back up, blasting the air conditioner.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

the actual drive to Camp Wookiee wasn't too bad, you know excluding the fact you were up all night. but every negative has a positive, the positive of this being you managed to make it to the camp an hour before you needed to be.

turning onto the gravel road sent a chill up your back, a mix of excitement and nerves. the yawn that exited your mouth showing the exact opposite of that though and the closer you get to the end of the drive the more tired you realize you are. you make a mental note to take a nap once you've parked.

pushing down another yawn as you pull into the staff parking area you immediately do a double take and decide against a nap not even a minute later. there were five cars already parked side by side, and a group of people standing in front of one just chatting.

you only recognized one of them because he was on the Zoom call, Ben Kenobi at least that's who you think it was. It'd been two weeks so maybe you were mixing up names. either way, you avoid making accidental eye contact with any of them making sure to focus entirely on parking in a straight line.

now to sit in the car and pretend like you hadn't been seen or to get out and greet the four men? you ask yourself with your hand hovering over the keys, debating whether to turn off the engine.

you look at your side mirror taking in the three men you didn't recognize. all tall- one of them was bald, another with a blonde buzzcut and lastly a boy with curly sandy blonde hair, you couldn't see his face though.

he was turned completely towards the man who you were pretty sure was Ben. after weighing your options you decided staying inside the car seemed like the best option compared to meeting four men at once.

you'd rather run into four bears, after all you didn't know what kind of people they were and you certainly didn't want to find out by yourself. maybe when more staff got here you'd be braver, in the meantime you shift your hand from hovering over the keys to the volume knob. turning up the music ever so slightly to drown out any chatter you may hear and leaning back in the seat, unbuckling yourself just to be a little more comfortable.

you look out the windshield taking in the beauty of the forest, the green from the trees reflecting slightly onto your car thanks to the sun. it was serene but short-lived as you jump from someone knocking on your window.

"sorry didn't mean to startle you" Ben said carefully as you rolled down the window. "we saw you pull in and realized you must be the new girl" he said while pointing his thumb over his shoulder, clearly referring to the three men he was originally standing with.

"new girl… like singular?" you blink confused, wouldn't there be other new girls- oh no what if you were the only new girl and the rest of the new staff were all guys?? you felt a bubble of panic begin to brew in your stomach.

"well new worker in general, everyone else working this year are returning Staff from last year." well that's almost worse, at least if it was only guys you'd still have a chance to befriend people. the staff all already knowing each other meant they'd already formed their clicks leaving you to fight for a way in. so much for joining the camp for social interactions, looks like the most educated conversation you'll be having is with some 10-year-old about whatever cartoon they're into.

you press your lips into a thin line before forcing a small polite smile. "my name is y/n" you extend your hand to him and he shakes it with a somewhat firm grip.

"Ben Kenobi, don't suppose you want to come with us onto the actual campgrounds?" you knit your brows together in confusion, turning to the clock thinking your car might have fucked up again and given you the wrong time. Ben seems to read your mind though, letting out a soft laugh before speaking up. "you're not late if that's what you're wondering. Windu is one of the camp directors, he's been setting up since 7:00 o’clock this morning along with Jinn. as long as they're here we're allowed on campgrounds even before the official start time."

okay so maybe Honey’s gotten into your head with all of her true crime stories. you relax at his explanation, reaching over and turning off your engine. "yea i'd appreciate that because i have no clue where i’m supposed to go in all honesty." he nods, taking a step back so you can climb out of the car. it felt nice being able to finally stretch out your legs after the long drive.

"i'll introduce you to everyone. Come on, oh and you can leave your stuff in the car for now. you won't know which cabin to put it in until later anyway." you give a small hum of acknowledgment and lock the car behind you before following after him.

as soon as you came to a stop in front of everyone all eyes were on you, maybe it was the height differences but you honestly felt like a little kid. "this is Windu, one of the camp directors" Ben introduces and when he politely offers you his hand with a somewhat stern look you shake it.

"don't let him scare you, he's nicer than he looks. his face is just stuck like that" you turn your head to whoever made the jab; the boy with sandy blond hair. his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue and he wore a smug smile on his face- he was probably the prettiest boy you'd ever seen.

you want to laugh but aren't sure if it'd be appropriate considering the man he was making fun of was your boss, but when Windu just rolls his eyes with a sigh you get the idea that this is a normal occurrence around here.

"I'm Anakin" he introduces himself and sticks out his hand for you to shake, you shyly take it and his hand engulf yours. there was a confidence to him you noticed or maybe an arrogance but who were you to judge someone you just met?

"ignore him y/n, he's an idiot who'd probably turn up late if he hadn't carpooled with me" Ben interjects pulling your attention away from Anakin, your hands slipping from each other in the process.

"hey i'm never late" He denies but judging from the smile on his face and the lack of actual sincerity in his voice you could tell he didn't even believe himself.

"yes you are and the only times you're not is when i drive you" Ben says with a roll of his eyes and Anakin throws his hands up in defense. you can't help but smile, holding back a laugh as you watch the two interact. it was clear just how close the two were from how they bantered but the fact they carpooled together confirmed it for you.

"I'm Rex" the last man spoke up, he had a small smile on his face, one that seemed endearing like he too enjoyed watching Anakin and Ben's dynamic.

"like a T-Rex?" you ask jokingly, it felt like the natural thing to do. if they all could tease each other who's to say you can't either; when Anakin let out a snort followed by a few snickers which then morphed into genuine laughter when he saw Rex's disgruntled face you felt like you'd made the right choice.

Rex rolled his eyes but smiled after shoving Anakin away. "looks like you're gonna fit right in here y/n" he said while crossing his arms, and you couldn't help but beam.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

so much for fear of having to fight a way in, you'd spent the last hour just getting to know Ben, Anakin and Rex. Windu had to go back to actually helping prep with Jinn and Bail.

throughout the hour more people had shown up and made their introductions to you, and as it turns out everyone got along with each other. well in their own way, there was definitely some not-so-secret animosity between some people but they didn't let it interfere with the general welcoming feel of the whole camp.

eventually, the introductions stopped and the only reason you got anyone's name was because Ben whispered them over to you.

"good morning everyone!" the chatter throughout the room quickly died down as Qui-Gon Jinn's voice echoed throughout the Log Hall. "i'm going to make this brief since all of you have heard this speech before" you felt your stomach drop, right everyone working this year was returning staff besides you.

so much for Honey's 'remain calm because they'll go over it again for the people who didn't show up on the call' advice. despite the fear you couldn't wait to text Honey and say 'i told you my fears were valid' the second you got to the room you'd be staying in.

"Today is all about settling in, so don't get too worried that we're putting you to work immediately." he said with a smile and teasing tone. if only it had the calming effect he'd intended it to have.

"Mace Windu has posted all of the info about where you will be staying, who you'll be bunking with, and which cabins you'll be responsible for on the wall over there" He motions to where Windu is standing on the opposite end of the lodge and Windu waves back.

it was pretty clear that most of this speech was meant for you and you alone given the fact that everyone else was on their phones or having hushed conversations. it made your cheeks flush slightly but you were internally grateful.

"additional camp roles are next to your names on the roster as well, and remember campers will be arriving Monday morning next week. in the meantime relax, enjoy yourselves, get used to the environment and we will see you for dinner at 5:00" he finishes with a clap of his hands, and the room erupts into loud chatter again.

"i wonder who y/n will be partnered with, she's the outlier" Rex questioned out loud, you angle yourself in his direction and he begins to clarify himself. "we've had the same partners for the last two years." you quirk a brow wondering how that's going to work, with you here there was an odd number of counselors.

"they're putting us counselors in groups of three this year" Ben states, he seems to always manages to answer your unasked questions. "i asked Jinn a few weeks ago when i heard they were hiring a new staff member."

Anakin rolls his eyes from his seat beside you, why he chose to sit there instead of spacing out more like Rex and Ben did you weren't sure; but the small heat radiating from his thigh onto yours and the tickle of his skin every time his arm brushed against you kept you from wanting to voice the question out loud.

"of course you asked, honestly i don't get why you don't just apply for a position as Camp director yet" Anakin huffed and you bit back a smile.

"if i did that you'd be out of a ride, Camp directors arrive even earlier than counselors." he retorts.

"aww you really care about me" Anakin joked, putting a hand over his heart and laying it on thick. you couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of you and could only wonder if this is how people felt when watching you and Honey interact with one another.

Anakin turned towards you looking happy just to have made you laugh. you could get used to his attention on you that's for sure, looks like you found that hallway crush for the summer.

"i think you're partnered up with Padme" Ben says effectively interrupting whatever moment you and Anakin were having. you remember that name, she was the girl you had admired on the Zoom call- natural beauty that's for sure.

you had a feeling you two would get along, what you didn't like however was the feeling you got when you noticed Anakin light up more than you thought humanly possible just at the mere mention of her name. shit.

"oh here he goes" Ben says as Anakin begins to rant about just how gorgeous and amazing Padme is, Anakin just continues like he didn't hear him say anything at all. "he's had a crush on her since his first year working at the camp" Ben says directly towards you, the information not news to Rex.

this just served as another reminder that you were the only new person working at the camp this year, what a shame too. you could get over it though, you'd only known Anakin for what? a little over an hour maybe. at the very least you two had a good connection so friends it was.

you hadn't noticed but you started to resign yourself from the conversation as Anakin went on and on about Padme making Ben and Rex tease him even more. voices blurred together and you found yourself completely tuning out the world around you- maybe this was going to be a little harder than you thought.

a tap on your shoulder tethered you back to reality, you turned completely to see who was trying to get your attention.

had she somehow gotten even prettier in person? Padme stood behind you with her long curly brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face and off her neck. she was wearing her camp Issued T-shirt already, it was cream-colored with the Camp Wookiee logo right in the middle.

"hey! I'm Padme" she says with a smile extending her hand. her smile was perfect and made you feel guilty somehow, how could you feel negative about someone who seemed as sweet as they were beautiful? you shake her hand whilst mirroring the same smile on her face.

"i'm y/n, it's nice to meet you" all you could think was that her and Anakin certainly would make the most stunning couple. if he had a crush on her since his first year did she just not realize or not care.

the latter made your heart flutter with hope which you quickly shoved down with disgust at just how quickly you managed to crush on him. Honey would be so disappointed in you or eat up every second of this, probably both knowing her.

"sorry if this is kind of random but i just checked the roster and saw that we were partnered up. well you, me and Jasmine but she's already headed to the cabin we'll be staying at and responsible for." she spoke with a sugar-sweet tone, not the kind that made you feel sick to the stomach; when she spoke it was genuine kindness not a single ounce of malice to be found. "i was going to head there now but figured you might want to walk with me since i'd be easier than finding it yourself. trust me the signposts can get confusing quickly."

"that would be amazing, thank you so much" you say while standing up. you hadn't noticed the silence coming from the three boys until Rex and Ben finally spoke up to say their goodbyes to you.

Anakin seemed a bit awestruck by Padme's presence alone, it was kind of funny to see. you give him a knowing look while simultaneously pushing down that nasty taste that began to cling to the back of your throat. he smiled thankfully not noticing any changes in your behavior and gave you a soft goodbye of his own.

"come on, i'll help you carry your stuff from your car." Padme said and began leading the way out of the hall.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

a groan of relief leaves your body as you finally plop down on the bed in the cabin. your spine burns with pain before melting into comfort as you relax all the muscles in your body.

the part of the cabin you were staying in wasn't super spacious but it was cozy, there were two bunk beds and to your surprise, Padme and Jasmine chose separate bunks. maybe they weren't close but you still figure they'd rather bunk together than with a stranger or maybe they both just wanted the top bunk and that's the actual reason they didn't choose the same one, you didn't bother asking.

you went with the bottom bunk of Padme's, you may not know either of the girls but at least she'd gone out of her way to help you find the cabin and explain how everything was going to work.

according to Padme, there are a bunch of different cabins all with different names. the one you'd be staying at was called Naboo, Anakin and Ben were at the Coruscant cabin, Rex was staying at the Alderaan cabin.

each cabin has the same layout; there's the staff cabin room where the counselors stay which is directly connected to the room where the campers will be staying because it's easier to supervise them that way. then there's a bathroom with multiple stalls and a shower room for everyone in the cabin to use. simple really but not like you needed anything fancy.

the staff cabin room itself has two dressers to be shared amongst whoever's staying there, you and Padme were sharing one and Jasmine had the other dresser too herself. you didn't mind, both you and Padme were pretty conscious about the space you took up so you both managed to fit everything you brought into one out of the two long drawers.

you turn your head to look over at Jasmine, she was beautiful. she had fine long black hair and hazel eyes that seemed to lean more green in the shitty cabin light. your joke with Honey about being at least an 8/10 to be hired was not really feeling like a joke anymore. speaking of Honey, you really should text her.

just as you're about to pull out your phone Padme walks back into the room; she'd left to use the bathroom after helping you settle in. you smile at her when you both make eye contact and she's quick to plop down on the edge of the bed next to you.

Maybe you were imagining it but there felt like a small tension in the air, not between you and Padme but between her and Jasmine. perhaps it was the way Jasmine furrowed her brows the second Padme entered the room or the way she turned to face the wall and focus extra hard on her phone but something was definitely off- lots of puzzle pieces you itched to put together.

"so y/n" she started and you sat up to make more room on the bed before she continued. she happily took up the silent offer, moving to sit properly in the middle so you guys could face each other criss-cross applesauce. "what brings you to Camp Wookiee?" ah so this is going to go the 21 questions route, sorry Honey looks like you're not getting updates anytime soon.

"i just thought it would be fun and a good way to meet new people" plus the pay at this camp in particular was extremely good but you weren't going to say that out loud.

"well good news the people here are great" you swear she mumbled 'some more than others' at the end of that.

"anybody you'd recommend i avoid?" you ask unable to brush it off.

"i-" you watch as her eyes briefly flutter over to Jasmine before she clears her throat and locks eyes with you again. "i'm not sure that's my place to say, but i can say you've done a pretty good job so far of choosing who to hang out with." that was genuine and so was that tension you sensed earlier.

"Anakin, Ben and Rex you mean?" she nods while leaning back onto her hands a bit, letting whatever negative thoughts she held towards the third person in the room roll off her shoulders.

you and Padme clicked pretty quickly after that, and throughout your talk you learned what you'd be in charge of once the campers arrived. you'd be partnered with Anakin and Rex at the arts and crafts center which you were a little bit more excited for than you'd care to admit. she was in charge of the zip line course this year along with Ben, the three camp directors deemed them both the most responsible which seemed to check out.

time seemed to fly talking with her, she had an easygoing air about her that made conversation flow naturally- what on earth could Jasmine have done to make someone like that not like her? weird.

you decided that you'd make it your mission to find out after you discovered she shared the same favorite dessert with you, followed by your favorite book. after all someone with as good a taste as that has to have a valid reason not to like another person.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

you both kept chatting while walking side by side to the Log Hall for dinner with Jasmine not far behind. when you enter the Hall you're flagged down by the boys almost immediately.

"you can go sit with them" Padme said after realizing where you were looking.

"you don't wanna sit with them?" you ask curiously as you both move into the food line.

"i don't mind it.." she trails off while grabbing an apple to put on her tray.

