#when I tell you that we will be hopping on the angst train once I get to writing OB stuff

[kingtomura]

Vitality | 4

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home.  Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you.  All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, dark themes, found family LoV, mdni wc: 5k | prev | chapter 5 | m. list | read on ao3

Shigaraki is avoiding you. 

You don't have any definitive proof, but you can read between the lines.

It’s not obvious, but you have seen him a lot less than usual, and even though you could be wrong, you just can’t shake the feeling. 

The lack of his presence in the bar, for starters, is one instance. He hasn’t needed any healing help from you either even though he’s been out and about. You can only assume he’s been fine, but it doesn’t take the sinking feeling away from the pit of your gut.

There is something else that’s been bothering you as well. Pulling at your thoughts and living within the walls of your mind.

You can’t stop thinking about what happened a few nights ago. 

The distressed look on Shigaraki's face haunts you, and it doesn’t help that you haven't had a chance to apologize. Hell, you haven’t even seen him at all since that night. Your days have consisted of training and healing, with no sign of your leader. 

Today you are with Toga once more, in a field you have become more familiar with, sparring. 

Twice has joined you both, stating that he was the best person to help — and you agree. He has been making clones of Toga to help you spar and the addition takes away the consequence of harming her.

As for her clone harming you…

Well, you just need to improve — and you believe that you have, as you’ve ended up less on the ground and more on top by the end of the week. 

She comes at you without a care in the world and a knife in her hand, but you’ve learned how to dodge. You know well how to duck and then swing, how to sway is just the right ways that would give you an opening to knock her off of her feet. During your time training you have learned how to get the upper hand. 

Every time you can dodge an attack it makes you feel good.

It reminds you that you’re learning and that this isn’t in vain. 

There’s a moment right as Toga’s clone is about to strike that you see it — the perfect opening. 

Your right hand forms a fist and you don’t think as you do it, just swing and hit the mark, right against her left cheek and it takes the clone down completely. It turns to sludge before you and the claps of Twice and Toga catch your attention.

“That’s one hell of a right hook!” Twice yells to you and you can only muster a small smile, tired out from the spar. 

“Thanks. We can call it here, right?” you ask and Toga nods, the smile never leaving her face.

“Yeah, and your swing is pretty good.” She compliments, hopping off the boulder she sat on and walking towards you, guiding you back to the meeting area Kurogiri tells you all to gather.  “You should ask Tomura about a support item. I think you’re almost ready for one.”

The portal opens before you and it's a relief to see that you were one step closer to heading to bed for the night. Training really drains your energy.

“You think so?” It's a feeble question, one to merely fill the air as you all walk through. 

Toga nods, already making her way towards the door of the bar, no doubt ready to head to bed herself. “I do! You’re pretty strong, little bird.” 

And she’s gone, leaving those words to echo in your mind as you stop in your tracks. 

You’ve never thought of yourself as strong. Not when you’ve lived the way you have for so long. Your first instinct is to deny, but you fight it — instead opting to push the compliment to the back of your mind. 

You should find Shigaraki. 

It's late, but not too late. He should still be awake, and you would like to at least mention the idea of a support item before your confidence slips.

The strength stays with you as you trudge the tunnels, making your way to Shigaraki’s room. 

You’ve never been there, and there has never been a reason to, but you knew it wasn’t very far from yours. The nerves you’ve been so confident stomping out have returned in full force as you approach his door. The worse he could do was tell you to go away. 

So, with your solid reasoning, you inhale and knock at his door, waiting for a gruff reply, but when there is nothing, not even movement, on the other side you debate knocking again. 

Against your better judgment, you try it again and are met with the same silence. 

It feels eerie and your brain is screaming at you to turn tail and go to your room, but curiosity eats at you. 

You bring a hand to his doorknob, pausing as you debate opening his door.

The worst he could do is tell you to go away.

You turn the knob and…

It's locked. You should have known. Shigaraki doesn’t seem like the type to trust others enough to have his bedroom door unlocked and open for all to explore. 

With a sigh you move on, not to your bedroom, but back to the bar. Shigaraki was absent there as well, but you believe Kurogiri may have a clue of his whereabouts. 

The apparition is exactly where you assumed he would be — behind the bar, cleaning a glass, expression impossible to guess behind the wispy shadows that cloud his face.

“Kurogiri,” you start, glancing around the bar once more for good measure, and sure enough, there was no sign of your leader. “Have you seen Shigaraki anywhere? He wasn’t in his room.”

There's a beat of silence between you two, you can only assume Kurogiri is scanning his own mind for places Shigaraki may have gone, but his response surprises you. 

“Have you checked the roof?”

Your brows furrow at the mention. 

The roof?

There is a ladder you have to climb to get to the roof. It's not very high and it's through the red curtain behind the bar’s counter, but it’s there. 

Once you’ve made your way onto the roof and dusted yourself off, you take a look around. 