"but you'd rather not." you finish her sentence for her. "i thought you said they were good people?" she hands you a pudding cup with a reassuring smile when she reads the confusion and worry on your face.

"they are, i'd just prefer to spend my time with my friends" she says while pointing with her chin to a group of girls on the opposite side of the hall. "you're welcome to join me, i just figured you'd want to be with them." she shrugs her shoulders, the choice was up to you.

you go through the rest of the line stuck in an internal debate as your tray fills up. it's not that you didn't want to sit with the boys, just you really wanted to sit with Padme and maybe you'd get along well with her friends; but then again the boys clearly wanted you to sit with them.

already having to pick sides and you're not even a full day in yet, you had to fight off the urge to audibly sigh.

"any chance your friends would move tables?" the question tumbled out of your mouth before you could think twice. was it rude to ask that? too late now.

"maybe tomorrow" she offered, and you couldn't help but frown. it was a perfectly reasonable answer just not the one you were hoping for.

"no it's okay actually, i'll just sit with you guys." this time she frowned.

"y/n i promise i won't be offended if you wanna go sit with them instead of me" she said with a laugh half teasing half sincere.

"i knoooww, but i wanna sit with all of you guys" you grumble, ever the indecisive person and always the people pleaser.

"okay then how about the boys come sit with us" you raise a brow as she turns to them, waves and then points to her table. they get the idea and stand up with their trays, you feel a little guilty for having them move but they didn't seem to mind at all.

there's a bit of an awkwardness at first as both groups learn to navigate around each other. you notice pretty quickly how almost polar opposite the boys are from Padme's friends. her friends were as calm and easygoing as her, the boys were full of energy and teasing- well Ben and Rex seemed to be able to reign it in a lot more than Anakin. which to be fair they already had calmer vibes than him anyway.

"she's great right?" Anakin asked you quietly with a nudge of his elbow. he chose to sit next to you again, there was plenty of space for him on the bench to scooch down but it didn't seem like he was aware of that. more likely he was and simply put just didn't care. you raise a brow, "Padme" he added quickly before you could ask.

there's that taste again. you push it down, taking a scoop out of your pudding cup as you nod "yea she is, we get along well too" you answer honestly making sure to sound more enthusiastic than you felt.

the blinding smile he gives you at the confession makes you wish you'd chosen to just sit with the girls alone. pitiful. "what're you two whispering about?" Padme asks with a smile and a look in her eyes that you couldn't decipher.

"just about how great it's gonna be working in the crafts center together, Rex is going to hate us by the end of camp" Anakin answers for the both of you, the lie rolling off his tongue naturally.

"going to? who's to say i don't already" Rex says with a cross of his arms and Anakin rolls his eyes.

"hey what'd i do?" you frown and Rex smiles.

"the first thing you did was compare me to a T-Rex" he defends his prior statement.

"i did no such thing!" you say through a laugh.

he points at you accusingly before saying "like a T-Rex?" in a high-pitched tone mocking you, you can't even take offense because he sounds so unserious.

"i don't sound like that Rex" you snicker only for Anakin to cut in.

"you're right, you sound more like this" he says while pinching his nose to sound nasally and you punch him in the arm. "ow, she hit me!" he says in artificial pain acting like you truly wounded him as he rubs the spot you punched.

"i definitely don't sound like that" you huff and Padme backs you up.

"hmm i'm probably mixing it up with Rex's voice then" he says smugly and Rex kicks him from under the table, judging from the wince he lets out it must have truly hurt unlike your punch.

"no kicking" Ben chastises Rex and Anakin decides no one is safe as he mocks him in a nasally voice too. "oh real mature Anakin" Ben rolls his eyes but there's no real fire behind it as you all poke fun at each other for the rest of dinner.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

"do you have a crush on Anakin?" you whip your head towards Padme blinking rapidly confused and trying to process if you heard her correctly. she didn't repeat herself nor back down.

bold of her to ask that when the man she's talking about is not even five feet away; you had all split up heading in opposite directions towards your respective cabins. "no i don't have a crush on him, why?"

she purses her lips in thought "it seems like he likes you and vice versa" you laugh loud and abrupt, this time she's the one staring at you confused.

"wait you're serious?" you stop in your tracks but she continues walking. well that crushes your hopes of her knowing about his crush and just not reciprocating.

"you'd make a cute couple" she says with a shrug of her shoulders, the absolute irony.

"i just met him today" you say; speeding to catch up with her again. she just smiles and gives you that look she gave you in the log hall again. "i'm serious Padme!" you've grown more defensive than you needed to be.

"so am i" Unbelievable. This wasn't just ironic, it was cruel. you frown and resist the urge to roll your eyes at your own rotten luck.

"i'm too tired for this" half-truth. you were tired, you'd been up all night driving and managed to power through the day without truly resting. however you definitely were not going to be able to get to sleep once you did settle down, instead you'd be replaying every interaction from today in your head.

you did just that after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth; groaning softly into your pillow once you finally crashed onto your bed. Padme and Jasmine had their headphones on so you were thankfully in the clear.

the feeling of your phone vibrating next to your head was what pulled you from the self-inflicted torture of your spiraling mind. it took you a few minutes to motivate yourself to even lift your head, which felt ten times heavier than usual. probably due to exhaustion.

'don't tell me you died 😱' you can't help the grin that grows on your lips as you read Honey's message, and then you notice the notification wall of 15 other messages from her. oops. you turn onto your back and open your phone to respond.

'die and leave you alone in life? i would never' you type out quickly before reading through her other messages. 'just landed' followed by 'my parents decided to throw me a surprise party sos' and then a string of updates while the party happened.

most people would think Honey is a pretty social person based on how she is when she's with you, most people would be wrong. Honey has the social battery of a grape. she also requires at least a full day by herself in her room with hot chocolate and a book to recharge properly.

'my love has returned from war 🥹' you giggle not realizing how much you missed her until now and that's when you begin to feel homesick. Honey was your home as corny as that sounded. sisters in another life Platonic soulmates in this one; at least that's what you both always said.

'i've got so much to tell you abouutt' where to even start- i'd be easier to just send a voice message but you didn't feel comfortable enough to venture anywhere on your own yet and find somewhere to update her.

'i'm sat' from the beginning it is then.

you spent the next fifteen minutes just debriefing with her and when you finished she found the Instagram accounts of every person you mentioned.

'oh wow he is cute, no wonder you like him' she says after sending a post from Anakin's account. Ben was in the photo and it looked like it was Anakin's 19th birthday judging by the candles on the cake he was holding.

'i don't like him…' you defend but then remember who you're talking to and add 'yet- besides he likes someone else!!'

'someone who doesn't like him back' she sends back just as quickly and you stick your tongue out at her through the screen even though she can't see it.

'she never specified that, and either way i can't change the fact he likes her' you argue and Honey thankfully lets up.

''would it be weird if i followed Ben's account?' beautiful subject change Honey, you couldn't have done it better yourself.

'Ben really 😏?' you smile as you hit send liking being on the opposite end of the teasing.

'you're right too weird 😔' she replies and you two go back and forth for a while before finally calling it a night.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

the sunlight peeking through from the lack of blinds is what woke you up, but rather than opening up your eyes to start the day you just groaned and turned towards the wall; burrowing your face into your pillow hoping for even just a few more seconds of sleep.

there's a muffled giggle from behind you that reminds you there are two other people in the room with you. poking your head up and turning towards the sound you see Padme staring at you with an amused smile while she brushes her hair back into a ponytail. she gets it on the first try too, unfair. you have to rage quit at least three times before your ponytail is even remotely smooth enough to gaslight yourself into thinking it looks good.

"good news you don't have to be up for another hour" she says while looking at the built-in wall mirror, checking to make sure her hair looks good you guessed.

"well i'm up now" you rasp out and she laughs while you clear your throat, stretching out fully before sitting up and rubbing the crud out of your eyes.

"you're not a morning person are you?" she seems very entertained by the beast you wake up as. Honey once compared you to a bear coming out of hibernation when you woke up the first time you guys had a sleepover, you couldn't deny the accuracy.

"not really…" you trail off while fighting back a yawn. there's a small silence while Padme squirts sunscreen into her hands and begins to apply it on her face and arms. you take the moment to look around the room, Jasmine's bed is empty. evidently, you were the only non morning person here.

"do you want me to walk you to the crafts center?" you hum in thought at Padme's question while you clumsily stumble out of your bed.

"don't we have breakfast first?" you question while pulling out your clothes for the day, including your own Camp Wookiee Shirt.

"yea but it's probably a smart idea to figure out where you'll be heading to afterward" she answers, turning around to give you privacy while you change.

"won't i be able to walk with Rex or Anakin?" you ask, and she shrugs as you zip up your shorts and give her the okay to turn back around.

"Rex probably, Anakin no." you raise a brow and she hands you her sunscreen, before you can refuse her she gives you a look you’d only seen your mom give you when you weren’t listening. you don't bother arguing as she was not going to take no for an answer. "Anakin isn't a morning person either- he never shows up to breakfast. which is probably why he always steals Ben's lunch."

"and Ben lets him?" you snort and Padme nods.

"they grew up together, really close families. he sorta takes care of Anakin like an older brother i suppose." you smile at the thought of a young Ben taking care of an even younger Anakin.

"where's Jasmine gone? i haven't gotten the chance to speak to her at all." Padme doesn't bother to hide her sour expression, guess she trusts you enough now to let her true feelings show or she always did but didn’t want to do anything while Jasmine was in the room.

"Jasmine doesn't talk to anyone, she keeps to herself." you frown, Padme doesn't seem like the type of person to hate someone just because they're a loner- and if she was you didn't wanna be friends with someone like that.

"so what's exactly going on between you two anyway?" you needed to know if this friendship was going to continue.

"it's a long story, but let's just say Jasmine isn't a good person.. like at all and she's a liar who got caught pretty much instantly. and when she got confronted rather than owning up to her actions she got defensive." well now you were even more interested but she wasn't in the mood to get into details. you'd have to ask the boys about it at breakfast if you remembered, provided they didn't sit at the same table as Padme's friends.

"honestly i was shocked to find out she came back this year, i figured they hired you because she left" interesting, whatever she did must have happened just last summer then.

"does no one like her?" you don't mean to keep berating her with questions but couldn't resist the nagging curiosity.

"trust me when i say it'd be more surprising if anyone did like her" what the hell did this girl do to become the social piranha of an entire camp?

you push down the rest of your questions for now, letting there be a peaceful silence as you both exit the cabin.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

you both go on a stroll together before heading to breakfast. Padme took the time to show you around more of the Camp pointing out what each building was and where each path leads, it was still a little confusing but you at the very least wouldn't get lost if you ended up by yourself at some point.

Ben and Rex were sat at the table they initially sat at yesterday. they gave you a wave when you made eye contact and you smiled in return.

"i'm gonna sit with just the boys is that okay?" you ask while turning to Padme who's digging through the bin of fruit snacks looking for the purple pack instead of the blue. you don't blame her everyone knows the purple pack is superior.

"you don't have to run your decisions by me y/n" she teases and you nudge her with your elbow in response. "besides we sleep in the same cabin, you can't get rid of me that easily" she jokes.

"you're right, guess i'm stuck with you for the entirety of camp against my will" this time Padme nudges you causing you both to burst out laughing.

"i'll see you later y/n" she says and gives you a little wave as you split off in separate directions.

"well good morning, i'm surprised you're not tired of us yet" Rex says in greeting as you plop down next to Ben.

"mmm i'd say i'm bordering on just tolerating you guys at most" the banter was instinctive at this point.

"ah i see we're one in the same then" Ben chuckles then takes a big bite of hash. his plate was loaded compared to yours and Rex's, that's a lot considering how much you love to eat. it does however make more sense on why he doesn't seem to care about Anakin stealing his lunch.

"i know we have the rest of the week to ourselves before campers get here, so what exactly are we going to be doing at our jobs if there's no one to perform them for?" you wonder out loud for either of them to answer.

"nothing really, it's just the camp's way of allowing us to hang out and still get paid for it." you give Rex a 'are you serious?' look and he smiles "what? our Camp directors actually like us believe it or not. i'm sure if there were more newbies like you it would be us learning the jobs. but since it's almost always the same people every year this is what it's turned into."

"so this is like a retreat for you guys?" Rex finishes his last bite of food before responding.

"as much of a retreat as you can get with 100 gremlins running around" you nearly choke to death on your food. Ben rubs your back in support as you catch your breath while laughing. note to your future self don't eat around Rex, it's a dangerous game to play.

"drink some water y/n" Ben says in between laughs, him and Rex are both loud enough to garner the attention of the whole lunch room. you're not exactly a shy person but you can't help the heat in your cheeks or the way you slink down hiding your face behind the water bottle you drink out of with just about everyone's eyes on you as they try to decipher what happened.

thankfully it doesn't take long for them to lose interest and carry on in their individual conversations but you still fight the urge to kick both boys for embarrassing you like that.

"i hate both of you" they just smile with matching cheesy grins and you roll your eyes.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

the walk to the crafts center with Rex is just as good bad as you both kept fooling around to see who could make the other laugh harder. it doesn't die down even when you both see Anakin waiting out front of the lodge for you two with his arms crossed and an annoyed face.

Qui-Gon gave Rex the keys to open it because he was the more responsible one, but you had a feeling he'd have given it to you if he knew you a little better.

"what're you two on about?" Anakin grumbles as you both come to a stop in front of him, wiping tears from your eyes and stifling your laughter which only seemed to worsen his mood. he really wasn't a morning person wow.

"Rex just said something funny" you shrug; truth be told nothing you two had said within the last ten minutes made any sense but for some reason that made it all the more hilarious.

Anakin's brows creased and you bite your bottom lip when the urge to reach over and smooth it out with your thumb manifests out of nowhere. it was almost laughable. you let your fingers twitch at your sides instead.

Rex gets the door open with a creak which effectively pulls your attention away from the disgruntled boy in front of you.

the inside was plain, there were multiple picnic benches and some empty corkboards on the walls. you took note of the supply closet in the back and the cleaning supplies that rested beside the door.

"alright Jinn messaged me this morning and said that our only real job for this week is to clean and decorate this place for the campers." you give him a simple nod and walk toward the back of the room.

"does he prefer to be called Jinn or is that only allowed for people he's close with?" Rex takes a minute to consider your question like he'd never really thought about it before. you hand him the broom while you wait.

"i think he prefers Jinn but lets us decide what we're more comfortable with calling him" Anakin answers with a annoyed tone of voice after deciding Rex was taking to long.

"i'm gonna take the mop bucket out back to fill it with water from the hose" he says while turning his baseball cap around. you suddenly feel very warm, and it's not from the heat outside. you swallow before nodding and grabbing the container of Clorox wipes to clean off the dust from the tables.

as soon as Anakin exits the lodge Rex speaks up. "well he's in a pissy mood" you look at him incredulously.

"Padme told me he wasn't a morning person?" your voice is laced with uncertainty now unsure whether to believe that bit of info she'd given you.

"oh he's not, but it's also not usually this bad. then again i shouldn't be too shocked he's more emotional than a hormonal teenage girl" you deadpan at him and he immediately backtracks "not that i'm saying all teenage girls are emotional it's just-" he stops when he sees your lips twitch. "you're pulling my leg aren't you."

you break character instantly and burst out laughing "you should have seen the panic on your face oh my gosh" it's a laugh straight from your core one that makes Rex look like he may just smack you with the broom he's holding.

"okay seriously what am i missing? Rex is not that funny" Anakin huffs when he enters the lodge again, sounding like a pouty little kid who's not getting what they want.

"hey man she made herself laugh, i'm just an innocent victim" Rex defends while sweeping everything that was on the floor into a small pile.

"i was just messing with him" you smile; looking down as you continue the task you started.

"that i can get down with" he says with a smile letting the tension drop from his shoulders as he places the bucket down and goes to grab the mop.

you bite your tongue at the need to question what's going on with him and just finish wiping down each bench. you didn’t feel like you had the right anyway.

the three of you work together to finish cleaning the lodge. the clock on the wall showed it was now 11:00 am and lunch was at 12:00 pm so you had an hour to start working on decorations.

you all plop onto a shared bench and get to work. Anakin made a few star banners while you cut out and tapped a bunch of letters to the wall just below where the cork boards hung, they spelled out 'creativity' and 'imagination'. Rex was apparently the least creative out of the three of you so he was just busied himself with laying out all the crafts supplies so only the extra stuff was in the closet.

"if we finish all of this today, what do we do for the rest of the week?" you ask from the top of the stool you stood on. Anakin was behind you in case you fell while you hung up his banners.

he had offered to be the one to do the hanging but you insisted on being useful to which he replied 'oh yeah because you haven't been already' with the sassiest tone you'd ever heard from a man. to be fair Anakin was proving to be the leader of the sassy man apocalypse so you shouldn't have been shocked.

"we are gonna finish today, and that just means we get to chill for the rest of the week and test out projects for the kids to do" he answers and you see his hands flinch forward when the stool wobbles from you moving onto your tiptoes to get the height right for the banner. it shouldn't make your heart flutter the way it does after all he was quite literally just making sure you didn't bust your ass.

"wow Rex wasn't joking earlier then" you look down at him and there's that furrow in his brows again, it's gone when you blink making you think it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

"wait you didn't believe me?" the question comes from the opposite side of you as Rex seems to spawn out of nowhere. last you checked he was on the complete opposite side of the room organizing the construction paper by color and shade, who'd of guessed he was so particular about stuff like that.

"i was a little busy choking on my food to really process what you said" you rolled your eyes and he snorts nudging your leg with his shoulder which in turn makes the stool wobble and Anakin glare at him.

you ignore the way Rex and him have a wordless conversation and finish taping the last part of the banner.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

the rest of the day went by fast, which wasn't the least bit astonishing. what was however; to both you, Padme and just about every other staff member it seemed was seeing Anakin at Breakfast the next day.

he wasn't eating. he barely even looked conscious, but there he was directly across from Ben and Rex. he was half asleep fully leaning into the palm of his hand, the two boys watching him looked dumbfounded.

"am i hallucinating?" Padme pinches you and you yelp.

"doesn't seem like it" she says while you glare.

"i said hallucinating not dreaming" she throws a small pack of graham crackers at you and you both giggle.

"well if you're hallucinating so am i, and probably everyone else in here" she clapsback and gives you a weird smile that makes you wanna hide, it was like she saw right through you. you didn't think anyone other than Honey and your mom could do that.

"i'll see you later" there's a sparkle in her voice that you choose to ignore, waving goodbye and heading to the table the boys were sat at.

"are you even alive right now?" Anakin blinks awake at your question, rather than responding he scoots closer to you invading your personal space like he'd been doing since you first met the other day.

this boy clearly has something against there being any type of distance between two people when he sits next to them.

"i'd argue he thinks he's dreaming" Ben teases then snickers when he receives a kick under the table. you do your best to hide your confusion and focus on the food in front of you.

"how can you even eat right now?" Anakin mumbles from beside you.

"uhhh because it's 7 in the morning and i'm starving??" he makes a disgusted face that baffles you.

"the idea of eating this early is nauseating" he says through a yawn.

"that's because you're never awake this early" Rex snides. Anakin doesn't defend himself just grumbles incoherently, you think he might of mocked him but it was really hard to tell.

"you're disrupting the natural way of the world Anakin, next we'll find out there was a hurricane in Antarctica" you're about to comment on how that's not scientifically possible but then realize that's exactly why Ben said it.

"haha you're so very funny Kenobi" as much as Anakin was grumpy it was not nearly as bad as the grumpiness he greeted you and Rex with yesterday. not that you didn't believe Rex when he said he wasn't usually that bad but now that you were experiencing it yourself you understood a lot more.

"ooo Kenobi, we're using last names now. you must be pretty upset Skywalker' Ben teases, completely unafraid of the consequences he might have from teasing a sleep-ridden bear.

ah, you're seeing the whole hibernating bear thing now. poor Honey; if you'd known this is what she was dealing with in the morning you'd have started locking yourself in your room till you felt like a decent human being to confront the world.

after the bickering dies down there's a comfortable silence as everyone just enjoys their food, well besides Anakin who's more or less in his own world. it was nice and you let yours eyes travel around the room before landing on your cabin mate who's still not even given you so much as a greeting not to mention was sitting completely and utterly alone. there wasn’t even anyone sitting at the tables near by her.

"what's up with Jasmine?" the question startles the group. probably because to them it was out of nowhere, for you however it's been a burning topic just waiting to be discussed. "i've just noticed she doesn't talk much, and Padme said she lied or whatever but didn't tell me any actual details���.i figured you guys might know" you cringe inwardly at yourself when they still don't say anything.

you shouldn't have asked, there was probably a good reason why Padme didn't want to get into details about what happened and now you've just ruined everyone's morning.

your internal monologue of despair was cut short by Rex. "she did some fucked up shit. mostly she spread a bunch of rumors around about people, and she lied about pretty much everything. it's honestly shocking the Directors didn't catch wind of anything." Well that's not good but it can't be that bad?

it very much was that bad. the biggest thing she did was out one of the older campers who felt so uncomfortable they left camp early. that was the turning point when everyone decided to confront her and she got defensive starting her lone wolf act.

Jada was the little girl's name and everyone loved her; she was apparently really sweet with short blonde hair paired with rosy cheeks and a subtle southern accent if you listened close enough.

her parents were super conservative so it's no wonder she'd feel uncomfortable with something like that floating around the camp. especially considering Parent week had been coming up at the time.

she also lied and spread rumors about several of the other girls at camp that were pretty damaging. one of the lesser rumors was about a girl she said was a slut who slept around with all of the guys on camp.

needless to say you understood everyone's opinions on her now, talk about violating on so many levels. how on earth was she still allowed to work here? everyone loved the camp directors and they didn't seem like people who would let something like that slide.

"Padme told me she was shocked that Jasmine even came back this year" you were shocked too now that you knew the extent of what had been done. "but how has no one complained about her directly to the directors?"

"we all sorta came to a unanimous decision to just pretend she doesn't exist." Ben answered while pushing his food around on his plate.

that didn't sit right with you, this is one of those times you speak up not stay silent. "why though?"

"well even though Jinn, Windu and Bail would believe us we'd still have to supply them with evidence for the big guys upstairs….which in turn would mean they'd have to contact everyone involved" he added that last part when he noticed it wasn't clicking in your head. it took a few moments before you let out a quiet oh.

Jada would have to be contacted. which would mean her parents would have to be contacted and since she's a minor they'd have to be told everything. so everyone was staying silent to protect her.

you felt a wave of newfound respect for every single person who worked here as well as a burning hatred for Jasmine. fuck her honestly. there was a long awkward lull in the conversation before it started back up again.

Rex was the one who managed to switch subjects. you ended up on the topic of how Ben and Padme were doing with the zip line course. to no one's surprise Padme was a natural at it, Ben said she got the hang of it after Windu explained it once whereas he had needed a few extra pointers. they also had to do a safety briefing then take a test to make sure they knew everything they would have to for the campers to be allowed on it.

talk about getting off easy on your end, a brief cleaning session followed by decorating a room hardly classified as work compared to what they had to do. not like you'd complain, this just meant you'd be spending the summer doing art. well that and looking after kids, you had a pretty natural affinity with children though so it wasn't a real worry on your end.

Your mom always said it was because you were as childish as them, you preferred carefree and whimsical but a win was a win.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

"that looks like shit" Rex is leaning over the table watching Anakin as he weaves bracelet strings together.

"you look like shit but i don't say anything" he quips, very obviously annoyed.

"did you even follow the directions?" Anakin ignores Rex at first but when he builds on the initial question with "because it doesn't look like you did" he gives him a deadly glare.

"i glanced at them and i got the basic idea" Rex looks ready to disagree with him and Anakin looks ready to shove every bead in the bowl next to him down his throat.

you don't say anything, holding your breath so you don't burst out laughing and end up the next target. although it's not like they could say anything about your bracelet as it actually looked like the picture, besides a few color changes.

"well look at yours! what even is that?" Anakin gestures to the bracelet if you could even call it that in Rex's hand, it looked like he hadn't even started.

"it's shit as well but at least i can admit that" He says pointedly and Anakin throws his half-finished attempt of a bracelet at him in response.

you can't hold it in any longer practically bursting into tears from how hard you laugh. both boy's heads snap toward you, Anakin wears a frown and Rex just looks stunned as if he'd forgotten you were there entirely.

"you two are utterly ridiculous" you wheeze and fight back snorting like a pig each time you gasp for air.

it's been like this all week as you guys experimented with different projects to do with the kids, getting to know each other way more in the process. the guys were pretty transparent from the beginning so it wasn't much of a shock when you discovered Anakin was in fact consistently childish and a bit moody but despite that he was extremely loyal and very kind.

he hides most of his real feelings with humor, your guess was he gets awkward when things get too serious so he keeps the mood light. and if that talk a few days ago at breakfast has anything to say it was safe to conclude he also resigns himself from conversations entirely when he's unsure what direction it will go.

Rex was generally a calm person, he could be serious when he needed to but prefers to joke around. which would explain why he always messes with Anakin so much. he's also extremely loyal and although he doesn't verbally express his emotions as much as Anakin does, he wears them all on his face.

Ben was the peacemaker but could be a shit stirrer too. As far as he was concerned Anakin was his brother and he had no problems arguing with anyone who said otherwise. overall the boys were all pretty similar but had their differences, it was nice to be a part of their group.

out of everyone you'd gotten the closest to Padme, sharing a room probably helped with that. but so did the fact you both shared similar interests, and even on the things you disagreed with you both still let the other gush as much as they wanted.

it was a nice little home away from home. you've kept Honey updated about everything any chance you got, but there was only so much you both could share from a distance and you couldn’t help but miss her badly. at the very least you could count on the fact camp would go by fast thanks to how fun it's been so far which meant you'd see Honey just as quickly.

that same thought made you feel a little glum but you never dwelled on it for too long, it was just the beginning after all and Campers would be arriving tomorrow morning.

Camp Wookiee T-shirt visual aid:

tag list: @anakinskwkler @anakinstwinklebunny @divineani

a/n: ITS HERE 🎉🎉🎉 everyone say thank you @munsondjarin who inspired me to write this fic 🤭

i can’t believe how much i actually wrote for just this one part, but it also makes sense considering im essentially just writing out the whole story and splitting it up by beginning, middle and end compared to a bunch of small individual chapters ✨

anyway i hope you all enjoy see you next week for Part 2 💋💋

have a good day Huns Xx <3

[uravitypng]

𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

pairing: denki kaminari x reader, (hanta sero x reader)

word count: 6.6k

content warnings/things in part five: not a lot in this chapter! some inappropriate thoughts and daydreams, reader kind of has self esteem issues but it's mainly fuelled by the paparazzi, reader wears a bikini, petnames (babydoll, pretty girl, princess->used playfully), jealous denki, maybe jealous hanta (if you squint really really hard??), mineta (ewww), written with a chubby reader in mind/// minors do not interact (in later chapters there will be more smut and more explicit content!!)

a/n: chapter five is finally out!! sorry it took so long but it's finally out and boy is it longer than previous chapters. i really really really hope you enjoy this part, i've loved writing it! i was meant to finish it last week but i've been binging romance animes lmao.

summary: it's terrible when you're in love with your best friend. it's terrible that he's in love with someone else.

<< previous | next >> | masterlist / polls for this chapter: 1 & 2

"I can't believe our agencies are letting us go to the beach! Out of all the ways they could deal with the current situation they choose this!" You say excitedly and beam as you walk a little ahead of everyone but they can still all hear you.

"Yeah it's like that typical anime beach episode." Denki runs up over to you grinning. As denki runs up to you he trips over on the sand before catching himself, you bite you lip to stifle a laugh and process what Denki just said.

"Did you just compare what's happening to a beach episode right now Denks?"

"She's right Kaminari, this may seem like a relaxing day but we're here for a reason. If those League of Villain copycat group show up here like we suspect then we need to be ready." Todoroki 'reminds' you all and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. You weren't referring to the mission when you said that Denki, you were just stating that beach episodes are different to real life beach trips.

A couple of heroes with you seem so suspicious, shifting their eyes around the surrounding area. Plus you don't understand the choice of bringing along Todoroki and Bakugo, they're to recognisable and well known, even if the villains did show up they wouldn't stay for long after noticing who's here too.

You have a gut feeling this mission will come up with nothing. This whole time will be a wild goose chase leading you here with zero results. You've told them just as much, 'when have I ever been wrong about this kind of stuff guys? this whole mission to the beach will be useless we should focus on other things, find out where they really are.'

It's so frustrating that they don't believe you... Well most of them... All of them to be honest but they can't voice that out loud. Everyone whose hair is currently blowing in the wind and sand beneath their feet knows you very well and trust your instincts but they can't just ignore this lead they've been given. Katsuki expects you have a second quirk that allows you foresight, he especially trusts your intuition.

Denki stretches, groaning in pleasure while you quickly turn your head away from him and try to drown out the noise.

"Well I for one think we can relax, I have it on good authority" he grins at you before continuing, "that nothing will happen today. We might as well relax. This reminds me of our extended three day weekend holiday our class went to on the last week before leaving school."

All of the UA, Class A, alumni heroes that are present reminiscence on your time together. Bittersweet feelings flood your emotions as you think about how much you miss seeing them so often, yet glad and blessed with the time you did get to share with them back when you were all teenagers.

"Or when we went to Nabu island in our first year," Ochako adds.

"I didn't like that at all. Not only did villains attack but on top of that every single hour of every day people on the island was calling into the hero centre wanting us to do something, no matter how trivial." Minata replies, his voice more apparent with age, mostly losing the lisp he had.

"That's not the reason why and you know it. Every other day you were being perverted to random girls on the island." Hanta doesn't try to hide his annoyed tone from everyone. He's never concealed his disapproval of Minata's actions and that was originally one of the first things that drew you to strike up a conversation and friendship with him.

"Can we just sit down and make snide comments in a minute?" You ask, holding onto a large cooler with both hands and a couple heavy bags slung over your shoulder.

Ochako hums in agreement and pulls the massive beach towel from under her arm and places it down.

You hear Mineta mumble, "how are you a hero?" as he sees you strain to hold the icebox and it becomes so quiet but even though it's mumbled it sounds like the loudest anyone has spoken since you got to the beach.

Your quirk isn't suited to strength, everyone knows that. Your quirk isn't like Midoriya's or Kiri's or Sato's. It doesn't mean you aren't strong though, your quirk is very strong. Struggling to hold a box full of ice cubes and cold drinks plus two bulky bags for over an hour doesn't make you weak.