Lo and behold, there he is, his form relaxed as he looks out onto the city of Kamino, drink can in hand and distinct lack of hand dawning his face. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” you announce as you approach, cringing at your own words, but knowing you had no other greetings in your arsenal. 

He doesn’t spare you a glance, only taking a sip of his drink as his eyes are lost in thought. 

But he doesn’t tell you to go away, so you take that as a good sign — slowly making your way to where he’s sat and taking your own seat. Not too close, but near enough that it’s not awkward to have a conversation. 

You decide to follow his gaze, looking out into the city of Kamino as the sea of buildings light up the area. 

You wish they were stars instead.

The thought makes you look up and see the gray sky above, murky as the fog settles onto the city. You wish there was more to look at, but from this angle you can barely make out the silver glow of the moon through the clouds. 

The naivety in you wishes there was more up there, like a meteor shower or some other natural occurrence you’ve read about in books.

But there's nothing here. 

Nothing but light pollution and fog. 

“So,” you begin, words eager to leave your mind, “training with Toga is going well.”

“Good.” His eyes are far away as he responds, sipping more of his drink as his thoughts swim through his mind. 

You wonder what he’s thinking about, but forgo asking.

Instead, you opt for a nod, excitement showing in your small smile as you go on, “Yeah, since Twice has been with us he’s made clones of her to help me train. They say I have a pretty good swing.” 

This time Shigaraki does look at you, interest piqued and it makes you feel warm that he’s at least a little interested in your training progress. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod again.

“Mhm, Toga said I should ask you about a possible support item soon, but I'm not sure what would fit me best.”

“I have a few ideas.” He takes another sip of his drink and from this distance you can tell it's an energy drink. Odd choice for a late night snack. “I’ll check in with you by the end of next week.”

Your eyes widen, a little shocked from how fast you’d be able to have something to help you, it makes your previous excitement grow as you bite back more of your smile. 

“Thank you.”

Shigaraki hums in response, sending the space between you into a lull. It is not unwelcomed — the wind whistles and the breeze is nice as you both watch the city from above. You’re beginning to understand why Shigaraki would want to be out here in the first place. 

It’s peaceful. 

The quiet stretches until the nagging voice in your head begins to catch up with you once more, drawing attention to your earlier struggles.

You want to apologize. 

“Hey, Shigaraki.”

His eyes cut to yours and his red gaze feels intimidating. You hate to admit it, but it’s the truth, even more so in this vulnerable moment. 

So you divert.

“Have you heard any updates about my father?” you get the words out and now that the dam is broken you cannot stop. “It’s been on my mind a lot lately and I've stopped seeing articles. It’s just making me feel uneasy.”

You pause, your heart is racing and you feel a familiar sense of panic in your veins. The same panic you felt at home when you would mess something up in front of your father. Even the mention of him shakes your core.

You move to speak again, but Shigaraki stops you. 

“No, he’s probably done with the charades.” He takes the last sip of his drink, leaning his head back and you watch as his adam's apple bobs with each swallow. 

Once he finishes the drink, he presses one, two, three, four, five fingers down on the can — disintegrating it into ash before your eyes. 

You’ve never seen his quirk with your own eyes, but it happens quickly — the bottle fading into dust and then nothing, swept away by the winds as if it never existed at all. 

“Besides,” he continues, the hint of amusement in his tone makes your heart clench for reasons completely different from before. “If he looked any further he’d only build a case against himself.”

He looks at you again, hint of a smile on his face, “and I don’t think he’s that fucking dumb.”

You look at him and you feel light, the worry from before dissipating in the wind just like the drink can before. You bring a hand to your chest, an old habit that made you feel as though you could heal your own heart — stop it from racing out of your chest and far away from you. 

“Yeah,” you finally respond, a small uptick of your lips calming your nerves, “yeah, he would have to be insane.”

Shigaraki is satisfied with your answer, moving to stand and you follow suit. 

There’s the booming sound of rolling thunder falling over the space between you both. 

It’s going to storm soon and neither of you wanted to get caught up in it.

—--------------------------

They’re sending you on a mission soon. 

It’s somewhere further out and in a different city, so it should be nowhere near your father’s jurisdiction. It’s being led by Dabi since he is just as strategic as Shigaraki and well within his rights of intelligence. They tell you something about it being a part of a larger, more important mission to come along soon. 

You’ve been improving in fighting everyday — the support item Shigaraki gave you really helps. He believed a bat would be a great help in your combat and so far it has. 

They don’t expect you to fight but they do expect an altercation and it’s best to have a healer where they are needed instead of somewhere not within reach. 

“It seems we have some rats in our ranks.” Shigaraki told the group at the meeting, carmine eyes shining in delight at the idea of a challenge to his goals, “and I think it’s time we take care of it.”