He's so hypocritical... he wouldn't even be able to lift it up and get it off the ground.

You're a hero for a reason, you know how brilliant you are but hearing that bothered you and distressed you for a reason and coming from Mineta it's even stranger that it effected you, he's made plenty of jabs towards you before but the way he said it irked you, especially because he said it in front of so many other heroes.

Before you can even defend yourself and before anyone else can, Denki does. Mina was about to speak, Hanta was about to, Katsuki took a deep breath in to start yelling and making tiny explosions in the centre of his palms but Denki beat them all to it, he even beat you to it. "What the fuck does that mean?" You stand in shock and your eyes widen at how much rage is in his voice, almost hostile. You've never heard him speak like that before. It doesn't only shock you but everyone else is taken aback.

Denki was so distracted and enraged by what Mineta said he didn't even notice his own tone, all he could think about was 'how dare he say that about you.'

Mineta started stuttering a response about how it was a joke and he didn't mean it. That snapped you out of you stupor and you pull on Denki's sleeve. "Denki, what are you doing?"

His eyes snap up to look at you and his body relaxes, "I- I no one should speak to you like that 'doll," he murmurs gently but you still hear him, all of you do.

A small smile slips on your face and you grip his sleeve tighter. "Thank you Denki," you tell him sincerely. He turned bright pink and you miss it instead whipping your head round to face Minata and pointing a finger out in the air, "listen here small fry, don't speak to me like that again. Who beat you all the times in training? Oh yeah, it was me." You tell him sternly and firmly, not leaving room for any hollow argument.

Katsuki smirks when you call him 'small fry' and wonders how many other nicknames he's made that you use.

Mina claps her hands together after you said your peace and had shut Mineta up, "right, let's get this towel down so I can start sunbathing," she grins. She sees from the corner of her eye that Todoroki is about to say something again about how they need to stay completely focused so before he can say anything Mina adds on, "just kidding," mumbling "kinda" under her breath.

One second Mina's fully clothed and the next second she's only in her bikini laying face down with her face to the side pouting at you and Ochako, "can someone put sunscreen on me? I don't want to burn."

"I'll do it!" Mineta replies automatically, just when you thought he wouldn't say anything else perverted today.

"The fuck you will!" Katsuki yells and you can almost hear the threat of explosions coming from his palms. He stays silent after that and doesn't say anything else, he leers over all the girls but in silence this time.

Everyone relaxes and starts up idle chatter and it was worth it carrying all those heavy things when you finally get to open up a cold drink, refreshing you. Ochako lathers Mina's body in sunscreen claiming that she doesn't want her to burn. You pat next to you and set your eyes on Todoroki, "come sit down Todoroki, you look really shady just standing around."

His lip quirks up in a rare small smile and accepts your offer. "You're right, we're heroes, we're ready to fight and apprehend a villain at the drop of a hat."

You giggle, "that's the spirit."

Due to the sweltering heat everyone has shredded layers, apart from you and Hanta. Even Todoroki has taken off his shirt and is currently annoying Katsuki while most of the heroes are playing beach volleyball. You're boiling and you can feel a few drops of sweat running down your neck but you don't get changed- you can't.

Underneath your clothes you're wearing a bikini but you feel too self conscious to get rid of your clothes, even though your hair is sticking to your face and your skin feels tacky and kind of gross. In your head you curse out those paparazzi from the gala a couple months ago who made you feel insecure as the photos taken of everyone started circulating online.

You gaze up at Hanta, squinting as the sun hits you eyes. Noticing this, Hanta moves the parasol to the side so it covers your eyes from the light. Now in the shade, Hanta grins "better?"

You make a noise of confirmation and nod your head, "thanks Hanta."

Hanta tells you that you're welcome while he lifts up his top starting at the top of his body, near his neck, his voice muffled under the top making you giggle. Your brain catches up with the situation too late as you watch his midriff exposed and the rest of his top half soon after. You swallow your saliva and time seems to slow down as you check him out. His hero costume is skin tight so it's not hard to imagine how he looks under his clothes. It wouldn't be fair to actually compare the two of what you envisioned to reality because after seeing him topless, wow reality is that much better you'd thought.

You wish those thoughts didn't rush though your mind but alas they do, 'my subconscious didn't do Hanta enough justice in my dream.' His arms are particularly muscular, which makes sense with his quirk and you wonder how much he can lift up with all that upper arm strength. There's a large pink scar on his shoulder that you've never seen before and you speculate silently how he got it.

One minute you were admiring his physique and the next you were nearly jumping out of your own skin as Hanta takes off his shorts and you feel the need to bury your head in your hands. You see his thick thighs and you have no control as all you can hear in your head is him calling you 'pretty girl' over and over again.

You're incredibly embarrassed by thinking about your sex dream. You try to avert your gaze away from him but beforehand Hanta can feel your watching eyes on him and spins his body around making eye contact with you, grinning wide and winking. You fiddle the hem of you top, suddenly shy that you've been caught and Hanta flops down next to you, still grinning. "Like what you see princess?" He asks teasingly, emphasising 'princess.'

"O-oh, shut up," you roll your eyes at him. Hanta chuckles and reaches over to the cooler and gets himself a drink. You elbow him on the shoulder, "idiot," and burst out in a fit of laughing and Hanta joins in.

"What's with the shirt?" Hanta asks gesturing to what you're wearing.

You feign ignorance, pretending you don't know what he's talking about. "Huh?"

"You must be hot in that."

"I'm okay," you say and you hope he doesn't notice that you're lying.

"I can see sweat trickle down your forehead, don't get me wrong you're still hot, just now in every sense."

You feel a combination of scoffing at his playful flirting and wrapping your arms around yourself shy and embarrassed but Hanta doesn't let you get too in your head and grabs an unopened drink and places it on your cheek, making you yelp and interrupting your thoughts. "Any better?" He moves the can up onto your forehead. "Why don't you want to get changed pretty girl?"

You stay silent and Hanta waits for you to speak patiently. "What I'm wearing underneath exposes more than normal."

"You've worn swimming costumes and bikini sets in public before, has anything changed. Is it a bad day today?"

Your heart warms when he asks if you had a bad day. "Not a bad day as such but there's been photos of everyone circulating after the charity gala a little while ago and the dress doesn't look as good as I thought it did. Because we're in public I'm kind of wary if someone takes photos and like I said it's more revealing than other ones I have... I regret choosing this one to wear today, it's not very flattering."

"I'll be the judge of that pretty girl." he grins lazily and you huff at his behaviour. You were intending to condone his reaction after you've just been so sincere about how you're truly feeling, especially since Hanta is typically more considerate than that but you should know not to jump to conclusions because after a pause he starts speaking again.

"In all seriousness you looked beautiful that night and I saw photos of everyone all over my twitter feed the day after and it didn't change my mind about how you looked that night. If people take pictures then they take pictures, we're here on a mission," you wince at the reminder that this is a mission but he gives you a reassuring smile, "a pointless mission with your perfect intuition but a mission all the same. You shouldn't sacrifice the relief of cooling down and if your swimming costume is revealing then that's okay, Mina is practically naked," you giggle and he smiles wide. "All of us are hot so anyone who sees us should be lucky,"

There's a cross between a chuckle and a raised eyebrow as you ask him, "even Mineta?" The immediate hard reply of 'no' makes you laugh again. "Haven't you always preached body positivity and acceptance for all?" You tease.

"If he wasn't such a pervert than my answer would be different," Hanta's says simply and you don't know if he's unaware of the affect that had on you. Hanta never once treated anyone different if they didn't fit societal norms, even when other people would, he didn't. Both him and Kiri were like that, it's probably why you always respected them so much.

Hanta's words did convince you to pull off your clothes, you were boiling but you finally shed off your clothes, grimacing as the top sticks to you. Hanta's resting his face in the palm of his hand, looking at you with hooded eyes that makes you feel almost bashful. You can tell his gaze isn't one of leering so you don't mind it so much.

You're completely free of clothes now and feeling a lot better now but you're still sticky, planning to go for a swim in a bit.

"I knew it," Hanta smirks and you look at him confused. "You look beautiful in that pretty girl, pink and white suits you."

"Oh please Hanta, sweat is trickling down my back and clinging to my eyebrow and cupid's brow. I can practically taste it," you disagree with him.

Hanta chuckles deeply, "you're still beautiful."

You tut and grab the sun-lotion from one of the bags, wanting to hide your face for a second. "Who first?" You grin at each other.

"Whoever you want."

"Okay, turn around to face me." He does what he's told, beforehand downing the rest of his drink and sitting so close that your knees are nearly touching his back as you sit on your heels. Opening the cap and squirting some in your hand, you begin to place you hands on his back. Hanta jumps slightly and you ask if he's okay, he responds that he is but it was colder than he expected, you apologise but laugh louder than the apology you give at that answer.

You rub your hands over him, making sure you don't miss any spots not wanting him to burn and have to take a deep breath as you feel his defined shoulder muscles under your palms. You lift his hair up slightly that's covering his neck and make sure it's covering his neck too. Half of you is thinking about how you're very physically close to Hanta and you've never done anything like this before but a louder voice is disagreeing, you both are very touchy-feely, you fall asleep on him and spar together all the time and when watching films in groups you'll share blankets, so is this really different?

'He's kissed me too, so this isn't a big deal...'

You don't pay much mind when you start to press your hand over the places that he can reach. You don't think as you rub cream on his arms and get up and face him, sitting back down as you make eye contact and give him a small smile. He doesn't say anything and neither do you. You put sunscreen on his chest and marvel about how built he feels, you carefully pick up his arms and make certain you cover every inch of him. You squeeze more sunscreen on your hands and close the lid before gently swiping along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You see the genuine smile that adorns his face and that snaps you out of your stupor, you momentarily stop putting the lotion on him, freezing, before starting again, although this time a bit more bashfully and not being able to make eye contact with him, instead just looking at the rest of his face.

"Think I'm nearly covered. Next it's you, yeah?" He says softly and you hum confirmation.

At the same time Denki's breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath after overdoing it while playing volleyball and he lets everyone know he's going back to get a drink and he's missing the next match out. He runs up, not noticing until he got close how your hands are running along Sero's body and how you're too close for comfort, it's looks far too intimate, too sensual. Denki clenches his teeth so hard it's a wonder they don't shatter.

"What's this?" Denki asked you both, forcing a smile on his face. You're surprised by his sudden appearance and feel almost guilty, you're really not sure why though.

Kaminari chooses to ignore the exasperated sigh that comes from Sero and gazes at you. You take your hands off Hanta and place them in your lap, "helping each other with putting on sunscreen. Have you already put yours on?"

"Uh. Yeah?"

You scrunch up your face not believing that and give him a pointed look, crossing your arms and it gives both Denki and Hanta everything in them to not look down as you unknowingly push your breasts up higher as you cross your arms. "I don't believe you."

"I did! Just.. Probably not the most thoroughly." He admits sheepishly and you cross your arms.

"Hey Sero, come join our team! We're a player down," Mina hollers to him, not asking you, knowing that you wouldn't want to play. Hanta goes slightly rigid at the request, he doesn't want to leave, he's supposed to put sunscreen on you in a minute and being around you one on one was wonderful, your soft touch on his cheeks and how you delicately moved his hair out of the way.

Little does he know you're in the same situation, although Denki's here now you don't want Hanta to go, you want him to jokingly make more flirty comments and call you pretty girl again. Even though you know he isn't serious about it and even though you know he does it with everyone it still makes you feel good.

Denki sits down very close to you and has a drink before saying, "You should go Sero, a lot of them won't let it go about an unbalanced team. They'll either have won unfairly with an extra player or lost unfairly because they were a player down."

Hanta sighs again before sitting up, "yeah you're right, I don't think I can handle another repeat of similar situation with Bakugou beating Todoroki at the sports festival." You chuckle and he leaves.

You want to ask Denki if he likes your swimming costume but you can't get the words out so instead you ask him, "Hanta was going to put sun-lotion on me but he left, can you do it instead? Just my back and stuff," you ask him. "The places I can't reach," you clarify. You really don't want to get burnt and hopefully if Denki's only touching quickly from behind you won't get too flustered and if you slightly do he won't see. You're definitely not strangers to physical affection with Denki but you are strangers when it involves so little clothes.

"I... uh-"

You interrupt him, taking his pause and lack of answer as reluctance and you don't want to force him to do something he doesn't want to do. You try and ignore the voice in your head that's asking a million questions about why, what's so bad about it. "Don't worry about it Denks I'll just put my top back on," picking up your top and turning it the right way round. 'Ah it was really nice to cool down for awhile.'

Denki grabs onto your top before you can put it back on. "No!" He rushes out and lets go of your top. Levelling his voice back to normal he says, "no, don't do that, you'll get too hot. Let me just move behind you." You give a tiny nod and hum. "Can you pass me the bottle babydoll?"

"Oh yeah," you open your hand and lay the sunscreen bottle in it so he can take it, his fingertips brush against your palm as he takes the bottle from you and you feel him shuffle behind you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah! All good!" He hopes you don't hear the strain in his voice as he tries to sound okay and squeezes some cream out. "Okay it's going to be cold now," he warns you, "although it might just be refreshing," he adds. He talks so close to you, you can feel his breath on your shoulder blade and for a second there you thought he was going to kiss it by the way he lingered after he spoke but he pulled away and you told yourself about how ridiculous that idea was.

Denki pulls back and repeats that he's going to start now. He's right when he's said it would be cold but also when he said it would be refreshing. However you underestimated thinking Denki touching you wouldn't impact you. What you didn't realise is Denki was doing worse of than you were and you don't hear his swallowing over your own thoughts. Your soft body melds in between his nervous fingers as he makes gentle large circular motions on your skin.

You fight back a shiver as he touches your sides and goes all the way up to your shoulders. "Do you want to lay down?"

"Huh?!" You say a little louder than necessary. Denki is taking so much care with you, more than you thought and it's making you try to force down all the butterflies that are trying to flutter in your stomach. With every minute that passes with his gentle touch, the more heat rises to your cheeks and the more bashful you become. You don't know if you'll be able to handle much more of this.

"You asked me to help you with the places you can't reach." He reminds you and you wince. You didn't ask Hanta to lay down but now the man you love is asking you to and that means he'll be touching you more. Half of you is almost happy about this but the other half is thinking back to how Denki was silent when first asked and why was he silent, it would of been so much easier if Hanta didn't have to leave but you do what he says and lie down on your front, your head turned to the side watching everyone play volleyball in the distance.

You jump as Denki touches you again, still with care. You start to ball up your fists and your cheeks get hotter and hotter, especially when he touches your thighs. You were about to break the silence between you both when he touches your plush thighs but he quickly moves on, quicker than when he's touching other parts of your body.

Simultaneously Denki sucks in teeth and squeezes his eyes shut when he touches your thighs, he almost regrets asking you to lie down. He doesn't stay on your thighs long and goes over to your hips, you feel like his hand itches a bit to close to the string of your bikini bottoms but you dismiss it as he quickly moves his hand away again.

"All done," he says quietly but deeply as he retracts his hands from you.

"What?" You ask. It's not your fault you're distracted it's his, if Denki's going to hover around certain parts of your body he's to blame for any daydreams. It's not your fault if you imagine Denki lowering your bikini bottoms and untying the strings of your bikini top while he actually does place kisses on your shoulder blade, all along down your spine reaching the place he normally keeps his hand when you get too panicky and overwhelmed at events. Holding onto your hips and leaving bites and marks all over your body, letting small sparks go from his fingertips in your inner thighs making you moan-

"I said I'm all done now," you nearly squeak as you're interrupted from your daydream again and swiftly move to get up, Denki holding out his hand for you to take to help you up and turn you back round so you're facing each other again. "Do you want me to do your front?"

You shake your head rapidly and reply, "it's okay I can do it." Your eyes narrow as you see how red his cheeks are, "I know you said you didn't put sunscreen on properly but come on Denks at least put it on your face," you condemn.

"I did!" Denki rebuttals but you don't believe him for one second as you see his face and you tell him just as much.

"I don't trust you, if you've put sunscreen on your face why are you so red?"

"I must not have put it on properly, I should have had someone do it for me. Even though it's the front of my body I should have been more careful with applying." He hopes you don't call him out on his lie and his wording, you don't. After you don't he pushes a bit more, "Sero won't have the same problem because you made sure he was completely covered... I don't want you to burn."

You weigh the pros and cons and in the end the pros outweigh the cons. On one hand you'd prefer not to have anymore dirty inappropriate imagery of Denki but you don't want to get burnt, you're going on a blind date in a few days from now and you don't want them to see you with peeling skin and burning, angry, crimson hot streaks from wherever the sunscreen didn't cover.

"I'll take you up on that, if you still don't mind."

"I offered didn't I?" He smiles at you kindly and gestures for to lie on your back.

"Do I have to lie down Denki?" You ask a bit wary about any more daydreams you might have.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, it's your decision. I think it would make the most sense though."

You're not entirely sure about his logic behind that answer but you trust him and if it makes the most sense then you're sure you'll be able to survive a couple more minutes.

"Great!" Denki says a bit to enthusiastically and he's not deaf to how strange it must sound with how quick his attitude towards this situation seems to have changed.

Lying on your back you suppress the urge to cover your face with a sun hat to hide from him and from this position. The sight you're seeing takes your breath away. You're often reminded about how attractive Denki is, and at random times of the day too, like right now. His pretty golden eyes are reflecting against the sun at this angle, making you get lost in them. Denki unintentionally flexes as he reaches over you to pick something up you don't see and it's only natural that your eyes drift to his well-earned muscles from hero work, his lean body shining with sweat and his blonde hair is falling down his face. You don't even think about it before reaching up and running your hands through his hair and away from his face so you can see his whole face more clearly. A tender smile that you return appears on his face and you swear his face looks redder than before.

What he was reaching before becomes into your view and you see it's his black headband to push back his hair, he didn't think it was necessary earlier but now he's more confident in his movements and in his mind getting his hair completely out of his face so he can see you properly is the best way to go to make sure you're completely covered from the sun and he tells you just as much, although leaving out the part of him being previously not confident and being nervous about it, because you would ask 'why?'

He pushes his hair back with his headband and continues to rub lotion in circles on your skin, this time on the front of your body.

Denki's hand stops and even though you can't see what he's looking at you just know. "Denki?" You say quietly.

He's jolted from his thoughts at your voice and rests his whole hand gently on your rib where a faded jagged scar decorates your skin. His hand is now no longer covered in any cream after rubbing the remaining sunscreen left over in his hand and was currently just gently stroking your scar after hearing your voice.

Subconsciously he's moved his other hand to your hip and normally you would be more flustered than you are by this gesture but the way he's holding you clues you in that all he's thinking about is how you got that scar and he's holding you for comfort- his own comfort.

The first year of hero work out of UA you encountered a villain that got the better of you. You were too slow or maybe she was too fast but either way you ended up with her arm slicing into you. Realising too late that her quirk allows her to form rough, sharp, knife-like shapes in her forearms, cutting deep into your skin as the quirk then secretes poison after making contact with your blood after the slash.

You don't remember much after that just everything fading to black and waking up, lying in a hospital bed, with Denki by your side, looking like he hasn't slept in days as he tells you that Sero found you and luckily he did find you because you lost a lot of blood but more urgently the poison had entered your blood stream and destroying your body from the inside, luckily you were treated when you did.

That wasn't the only time getting injured while working but it's the one that seemed to scare Denki the most, from your point of view that's what it looked like at least. You surmised a long time ago that that incident was more serious than everyone told you.

"Denki, I'm okay now." You assure him softly.

"Yeah," he says so quietly that it's almost silent.

Trying to cheer him up but also sharing your honest feelings about the matter you admit to him, "plus I think it's kind of cool y'know? It's almost like we're matching now. It reminds me of a lightning bolt."

Denki's eyes snap up to look at you, and squeezes your hip subtly for a second before letting go. His mouth opens and it looks like he's about to say something before closing it.

"You're right babydoll," he doesn't say anything for a second before adding, "I promise you won't get hurt like that again," he tapers off at the end and it becomes more of a mutter.

You giggle because how's he going to do that? You're a hero, just like him and his protectiveness of you makes you giggly and giddy because what is he going to do, wrap you up in bubble wrap?

Denki brightens up as he hears you laugh and smirks, uncapping the lid of bottle again and finishing the rest of his assigned role. He surprises even himself as he lifts up the strap of your bikini top a bit to put sunscreen under it, he's not sure what he'll say if you question it but you're too busy biting the inside of your cheek because 'that was intimate, he was basically undressing me'. You know that's not entirely accurate but he was still moving your clothes, and your bikini top no less!

Luckily for your own sanity the only other noteworthy thing that happened was when Denki applied the cream to your neck unlike how he's been doing the whole time beforehand. Instead of making circular motions he was wrapping his hand around your whole neck all at once and rubbing it in all in one go. You can only imagine how rapid your pulse was beating and it's astonishing that Denki didn't say anything. You think at that moment you exploded and couldn't help but wonder about how his hands seemed very confident and comfortable around someone's neck...

Lifting yourself up, Denki stands at the same time and holds out his hand for you to hold onto, "wanna go swimming?"

"I'd love to," while taking his hand you answer.

As soon as you stand up the voices from your friends get closer and you watch as they make their way over to you. You hear Mina exclaim, "Ahh, I love your bikini! It really suits you. Where did you get it from?" You heart warms when you hear the compliment, knowing that not just Hanta likes it but Mina does too.

Even though you haven't been playing volleyball like some of the others you're still equally hungry having been sweating all day and only having a light breakfast so your plans to go swimming gets delayed as everyone sits down and gets ready to eat lunch. Bakugou starts laying out food prepared by him, not trusting some random person at his agency to do it or anyone else going on the mission, people like Todoroki are notoriously bad when it comes to anything involving or similar to cooking. Denki grabs a couple of sandwiches for the both of you, and you can't help but scrunch up your nose at his choice, having a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich is completely normal but the amount of mayonnaise he adds to it is not. He's kind enough to grab your favourite though so you don't verbalise your slight disgust (this time at least) and happily eat lunch with everyone else, listening as Katsuki brags about how he scored the most in the volleyball.

After finishing your sandwiches Denki picks up a watermelon slice from the platter and holds it near your mouth, "say ahhh" you automatically open your mouth humming 'ahhh' not even thinking about it. Denki feeds you the watermelon as you take a bite of it.

"Want to go swimming now?"

"Sure."

" 'Kay." Denki then speaks louder so everyone else can hear him, "we're gonna go swimming."

Then a swarm of replies of people saying 'okay' and Kiri saying, "see you in a bit, i'm going to go swimming after finishing up eating".

Taking the already inflated doughnut with you, you leave and get to the sea line, yelping as the cold water moves and touches your legs. Denki chuckles and you scowl at him. He sprints into the water and sighs as it cools him down, gingerly you walk into the water, reaching him and a cross between a sigh and a shiver escapes you.

Denki takes the doughnut ring from your grasp and places it over your head onto your waist, pulling the side, with you in it, further into the water while you float along with him, you halfheartedly complain but he grins at you while you pout.

"Cooler now than you were earlier in the day 'doll?"

"Yeah," you smile softly.

"I'm glad," Denki replies back.

As you get farther from the tide Denki stops and spins the float that's holding you around a couple times, before stopping and holding the inflatable with his two hands on either side and grins as you. "Remember when we were like fifteenth and we went to the beach together, you ended up burying me in sand, I still have nightmares about it," Denki says solemnly, jokingly.

You giggle uncontrollable at the memory remembering it like yesterday. "It's your fault, I mean who falls asleep while eating an ice cream at the beach. It was only natural for me to lay you down and bury you. Plus, it was payback!"

"Payback for what may I ask?" He knows what you'll say.

You gasp in fake horror of him forgetting, "you knocked down my sandcastle when we were little! We went to the beach together for the summer, both of our families, and I begged you to make a sandcastle with me but you didn't want to, you ran off and made a new friend for the day and while you were running back from the sea with him you ran into my sandcastle and knocked it over! It was traumatic!"

"I don't remember that, are you sure?" Denki smirks and you slash him. He starts spinning you around again, this time rapidly and continuously, you squeal and get dizzy. You try and splash him more as you both laugh. He halts spinning you and you make eye contact, "please forgive six year old me, it's not like he brought you a coke and an ice cream and let you decide what film to watch that night when you stayed at mine to make up for it or anything." He teases you with a grin and you think about how you'd like to stay in this moment forever, this perfect moment, his arms brushing against your body as he holds onto the float, the grinning and laughter you share, the memories and the now, just the two of you.

You're thankful you were right about the mission.

tag list: @st4r-girl-official @xnorthstar3x @cherribxio @stabbygabyy @boreaswrites @skylardarling (i don't remember if you wanted me to tag you, sorry but you sent me an ask about i talk too much so i thought i'd tag you) @kelly-fushiguro345 ♡♡

[croquis-el]

Why are there lycoris (spider lilies) in Naruhodo's hospital ward?

I think many of us were initially puzzled when we noticed this detail: why exactly these flowers, and in a hospital, and on a completely healthy person? Does someone wish him harm?

Not at all.

In fact, the history of lycoris, or higanbana as they are called in Japan, is not as ancient as it might seem, and the meanings and symbolism of these flowers have changed over the centuries.

Higanbana or Lycoris radiata is a bulbous plant from the lily family, common throughout Japan. It is believed that Higanbana was brought to Japan from Korea or China during the Muromachi period (室町 1333-1568) for its biological properties.

The Spider Lily’s strong association with death has led to its traditional planting in graveyards and temples. It is believed that the flower’s toxicity (its bulbs contain lycorine, a toxic alkaloid) helps deter animals from disturbing the resting places of the dead.

The flower’s name, “Higanbana,” translates to “flower of the afterlife” or “equinox flower,” reflecting its association with the autumnal equinox and the Buddhist festival of Higan.

Higan (彼岸, lit. "distant shore") is a Buddhist holiday exclusively celebrated by Japanese sects for seven days; three days before and after both the Spring equinox (shunbun) and Autumnal equinox (shūbun). During this time, Japanese people honor their ancestors, and the blooming of these flowers serves as a poignant reminder of the transient nature of life.

In Higan, various rituals are performed to help the soul overcome the path from the west, from the world of “confusion and disorder”, to the east, into the world of “enlightenment”.

In Japan, there is a proverb: “Heat and cold end in Higan” (jp: 暑さ寒さも彼岸まで), which means the change of seasons.

Despite these somber associations, the spider lily is also a symbol of renewal and the cycle of life and death. During the Higan festival, the flower represents the passage from the physical world to the spiritual, reminding people to reflect on their lives and the lives of those who have passed on.

The spider lily is also linked to the concept of impermanence, a central tenet in Buddhism. The flower blooms suddenly and fades just as quickly, symbolizing the fleeting beauty of life. Its bright red color is often associated with blood and the idea of finality, further cementing its connection to death and the afterlife.

Spider Flower blooms carry a tapestry of meanings across cultures. Historically, they've been symbols of both invitation and solitude, suggesting a dual nature. In some traditions, they represent an open invitation to explore the unknown, while in others, they signify a desire for privacy and independence.

The Higanbana flower can also symbolize: sad memories, thinking only of you, looking forward to seeing you, reunion (gain), passion, independence (distancing), refusal (reconciliation), horror.

There are many myths and superstitions associated with the flower. It was believed that flowers have magical powers and can influence the fate of people: for example, if you hide a flower in the bed of a loved one, this can create an unbreakable attachment until death. Its flowers symbolize strong feelings and an eternal connection. Therefore, lycoris can be given to express deep affection, devotion, respect, as a sign of reverence.

Let's summarize.

Spider lily can mean:

1. symbol of renewal and the cycle of life and death

2. impermanence

3. idea of ​​finality

4. invitation and solitude

5. looking forward to meeting you, thinking only of you

6. reunion (gain)

7. strong feelings and eternal connection

8. independence (distancing)

9. refusal (reconciliation)

In other words, these flowers literally symbolize the beginning of Naruhodo's path to returning to the legal world, to his "rebirth" as an innocent man. And the one who gave these flowers is looking forward to meeting and reuniting. Who could it be...

[love-toxin]

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're…sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my dad to let out his emotions?

(cw: this entire post is about animal death)

Long story short, my dad (58M) has wanted a dog for decades. My mom (54F) has been refusing a dog for all 25 years they've been together. A few years ago, she finally agreed to get a puppy, and my dad was more excited than I've ever seen him be for anything.

Our dog passed away from a tumor a few months ago. He wasn't even three years old. This practically destroyed all of us, especially my dad, since he'd fought so hard for a dog for years. On top of that, he hasn't had much of a chance to let out his emotions since my mom keeps stopping him, and also making it worse.

A couple of weeks ago, on the way home from a party, something reminded my dad of the dog, and he started to cry in the car. We all comforted him, but after a few minutes my mom rolled her eyes and told him to stop crying. When we got home, my dad apologized for getting emotional. I (18M) told him he didn't have to apologize, since crying in grief is a completely normal thing to do. My mom told me I shouldn't say that, since he would just "wallow in his sadness all night" and it was better to just tell him not to do that.

I was baffled by this. I realized that she wasn't trying to make him feel better, she just didn't want to deal with him crying anymore. (I also recently noticed that she does the same thing to my sister (14F) and I.) Apparently this has been going on for pretty much their entire marriage of ~20 years.

On top of all of that, my mom brings up the topic of our dog and his death to people at Every. Single. Opportunity. And it always makes the rest of us feel like shit. She ordered a custom portrait of our dog as a Father's Day present for my dad. When I implied that this might be a bad idea, she said "So you hate it. Great." She also wants another dog exactly like our old one, despite the fact that he was a purebred, and had some health problems because of it. At this point, she wouldn't shock me if she said she wanted to clone the poor dog.

My dad has struggled with depression for years. He lived a very difficult life growing up, and was basically taught that showing sadness or fear was weak. Throughout my life, though, he's always made sure to tell my sister and I that he never wants us to have to bottle up how we feel and that the "boys don't cry" attitude is stupid.

So you can imagine my surprise when I tried to comfort him earlier tonight and he said "No, no, I'm fine. Boys don't cry. Don't worry about me." After that, my parents got into an argument about my mom telling my dad that he needs to "move past this".

TLDR: My mom keeps doing things that remind my dad of our dead dog, but then when he gets overwhelmed and starts crying she tells him to stop because she doesn't want to deal with his crying. AITA for telling my dad that she's wrong?

[shiny-jr]

What a New Year’s treat to read the Ignihyde chapter!!! Love Imp! MC, they’re such a different flavor of scaredy cat compared to King! MC and genuinely seem torn up by their decisions to go along with changing the plot out of self-interest.

And the way Ortho just unnerves them by knowing they’re an imposter, blackmailing and enjoying their company because they actually do their job despite their fear. Idia also revealing he knew midway is so good too! He acts like he doesn’t care but the subtle changes to his actions.

AND WHEN ITS IMP!READER USED TO TRICK HERACLEA!!! They must be blue screening mentally as they calculate just what made the heroine so focused on them when Meg’s right there. Just those tiny glimpses of them escaping time after time as she defeats the threat, slowly focusing less on the cheering crowds unless it’s to scan it for those shy, terrified eyes, and slim horns. Idia’s right, Imp!Reader just accidentally captivates people with their shivering cat energy; his fast talking was probably due to all three and the fact he gets to have them completely at their weakest.

Idia is going to keep them right by his side during the whole conquest, keeping them safe from any harm from a stray arrow to just them tripping over themselves and getting a scraped knee. Casually reminding them he wouldn’t dare let harm befall his most valuable asset, propping them on his leg as he slouches on Zeus’s chest throne atop Olympus, letting them have a front row seat to the devastation unleashed onto the world with Ortho gleefully narrating everything.

This was worth the wait and I adored every scene and interaction~!

Okay, okay, finally getting around to the asks that have spoilers and talk about the Ignihyde part of Damnation. I've been waiting for a few days, there's a few other asks like this one, but I was saving them and waiting to make sure some time passed so hopefully most people read it already if they wanted to and got no spoilers. It's been nearly a week since I first uploaded it, so I think it's safe to address it now in conversations.

So far, I've seen some asks that mostly like the MC? Which is a relief. As I know sometimes anxious MCs can come off as annoying, and I'm glad that it wasn't the case for a majority of the comments and messages I've gotten about them. So I'm really glad that they've been well received!

I know Ignihyde isn't really a popular dorm compared to the others, so I was sort of concerned when uploading that it wouldn't get that much attention. But it did. Maybe not as much as say, Pomefiore, which was to be expected, but I'm glad my expectations were exceeded and the overall feedback seems to be positive!

[letmedixonyou]

i'm not yours - part 5

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 2.7k

warnings: alcohol use, swearing, mentions of drugs

A/N: Hi, darlings! Here another part of the series. I'm still not sure how long this whole thing is going to be, but I already have another idea for a longer story. My brain is working overtime these days! It was proofread by my English boyfriend, so I trust there aren’t any major errors.

Parts: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

The drive was long, painfully hot and quiet, but you finally reached Alexandria's gates. All this time you were thinking about Daryl, the image of his foot stomping on one thing you really wanted. That 80s music cassette could've been such a gem in this stupid world. You couldn't remember the last time you've heard good music, other than some weird 60s psychedelic shit that was surely listened to during LSD trips. For once, you wanted to listen to something you knew you'd enjoy. And he knew that too. He knew you like no one else. You couldn't help but think that he did that on purpose, to sort of get back at you for destroying your friendship.

Back when you were friends, he'd never told you no. He'd always allow you to get giddy and excited about things, like that one time when you found a pink Nintendo DS console with somehow preserved 20% of battery. Your eyes shimmered when you looked at it, and then you turned it on and the screen came to life, a familiar sound played and you let out a squeak, making Daryl chuckle. He made a comment about you being a nerd, and you admitted it proudly. You played some games on it until the battery gave out and then kept it as a keepsake. To this day, the console had an honourable place on your nightstand, making you smile each time you look at it.

Or that one time when you both went on a supply run to town and you saw a shop with clothing you never could afford before zombie outbreak, so you made Daryl go with you and watch you try on dresses, coats and fancy trousers. He was sitting there on the footstool, watching you having fun. You knew this wasn't his thing at all, but yet he spent next two hours just watching you and making comments about how fancy professional, but stupid you looked. You kept a huge fur coat, apparently worth $4000, now free for anybody who wanted it. And you wanted it. Daryl rolled his eyes when you decided to wear the coat all the way back to Alexandria, but never stopped you. You believed he secretly enjoyed how silly it was.

Of course, he wouldn't come back with you in the car - the silence between you would be too much to bear for him and frankly, you were quite glad that he chose to walk. You were fed up with arguing, fighting over nothing, constantly being reminded about the "I love you" you shouted to him a while back. Every time you thought about it, you beat yourself up for ever making the rude comments, escalating the situation instead of calming it. You beat yourself up for ever saying the three words, for ever admitting your feelings, and it was heartbreaking for you to think that your friendship was gone.

Getting out of the truck, the ground crunched under your feet. You wiped some sweat off your forehead and and looked around. A few people looked at you, puzzled by the question of "where the hell is Daryl", especially Carol, who was walking towards you with concerned look on her face.

"Hey," she says, standing in front of you, crossing her arms on her chest. "You okay?"

"Hi," you say and smile gently to her, rubbing your forearm lightly. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Where is Daryl?"

There it is. The question. Of course, everyone was concerned that Daryl wasn't with you. He was a valued member of the group and people have grown fond of him over the years they've spent together. God forbid, something would happen to him. You admit, it was most definitely weird that you and Daryl weren't coming back together, so you could understand why people are so worried about him.

"He chose to walk back," you look away from Carol, feeling some type of embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks. You weren't exactly sure why you felt this way. "We argued. He walked away. Left keys in the truck, so I could come back."

"He chose to walk back?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You argued? About what? You two never argue."

That would've been right a few weeks ago, before you confessed your love, before he got weirded out. You and Daryl were great friends, almost attached to hip. Always together, always joking around. You never argued when you two were still friends. To some people it was quite weird that you didn't argue, but for you two it was natural. There was just never anything you'd think to argue about. But now? Now, you are sure that the friendship was never going to go back to normal.

"It's a long story, Carol," you say, scratching the top of your head. "And frankly, I don't think I want to go into details with it."

"Alright."

Carol stayed for a minute more, looking you up and down, concern never leaving her face. She must've seen how exhausted and unwilling to talk you were, because she smiled and left, asking no more questions. You watched her figure disappear into her house, the yellow doors of it reflecting the shine of the sun so harshly it made your eyes hurt.

You walked down the street, trying to use the buildings' shadows to your advantage, to hide yourself and get cooler. You couldn't help to think about Daryl and hope that he is staying out of the sun too, and staying hydrated enough. You knew it was silly to worry about him - he's always reasonable, knows how to take care of himself as he did so since he was a kid. Yet, a part of you almost seeks it out. That worry. That anxiety if he is okay. Maybe it was because your feelings for him. Maybe it was simply because he is... was your best friend and you wanted him to be safe. You felt like you will always worry about him in some way, even when you are not friends. You wanted to. Because you cared.

As you walk into your house, the walls provide you with a cool air, hugging your body tightly. You sigh deeply at the sensation and you walk straight into the bathroom. Taking your clothes off, you see yourself in the mirror. All the scars on your body, all the scratches, old and new, were glistening with sweat. You looked at your tattoo - a small detail that no one knew about, not even Daryl. The tattoo was a medium size, black and white Medusa head, gracefully wrapping around the contours of the ribcage. It symbolises transformation and power for you.

You haven’t had the best childhood, and you were raised in a household where emotions were not discussed in a calm manner. It was always a fight, always verbal abuse towards your mother that ended with a door slam from your father, and was never actually resolved or talked about again. Your parents always went to the usual selves a couple days later, bottling up whatever was bothering them. You've heard your mum cry many times because of the fights. You even heard her talking to her friend on the phone about getting a divorce, but it never actually happened. Your guess was she was too scared to actually leave your father.

Getting out of your childhood house was one of the things you dreamt about since you were a child. When you turned 18, instead of going to parties, getting drunk or doing your driving license, you got a job and moved out, marking your body with a tattoo symbolising the moment your life changed.

Hopping into the shower, you wash away all the sweat and grime from the day, desperate trying to wash away your feelings too. You thought about how the situation you are in with Daryl could've been avoided if you just kept your mouth shut. But then... you'll always be living in the shadows of Daryl's relationship. Shadows of Leah. Is that what I want, you asked yourself internally and you knew the answer is no. Sooner or later, Daryl would've found out about it. Sooner or later you would've told him and the same thing would happen. Somehow, even if it meant losing him, you were glad it was sooner rather than later. At least, you're not bottling up the feelings and emotions, just like your parents did.

Another couple weeks pass by and situation between you and Daryl hasn't changed. He's avoiding you like fire, keeping his distance everywhere. You stopped going on supply runs altogether, after speaking with Rick and telling him you don't want to work with Daryl anymore. Rick was shocked and, of course, asked questions, but you kept it short and sweet of an answer and explained you needed a break. He wasn't convinced, maybe it was the look on your face, finally letting you off.

One evening, you decided to open a few bottles of alcohol you stashed in your house. You kept them for special occasions, but you felt like this was an emergency and you just wanted to numb yourself for a little while. Sitting on the porch of your house, you kept sipping on some whiskey straight from the bottle, your mind wandering. You thought about your family, your friends, people you've lost since the zombies became reality. You thought about Daryl, what he was up to, what he was doing. Was he thinking about you too?

The sun was setting on the horizon. Everything looked so beautiful in the orangey hue. The trees were still, and the air was stuffy again, although it smelled like wet ground - a tell-tale of rain. A whole street was calm and quiet - an advantage of choosing to live in the corner of the settlement, next to an old couple, away from the places people would usually go to.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps and you turn your head towards it, hoping it would be Daryl, but the blonde hair in a pony tail and an all black outfit came to focus. Leah.

She stood there, smiling at you gently. You felt awkward and super conscious about the fact you were in love with her boyfriend, so you looked down at your drink as quickly as you looked at her.

"Hi," she says softly, sitting next to you on the steps. Her politeness and kindness was almost bugging you.

She was always quite nice to you and others. Maybe that was why people actually disliked her - it was coming off as ingenuine. The first time she came to Alexandria with Daryl, she was so sweet it almost made your teeth hurt. She spoke softly, all the time, like there was nothing that bothers her, like her zen was always in check. Daryl didn't seem to mind her overly sweet voice and attitude of a little girl who didn't know what to do with themselves. In fact, he seemed to like it which made you cringe. Maybe it was because he was a natural protector. A person that always keeps people safe and when he met Leah, all alone in the woods, his instincts kicked in and he needed to protect her. Or maybe it was because she was not shy in showing that she was interested in him, making eyes at him and laughing at his jokes, even when they were bad ones.

You grumble in response, nodding once to acknowledge Leah. There was a pause, a super uncomfortable silence between you two, before she opened her mouth again.

"You shouldn't drink that much, you know? It's not healthy."

"Okay, Leah," you say dismissively, taking another swig out of the bottle. Leah was the last person you'd listen to when it comes to advice. Or anything, really.

Another long pause happens, and you keep looking at the sunset, trying to avoid her burning gaze. You could tell she was scanning you, like she was trying to figure you out. You didn't care much about how she looked at you. You disliked her and her opinion about you didn't matter.

Leah sighs and clasps her hands on her knee.

"Why did you stop going on supply runs with Daryl?" she asks straightforwardly, and you finally turn your head towards her, tilting it to the side.

Your eyebrows turn upwards. You were trying to assess if she's serious or not. It's been a few weeks since the decision of stopping supply runs with Daryl, so you were sure she was joking, maybe mocking you or something. Your eyes meet and you can see concern on her face. Her lips press together, waiting for your answer. She was nervously tapping her foot on the ground.

"I was just wondering that's all. Did something happen?" she pressed even more. It was starting to get on your nerves a little, but you kept your mouth shut. Sipping on the amber liquid, you leaned against the baluster of the stairs.

The sun was barely visible anymore, the evening has gotten more dark. You could hear cicadas in the grass somewhere, and the slight buzzing of the electricity from the solar panels nearby. If it wasn't for Leah's presence next to you, the evening would've been perfect - full of drunken thoughts about Daryl, blurry vision and calm air.

"Daryl has been really absent lately," she says, shrugging her shoulders. She kept looking at the setting sun as well. "I guess I wanted to know why."

"Me and Daryl aren't friends anymore," you finally say in a low voice, almost like you didn't want to say those words out loud. You feel alcohol drifting around in your veins, so you try to steady your mind to make sure you don't just babble anything inappropriate to her.

"What?" Leah turns her gaze towards you, clearly confused, scowling hard and then turning her eyes towards the ground in front of her. "Why not?"

Again, you glance at her, making sure she was serious. And yet again, all you see is just concern and sincerity in her eyes. She looked genuinely shocked at he information you provided her with, like she actually had no idea what's been happening. Her whole body leaned towards you a little, waiting for any answer from you. But before you can answer her, she speaks up again.

"Daryl doesn't really share things like that with me," her voice almost a whisper, as she's rubbing her arm, either from coolness of the air or just a pure awkwardness of the situation. "I wouldn't have known if you two were not friends anymore. He's quite a mystery, isn't he?"

You swallow hard, the realisation of what she said hitting you like a ton of bricks. Leah was his girlfriend, the person who he should confide in, should talk to about things, especially about things like arguing with his best friend to the point of never speaking to them again. He should be speaking about his fears, dreams and future with her, right? Like couples do?

She doesn't know?

You couldn't help but wonder what else did he conceal from her? Does she know about his past? About his childhood, about Merle? Does she know how he got the scars on his back? Does she know anything about his past, anything at all?

You kept looking at her, completely dumbfounded, not knowing what to say or do. You take another swig out of the bottle, assessing the situation. What can you say? It's not exactly something you should speak about with Daryl's girlfriend. "I'm in love with your boyfriend and he didn't like that, so we aren't friends anymore" or "You boyfriend hates me because I confessed my love for him". You felt like it wasn't your place, wasn't something that you should announce to her. It should've been Daryl who bitches about it to her, not you.

You open your mouth, but the words don't come out. They get stuck in your throat, and you bite your lip, desperately trying to find anything to say, anything at all. Leah looks at you, clearly frustrated with something. Well, probably you. Or Daryl. Or both. She doesn't wait for your answer. Instead, she scoffs, gets up and walks off, leaving you on half-drunk on the stairs of your house, with even more to think about.

PART 6

[beauregardlionett]

did i rant to my friends about dorian and orym just to be called a simp? yes i did. and i'll do it again.

these two characters? consume my waking thoughts. because just fucking think about this from a timeline/literary point of view for a second with me.

orym lost his husband and his father-in-law (who he always calls dad because he didn't have a dad growing up) in a violent attack on his leader a while ago and whatever magic was used to kill them kept them dead - no reviving magic worked to bring them back. in the space of a single attack, he lost two of the most important people in his life, and now he's a widow who still mourns and loves in equal measure even while far from home trying to save the world. he loves even though he's scared of losing again.

dorian is a runaway heir to a title he never really wanted, a musician for himself, a charlatan hiding behind an easy smile, who has really only ever wanted to see the world in his own time and make real friends for once in his life. and he did that! all on his own! he was with the group at the beginning of the campaign but then they ran into his older brother who was in trouble and needed to lay low and dorian went with him, falling back on old instincts that family by blood comes first. he ran from the group and from the foundations he was building with them. because dorian has only ever run from the things that scare him. but now he's back, re-traced his frightened footsteps toward the daunting promise of tomorrow - not yet with the group, we're getting his side of the story first. and he even said it himself, that he ran from the group and now he's not sure why he did it, why he left, when he stands here now and realizes everything he wanted was already in front of him.

they have sending stones, a once a day chance to say something to each other in 25 words or less. they've been using them, keeping each other updated on where they are, that they're still alive, and kindling this flame even without dorian at the table, without even seeing each other, and liam has been carrying this torch alone for 78 episodes but damn it the flame is still lit regardless!

and orym always updates on their progress and location first, and with whatever words he has left he drops in a sentiment to remind dorian that they still care - that orym still cares. and orym is practical through and through, he's a strategist so he always always always uses his words wisely because he's so fucking limited by this spell but the last message he sent? he repeated himself, he admitted a weakness, he faltered.

he told dorian where they were. he asked if dorian could come their way. he admitted to struggling while his voice broke. he asked again but in a different way if dorian could come their way. he ended the message with the most heartbreaking "fuck, i miss you," i have ever heard in my life.

orym, the man who messaged dorian 52 episodes ago and said "glad you're not here, wish you were anyway." because they're constantly in danger, and he wouldn't wish that on dorian, but he still aches to have him near. orym, the man who confessed 13 episodes ago during a trial with his friends that he's lonely, that he misses dorian and sometimes he thinks it's okay and sometimes he doesn't - because he was married and is still mourning and how dare he have feelings for someone else? how dare he move on even when his husband would WANT him to be happy again? he indicated dorian was missed by everyone in three of his previous messages before the trial, before finally shifting to 'I, orym, me - it's me who misses you'.

and dorian, the one who replied to a message orym sent him with "stay steadfast, sending you fairer winds" in the most longing tone i have EVER heard. dorian, who kissed orym's forehead when they parted ways but that is the closest they have come to acknowledging whatever is between them. dorian, who has been to orym's home between exu and c3 and met orym's mom and knows about orym's husband.

when orym died 58 episodes ago, he went limp and the sending stone slipped out of his hand because he was trying to message dorian before he died, before he ran out of words and breath. before he was revived, there was a moment he stood in the beyond and saw his husband and he told orym "you're not done," and orym said "i really wish i could stay," and then his husband said "i'll still be here," and orym said, heartbroken, "oh, i miss you so bad."

he told dorian, "i've really missed you," and "fuck, i miss you." i miss you is orym's way of saying i love you.

they're so close. they are so close. and orym fully died 19 episodes after dorian left, but he was revived and then never told dorian via sending that happened. part of me wants dorian to find out and the other part hopes he never has to feel like he failed orym by leaving. because nothing could have changed that from happening, not even dorian.

they are so close to reuniting, orym has needed dorian back for WEEKS and he's so close. i'm begging them to hold on so they can hold each other again.

and, again, from a literary point of view, you know the wildest part about all of this?

none of it is scripted.

[sailortongue]

Sweet Tooth

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: 4.5k

summary: spencer finds himself frequenting a local donut establishment for more reasons than one. his sweet tooth isn't limited to just pastries and he bets you'd taste delicious

cw: oral (fem receiving), fingering. pls pls pls let me know if i missed smth but i think those are the only major things

------

It was widely known that Spencer was fond of overly sweet coffee, but his sweet tooth was not limited to just his morning pick-me-up. The team had recently wrapped up with a rather grueling case, and he thought he’d surprise them all with donuts that morning. So there he was, in the local donut shop, staring at what must have been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The way the early morning light shone in through the windows and illuminated you was truly breathtaking. Try as he might, he stumbled over the order, embarrassing himself in front of you and surely ruining his chances of you liking him.

You could tell he was flustered, so you did your best to suppress your giggles. He was cute. Very cute. This was the first time you had seen him come into the store, and you were hoping it wasn’t the last. He paid for his order and you boxed it up, receiving a shy smile from him as you handed it to him. “Thank you,” he said, before turning and walking out quickly, the bell above the door chiming.

It was a little over a week before you saw him again. He greeted you with a “good morning” as he walked in and approached the counter.

“Good morning!” you said back cheerily, glad to see that he had returned. He scanned the selection of confections before selecting a chocolate donut with sprinkles.

“Huh, I thought you’d be more of a donut hole kind of guy,” you said, trying to make conversation with the handsome man.

He laughed a bit and shook his head. “No, chocolate and sprinkles are definitely the best. They've been my favorite since I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? I think if I was to pick a favorite it would have to be the apple fritter.”

Not missing the chance to learn about you, even if it was just your favorite donut, he asked, “Why that one? Not that it's a bad choice, but most people seem to prefer the chocolate and glazed.”

You laughed and Spencer swore his heart melted right then and there. “Well, they're my dad’s favorite. And every time he had one he would split it between us. So not only is it delicious, but it reminds me of my childhood.”

He smiled at your wholesome reason and before he could stop himself he said, “That’s really cute.”

You blushed, consumed with the thought that he considered something about you was cute, even if it was something so minor as to why your favorite donut is what it is. God, you didn't even know his name and there you were, developing a crush. Your eyes met his, and you were awestruck at how warm and inviting they looked. He had these expressive brown eyes that you could get lost in if you allowed yourself to. You shook your head from your thoughts, realizing you were probably freaking him out. He was just here for a donut and here you were staring at him like some creep. You hadn’t even bagged it for him yet. Pull yourself together you chastised yourself internally, finally breaking eye contact and doing your job like a normal person.

When you handed him the bag he briefly glanced down at your name tag. “Thanks, Yn,” he said, giving you a small smile. What a pretty name, he thought.

“No problem, have a good day…” you trailed off, hoping he would introduce himself. It was only fair since he knew your name.

“Spencer,” he filled in for you.

“Spencer,” you repeated. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

–❀– 

Next time turned out to be three days later. You were back in the kitchen, not expecting a customer to be there so early until you heard the bell chime. “I’ll be right there!” you called out. You quickly rinsed your hands and were still drying them on a towel when you walked out to see a familiar mop of brown hair. “Spencer! Good morning!”

He chuckled, “Good morning, Yn.”

“Chocolate with sprinkles?” you asked, remembering his favorite.

“You remembered?”

“You’re beginning to become a regular, and I make it a point to memorize those orders.”

Spencer’s smile dropped a bit, somewhat disheartened that it was something you did for all customers and not just him.

You didn’t notice the slight change in his expression and continued, deciding to take a chance. “Plus, it’s hard to forget the cute customers.”

Spencer’s face instantly flushed crimson, all logical thought leaving him. So much for his high IQ. His mouth opened and closed again, desperately trying to formulate some sort of response. But Spencer couldn't even think straight. His thoughts were in a flurry and every single one was about you.

Seeing his reaction, you backpedaled as fast as you could. “I’m sorry. That was too forward of me. I don’t know why I said that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“It’s perfectly alright.” He cut off your frantic apology. “You didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I’m actually quite flattered that you find me as attractive as I find you.”

It was your turn to be speechless. When his words fully sunk in, you couldn't stop the wide smile and giggle that bubbled forth. This man was going to be the death of you. “So, uh,” he started nervously, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You beamed at him. “Yes, of course!” You went to the register and rang him up, writing your phone number on his receipt before handing it to him. He dialed it into his phone, and you heard your phone ringing faintly from the break room where you had left it. “There,” he said. “Now you have my number, too.”

–❀–

Your morning rendezvous with Spencer quickly became the highlight of your week. He was always dressed professionally, and you finally decided to ask him where he worked. The two of you talked about nearly everything under the sun, so you were shocked when you came to the realization that you didn't even know what he did for work.

The next time he came in, you practically ambushed him with your question. His eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, I’m an agent with the BAU. Did I not tell you that?”

“No, you did not. What’s the BAU?”

“It stands for behavioral analysis unit. It’s a department of the FBI. We analyze the unsub’s-”

“Unsub?” you interrupted.

“Unidentified subject. So what we do is analyze the unsub’s actions and behavior and create a profile to better understand how and why they do what they do. This is what allows us to determine the identity of the unsub and arrest them.”

Your jaw had dropped open during his explanation. The guy you’d been casually talking to turned out to be an FBI agent. Cute and badass.

Becoming shy from the attention, he changed the subject to something he’d been wanting to ask you. “So, Yn, would you be interested in meeting somewhere other than here? When you're not at work and I don't have to go to my own job?”

Your face flushed with heat, and your heart pounded in your chest. “Like a date?”

Trusting that your hopeful expression was a good indication, Spencer nodded. “Yeah, like a date.”

The bright smile you gave him at his confirmation would live in Spencer’s mind for the rest of the day.

“I’m free this weekend,” you suggested.

–❀–

And just like that, it became a routine for Spencer to visit the shop at least once a week. He began to find himself getting up earlier and earlier each day just so he could stay and talk with you for longer. The physical attraction was instant from the first moment he saw you, but now that he was truly getting to know you he was falling and falling fast. You had this light about you that Spencer couldn't put into words, even with his impressive vocabulary. 

Reid’s highly observant coworkers were quick to notice his frequent morning donut runs. He never ate them at the shop, choosing to use that time to visit with you. Instead, he waited until he got to the office so he could enjoy the sweet goodness with his daily cup of coffee. And today was no exception.

“All those donuts are going to catch up with you one day, Reid,” Prentiss teased. “You can't be skinny forever.”

“So be it. She's worth it,” replied Spencer, taking another bite, sprinkles falling onto the napkin he’d placed on his desk.

“She?” Morgan raised his brows, a grin spreading across his face as he turned in his chair to face the young doctor.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his food, trying to figure out a way to take back his slip of the tongue. “I meant they. They’re worth it. The donuts.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. So what’s her name?”

Spencer sighed. “Yn.” That was all he said as he pulled his paperwork towards himself. No point in denying it when they were already certain. 

“Woah, woah, you can't just leave it at that! Tell us about her. What's she like and how did you meet? Spill everything.” 

Spencer merely took another bite of his donut, a smug smirk on his face for withholding the information his colleagues were so curious about.

For the rest of the day, Morgan and Prentiss attempted to convince Spencer to divulge his sweet secret. After another failed attempt, it finally hit Morgan, and he had to admit he felt very silly for it. He waited until Spencer left on his lunch break before he approached Emily’s desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

“What’s up is that Hotch should probably reconsider our positions on the team,” he joked. “The donut bag. It’s in Reid’s personal mini trash can under his desk. All we have to do is look at it real quick and we’ll know exactly which shop he goes to!”

Emily laughed, amused how it took so long for one of them to think of that. “Then what are we waiting for? Let's go dig in the doctor’s trash.”

They both stood and went over to Spencer’s desk. Morgan reached under and pulled out the small trash can, plucking the crumpled bag from the top. As he flattened the bag back out, a voice startled the two of them and they spun around in unison, like two kids that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Why are you two digging in the kid’s trash?”

“Reid has a girl in his life and if he wont tell us then we’re gonna find out ourselves. She’s either a regular at this place—” he held up the bag, displaying the logo for Rossi to see, “—or she works there.”

“Hm. I see. Carry on, then,” was all he said before continuing on his way.

The younger agents turned their attention back to what they were digging for. “Meche’s Donuts,” they both read aloud.

“Pretty sure that’s close to Reid’s place. Y’know, I think some donuts tomorrow morning would be great, don’t you?”

“Now that you say it, yeah, donuts would be good. Meet you there at 8:00?”

“You bet.” He recrumpled the bag and replaced the trash can as it was.

When Reid returned, he didn't notice the look his friends exchanged and was none the wiser.

–❀–

The next morning, both Emily and Derek got up earlier than usual and met in the parking lot of Meche’s. They approached the building, and Derek held open the door for Emily, the bell chiming to notify you of a customer’s arrival.

“Good morning!” you greeted like usual.

They returned your greeting as they neared the counter, both of their sights narrowing in on your name tag: Yn.

“Has a guy named Spencer Reid been here today?” Morgan asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“No, do you know him?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, we’re friends of his. We noticed that his sweet tooth has been getting the better of him lately. Lots of donuts,” he smirked, gesturing down to the transparent display. “Pretty boy had a bit of a slip up and told us that it was because of a girl, but wouldn’t tell us anything else. So we decided to do a bit of sleuthing.”

“And here we are,” finished Emily. “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss and this is Agent Derek Morgan. Promise we’re not creeps, this is just the first time we’ve known him to have a crush on someone and we wanted to know what you looked like. He’s got good taste at least.”

You laughed good-naturedly, “Don't worry about it. We have a date scheduled for this weekend actually.”

Emily ooohed like a schoolgirl. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I’m dying to know. What is Spencer’s idea of a date? Bet he takes you to a bookstore.”

“Or a foreign movie,” interjected Morgan. “With no subtitles, so he can whisper the translations in your ear.”

–❀–

Saturday

You were getting ready for your date with Spencer when you heard your phone ring. The caller ID told you that it was Spencer calling and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I was just calling to let you know I’m on my way.”

“Ok, perfect! I’m almost done getting ready. You remember the address?”

He laughed. “Of course I remember. There’s not much I don’t remember.”

“Oh, my bad Dr. Reid. We can't all be super geniuses with an eidetic memory.”

The two of you talked and joked with each other until Spencer told you that he was parking and would be up in a moment to meet you at the door. All you had to do was quickly slip your shoes on and you were ready.

Three sharp raps sounded from the door, and you peeked through the peephole before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

He seemed stunned for a second, just taking in your appearance. “Wow,” was all he could think to say. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look very handsome,” you returned the compliment. And he did, as always. He was probably the only guy you knew who could pull off a sweater vest. He may dress like an old man, but damn did he make it work.

Turns out that he picked out some hole in the wall diner you’d never even heard of. But he swore by their food and claimed it was some of the best in town. Also that they made a mean bread pudding. A broad smile overtook his features when he saw your eyes light up at the mention of the dessert. He’d recalled from a previous conversation that it was your favorite and had made sure to choose a restaurant that had it on the dessert menu.

The meal was spent indulging in a lively conversation about all of your favorite books. He even suggested a book exchange; he’d load you his favorite, and you’d loan him yours. Though you did warn him that you might have to pick up a new copy first, as yours was particularly old  and practically on the verge of disintegrating in your hands.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said.

“No, it is!” you insisted. “The last time I read it I looked down and there were a bunch of particles on my lap from the pages.”

After picking up the check at the diner, Spencer informed you that there was a movie he wanted to take you to. “It’s a Russian movie, and I’m not sure if there’s subtitles or not, but I can whisper the translations for you. But I definitely think you’ll enjoy the plot.”

You thought back to what Morgan said when he and Emily visited you. Morgan: 1, Emily: 0. 

Turns out, there were, in fact, subtitles. However, Spencer claimed those weren't very accurate to the tone of the movie and chose to give you his own translations anyway. In order to not disturb other movie goers, he had to lean in to whisper, so close that his lips would occasionally brush the shell of your ear. If not for the fact you were already sitting, you thought your knees would have given out. The low timbre of his voice traveled straight from your eardrum all the way to your core. You tried to pay attention to the movie, you really did, but the gentle rasp of Spencer’s voice in your ear had you beyond distracted. He was so close. Between the close proximity and his voice, your panties were quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky which led you to squirm in your seat occasionally. 

Spencer, the hyper-observant profiler that he was, noticed your pitiful attempts to adjust the way you were sitting. “Are you ok?” he asked, interrupting his translation mid sentence.

“Yes!” you answered hurriedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat nervously and hoped he would let it go. You could see a slight frown form on his face before it looked as if a metaphorical lightbulb went off over his head.

He resumed his position near your face, once again whispering to you, but not translations this time. No, this time it was as if a switch had flipped inside the sweet man you’d become so fond of. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you like having me so close to you. Isn't that right, Yn?”

The way he whispered your name so sensually had your heart beating out of your chest and your breath hitching in response. His laughter came out as a huff, trying to stay quiet. “Think you can wait until the end of the movie?” he asked with a suggestive lilt to his words.

You both knew the answer, but you pretended to think about it in an effort to spare at least some of your dignity. “No,” you answered with your head down, almost ashamed at how easily Spencer had riled you up.

“‘No’ what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

To hell with your dignity. “No, I can't wait. I want you now.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat as he stood. He led you out the doors and to the parking lot, heading straight for his car.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” he answered swiftly as he put his hand on the back of your seat to back out of the parking spot. 

The ride to his apartment was spent mostly in silence, both of you tense for all the best reasons. At one of the red lights he’d made the bold move to relocate one of his hands from the steering wheel to your left thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth and gently squeezing it every now and then. Every squeeze sent a bolt of electricity to your center and you were getting needier by the second.

–❀–

As soon as his apartment door shut behind him, his mouth was on yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. With both hands on either side of your face, he licked the seam of your lips impatiently, wanting nothing more than to taste you. You obliged, and his tongue snaked its way into your mouth, intertwining with yours. He groaned into the kiss, unable to get enough of you. Pulling away from your lips, he kissed down your jaw and neck slowly, deliberately. Taking his time to leave dark marks in his wake. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “You have no idea what this perfume was doing to me at the movie. Could barely even translate for you,” he mumbled into your skin.

“Bedroom?” you asked, near breathless with anticipation but not particularly wanting to get fucked in his entryway.

He led you through his apartment to his bedroom where Spencer wasted no time reconnecting his lips to yours, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, prompting you to sit. Before you could lay down, his hands tugged on the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get this off of you, hm?”

He made quick work of the cloth and tossed it aside “God, you're so pretty. Lay down for me, sweetheart,” he said. You flushed and did as he told you, scooting yourself higher up on the bed before laying your head onto his pillows. He removed both his sweater vest and shirt before eagerly crawling atop you. He propped himself up on his elbows, his face aligned with yours. You impatiently leaned up to kiss him again, and you could feel him grinning into the harsh kiss before kissing you back. His hands wandered across your body, settling on your breasts. You moaned into his mouth and pressed your chest further into his large hands, your hips bucking up, seeking the friction you so desperately wanted. 

He chuckled, removing his hands from your breasts to your hips and holding them down, preventing you from moving them and eliciting a whine from you. “Patience, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” His voice was low and gravelly, his lips pressed against the skin just under the skin of your earlobe. He suckled the skin lightly as one hand came up behind your back, unclasping your bra and giving it the same treatment he gave your shirt. He pulled back and groaned at the sight of seeing you half naked beneath him. This felt like a dream come true to Spencer and it was taking everything he had to not throw his inhibitions out the window and ravish you right that second.

He groped your bare chest for a moment before leaning down to lick a stripe between them. He placed feather-light kisses across your skin, his hair falling over his face and tickling you where it brushed. His trail of kisses led him to one of your nipples, which he took in his mouth, sucking lightly. You gasped when he used his teeth to pull on it slightly. “Spencer!”

While his mouth was busy with one, he had a hand on the other, tweaking the bud between his nimble fingers. You raked your hands through his hair, holding him in place. The tug on his roots had Spencer groaning into your chest and increasing the intensity of his ministrations and suckling you more and more fervently with each tug of his hair and sweet moan from your lips. Satisfied, he released your bud with a slight pop and switched to the other side, determined to make you squirm and beg for him before he touched you properly. The hand that wasn't on your breast lowered from your waist to your hip, massaging the supple flesh.

“Please, Spencer,” you begged, needing so much more than he was currently giving you. You were aching for him, panties soaked with evidence of your want.

He released your nipple and tilted his head to look at your face, both of your pupils blown wide with lust. He cooed at you, “What does my pretty girl need? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You!” you cried. “I want you! Please, Spencer!”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural. “You already have me. I was yours from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” Your eyes softened from his words, and you watched him as he tilted his head back down, tracing his nose down your abdomen as he lowered himself further down the bed, his hands caressing your sides as he did so. He placed a chaste kiss just above the waistband of your bottoms before hooking his fingers under it. “May I?”

You nodded frantically, and he placed another kiss in the same spot as he pulled your shorts and panties down together, tantalizingly slowly. Finally seeing you completely bare before him had him nearly cumming in his pants on the spot. You were so perfect and he wanted to make you feel so good that the only name you knew was his. He ran his hands up your thighs and settled his head between them. “You're absolutely dripping for me, sweetheart.” Spencer was practically panting from the lust flowing through his veins. He placed a chaste kiss to your clit before tentatively licking your cunt. You let out a strangled moan, his hot tongue not providing near enough pressure.

“Don’t tease me, Spence,” you mewled, your hands weakly trying to push his head back down where you needed him.

“Savoring, baby, not teasing. I don’t want to forget a single moment of this.” With that said, he licked a broad stripe across your pussy, much more confident than the first time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, groaning into you. You cried out his name, grip on his hair tightening. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he said breathlessly before diving back in, slurping at you like a man starved. He hummed with bliss as he continued to eat you out, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. “So sweet, baby, oh my God,” he praised. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders, pressing himself further into you as he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

It was all you could do to keep from screaming his name as he continued to lick and suck at the most intimate part of you. You thrashed in his hold, overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving you. He tightened his hold on your thighs, holding you open so he could continue to drink you in. He swore he would never be able to get enough of you. If this was the last thing he ever did then he'd die a happy man.

“C’mon, sweetheart, cum on my face. Give it to me. I want it,” he grunted. Without warning, he plunged a finger into you, causing you to cry out. He added a second finger shortly after, and he relished in the way your walls were squeezing around his fingers. You were so close and it was all because of him. With his fingers thrusting in and out of you and his mouth on your clit, you were finally pushed over the edge, cumming with a scream of Spencer’s name. He didn't stop until you were practically shoving him away, the overstimulation becoming too much. His face was covered in your juices, and you watched with rapt attention as he licked his lips before wrapping them around the two digits still covered with your wetness, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste as he did it.

Yeah, Spencer Reid definitely had a sweet tooth.

[peapodbond]

that was us part two

abby hasn't thought about tommy much. it's been almost ten years since they broke up. she sees him sometimes, at the bar nights that are still going strong, but they've expanded over the years and it's easy for both of them to circle around each other. they wave occasionally and she'd checked in with him after the warehouse explosion he was caught in, but for the most part they're just two people in the same social group.

her mom gets sick and she has less and less free time.

she's never been as devastated about the breakup as everyone thought that she should have been. she gets it. they'd been engaged for over a year, together in some form or another for three, and in most cases that would be earth shattering.

the thing that people don't understand is. abby had fallen into the relationship after getting the news that her swimming career was over. tommy had been fresh out of the army and trying to find some solid footing.

he'd spent the first year watching abby rub vitamin e cream into her surgical scars and massaging her shoulder whenever it tightened up, which was especially often once the temperature started dropping.

abby had watched him wake up in the middle of the night, chest heaving, his eyes so tired and hollow that she'd been worried something would happen. the nightmares had gotten better over the years, and she knew he'd started talking to someone, but they'd never completely gone away.

she'd asked about them a few times, but tommy didn't want to talk about it. she couldn't blame him. she could barely talk about swimming without wanting to hit something.

she's seen the scars on his body, has known him since he started fighting fires. knows which ones were there before the first time he got hurt on the job. even with the missing pieces she didn't like the picture it painted.

abby has a wall mounted pulley system because she'd complained about her gym not having first responder friendly hours and tommy spent a week researching the best home versions. he'd even removed and reinstalled it when she'd moved.

tommy probably still has the stress balls she'd made him for when his feet seized up after a long shift. she'd learned how make them when she was swimming, still has her own set and uses them on her shoulder.

she finds out about the harbor transfer on a call, when firefighter pilot kinard is the one updating her on the status of their patient for the hospital.

he sounds better than he has in years.

she makes a point to go to the next bar night. carla teases her about having a date. abby laughs, because it's the closest thing she's had in a year and yet this is definitely not a date.

she orders them both a drink and finds her way over to his table. tommy beams and pulls her into the booth with sal. she congratulates firefighter pilot kinard on his new job, tommy thanks dispatcher clark for the drink, and sal rolls his eyes at both of them. abby hears about gina, who sounds incredible. tommy makes a crack about her needing to be, to put up with sal. tommy's not seeing anyone right now, and abby finally admits that she's talking to someone on the phone but it probably won't go anywhere. both of them start laughing at her when she tells them he's a firefighter.

abby heads off the teasing about having a type by reminding them both that two firefighters in thirteen years does not a pattern make. they don't tease her any more but she gets the feeling they don't believe her. she doesn't mention her mother as they catch up; it feels like too heavy a subject for an evening that's basically a celebration, even if it's a few months late.

they debate whether crazy stupid love might be the best romcom made in the last ten years, and if pride and prejudice and zombies was worth the adaptation. 

she doesn't stay long — carla still needs to get home at a decent hour, and she has a shift the next day. tommy walks her out to her car and opens her door, tells her to get home safe.

she kisses him on the cheek. says he's the happiest she's ever seen him.

part one

[tihgnari]

✮ 03. not my favorite (ღ)

tw: none / wc: 1k

"mom, no way," you beg, looking at her exasperated across the kitchen as she takes out the leftover containers. "you can't do this to me on my first day back. you will not subject me to this torture."

your mother is in her sleepwear, hair already in rollers with the korean face mask you gave her earlier already stuck on her face. she laughs at you, taking out all the leftovers from earlier's late dinner. "oh, stop being dramatic. you act as if you didn't grow up with those boys."

"but it's —"

"no buts," she cuts you off. "besides, just welcome them over. let them eat the remaining stuff, i'm sure they'll finish everything. i also heard kazuha's coming over, which is rare because it's usually always just the three boys swinging by here after their gigs to put back their stuff in the garage… so…" she drags out the last vowel of her sentence, looking at you suggestively. "maybe he's here to see you! not every day his childhood best friend comes back to town."

"mom, please —"

"they have a new guy in the band, too, by the way — well, second new guy after the other one left. his name's kuni, the poor guy moved here with his uncle when his father, his last parent, passed away two years ago and he had to stop college, can you imagine how hard that is? i wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"who even is the source of that gossip —"

"you go get ei and miko over there and just, hang out, you know? buy some drinks for all i care, i trust you. make friends, make memories, make the summer count, okay?"

at this point, she's done putting everything out of the fridge. she crams most of them in your tiny microwave, unintentionally doing what she initially asked you to do and why she pulled you out of watching a netflix movie with the gays in the living room. after you sense she's done with her little speech, you approach her, putting the remaining containers into the tiny device. your mother offers you a tight hug and a kiss goodnight, and you let her because you know she hasn't done that in a while.

your mother scurries back to her bedroom after muttering a quick "so glad my baby's back," and you finish putting the containers in rows of three on the kitchen island.

how do you say 'no' to that?

—

"YN!"

"AETHER!"

"YN!"

ALBEDO!"

you let out a delighted shriek as they tackle you in a hug, genuinely happy to see them after a few years. the van with their belongings is pulled up at the back of the house, for easy access to the garage — which, you learned from your mom, is where they've been practicing since last year after she offered it to the boys — "well, it was empty and no one was using it anyway, so why not?"

albedo and aether practically jumped out of their respective seats at the front of the van in their excitement. with their blonde locks flailing about, you're awfully reminded of golden retrievers that are happy to see their favorite person back after a long day. "so nice to see you guys again! how have you guys been? you both have gotten so handsome i can't believe you guys actually had it in you!"

"and you're still shabby yourself!" the three of you laugh as aether retaliates immediately, ever quick-witted and sharp-tongued.

"ah, well," albedo starts. "same old kids in the past, just playing smaller instruments. we finally became regulars at nowhere, so you should definitely come to our gigs sometime!"

you gasp. "no way, that's great! you guys have been waiting for a consistent gig for so long! how did you guys do it?"

"well —"

"i convinced them," a fourth voice says, butting into the conversation as you hear his boots hit the gravel and a car door shutting. "the owner adores his only daughter, and his daughter unfortunately adores me… so, it wasn't that hard to convince her, really."

you catch his innuendo and it makes you roll your eyes. "not even five seconds after seeing you again and i already remember why i hate you."

you turn around from the two boys and there he is in all his glory. kazuha laughs, pulling you in for a hug that you do not return. you keep your arms strictly across your chest as you turn your head away from him in disgust.

"oh, don't be like that to your favorite."

flabbergasted by what you hear, you look at him challengingly, the close proximity nearly catching you off guard. "you're not my favorite."

kazuha smiles.

"say that without blushing, and maybe i'll believe you."

a silence entails you both, neither one backing away from the intense eye contact until — "oh! yn, meet our new drummer, kuni!"

thank you, albedo.

you pull away from kazuha like he's a walking plague, straightening yourself to meet the guy your mother was talking about. his name sounds familiar as she often mentions him fleetingly when you text, only earlier at the kitchen did she actually take the time to introduce him and give him a proper introduction.

"hello, nice to meet you," he says. kuni's handsome, that was your first impression. from the way he carries himself, you know he's the calmer one in the band. from texts exchanged with your mom alone, you inferred he's helping your mom run the flower shop.

"i heard about you," you offer a handshake. "you help my mom run the shop, correct?"

"yeah," he takes your hand. "why, is there a problem?"

you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "well, if that's the case i owe you! thanks for helping out my mom, especially when i'm not always here."

kuni slowly smiles, "it's a pleasure, really."

you usher the misguided boys back to the house to offer them something to eat after helping them put their stuff in the garage, and through all that, a certain someone's ruby red eyes can't put a finger on how his bandmate looked at you — like a spark of interest broke through that usual air of nonchalance to him.

well, that's something you don't see everyday.

BAD BLOOD » previous : masterlist : next

a genshin impact band au w select characters

summary — you thought you'd be spending summer break helping at your mom's flower shop or attending kazuha's gigs, but the last thing you expect is to be caught in the crossfire of two band vocalists who hate each other's guts with a burning passion.

note — kazuha and yn's dynamics are so fun to write lmao

🏷️ OPEN! @raidenshogunmommy @arealistonao3 @kazumiku @kur0kki @quacking-simp @rifran @deffenferofjustice @keiiqq @solelial @rvoulte @monikidk @animeobsessed56 @siluc @miy-svz @aries-afk @potteraep @cindywasneverhere @moonjellyfishie @cridtiins @yoruunight @kunihaver @meigalaxy @vyvixen @riabriyn @v4mpess @kamisstufff @pluviwinkle @sp1ng @smhpunkacademic