It makes you nervous since there's been no reason for you to leave the base beyond training with Toga. As much as you would like to go out and see more, this mission makes you feel uneasy. 

It feels like once you’ve done this you truly are a villain and there is no going back from that. 

The images of your father’s reaction and raging face makes you shiver, but you steadily remind yourself that you are no longer there. That is not your reality anymore. 

However…

You will be on a mission with Dabi. The same man you’ve barely interacted with. The one who is hardly around to get a read on. 

He paid you no mind as Shigaraki explained the details of the upcoming mission further — even going as far as staying behind once the discussion was finished to delve deeper into more details. He was nothing if not thorough. 

You’re not sure what to expect and the thoughts plague you all the way to your room.

It’s difficult to find sleep, but you try, giving in to the tiredness you feel and slipping into the welcoming feeling of nothing. 

You wake with a start. 

Your chest heaves as you look around your bedroom and realize its only you. Nothing is out of place and everything is quiet. 

It must have been a nightmare you were having but the memories are hazy. The dream is already fading away as you blink the sleep from your eyes. 

All you know is that the nightmare was unsettling. It left a pool of dread deep in your gut and you needed to get out. So, making your way out of bed, your feet move to the one place you believed could be relieving at this hour. 

You’ve gone up to the roof a few times before, Tomura is always there. Always silent. Always with a drink of some kind. 

You don’t speak much as there isn’t much to say, but you find comfort in it. The silence is calming and it comes with the lack of pressure from either side to say what’s on your mind.

Shigaraki never tells you to leave. 

He’s told you before that you’re free to do what you want and you suppose this is included. As long as you don’t bother him during his quiet time, you were fine to share the space. 

It’s three in the morning and you hope he’s gone to bed for the night. The roof has become some kind of safe haven but you’ve never been up alone. You would like to see what it’s like. 

But he is there, and you can’t really bring yourself to be upset.

You actually feel a little relieved — the hazy remnants of the nightmare still had you a little shaken, the lack of company would only make you feel worse. 

“Do you ever sleep?” you wonder aloud as you slowly approach. Tomura has another energy drink tonight, but this one is unopened. It looked to be long forgotten by his side as he watched the city below. 

“Sometimes.” he responds, voice low, but you were close enough to catch it.

Shigaraki is wearing his gloves, the black partial ones that you never see him sport inside the bar. Only up here. 

Only with you.

You haven’t gathered the nerve to ask him why that is yet. 

(You’re not sure you will be able to, either.)

So instead you sit — it's always a respectable distance away as you both look out into the city. The calming feeling of the open night feels freeing. It's unlike anything you’ve felt before. Especially not in recent years. 

You wonder if he has nightmares, too. If he’s plagued by visions at night, if they keep him up the way they keep you up. 

Excessive energy drinks in the middle of the night aren’t really good at helping you sleep. 

You wonder what he’s running from — your leader in the League of Villains. 

You stay like that for a while, comfortable silence stretching between you both and you don't mind it — until Shigaraki starts shifting and draws your attention. He’s shuffling around in his pajama pockets and piques your curiosity. 

It's only when he pulls out a gaming console that you tilt your head in confusion. It's small and portable, but he’s never brought anything like that up here in the short time you’ve joined him. 

Your confusion only grows as he extends the device to you. 

“What?”

“Take it.” He offers, and you cannot help the way your brows furrow and frown deepens. 

Why would he offer you this?

You meet Shigaraki's eyes, deep red and passive, then down at the console — even through the partial gloves he wore, Shigaraki still held the system in an odd way. It’s black and holds a few scuffs and scratches. Well worn. Well loved. 

“What’s this for?” you ask, no longer worried to question the man. 

He only scoffs, look of confusion now painting his own features. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what a gaming system is.”

“I do!” you shoot back, embarrassment bringing heat to your cheeks. It's gone as soon as it’s arrived — your confusion dissolving into curiosity. “I mean, why are you giving this to me?”

He looks at you like you’ve asked what the year was, “You said your father took your console away.”

Your eyes widen at his words, shock evident in your movements as you take the device from his hand. He’s quick to pull it away as well, but you don’t think about it further. You only look at the scuffed gaming console and ponder why Tomura Shigaraki of all people would give it to you.

“It’s old and I don’t really use it nowadays,” he starts, causing you to meet his eyes once more, “Sensei said the games there were good for learning to strategize. It helped, but I don't need it anymore.” 

You stare down at the device — scratched and worn, no doubt played for hours. 

Although it seems like a half thought of an offer, there’s still a vulnerability to the situation that makes you warm. A genuine effort that makes you want to be genuine in return. 

“He’s not my real dad.” You start, shaking Shigaraki out of whatever thought he may have been lost in. “My real father skipped out on us. And he married my mom when I was young. Then… we lost her.” 

You’ve never had a chance to talk about your past. To open up. Growing up he had always drilled into your mind that he was your father, then your only guardian after your mom passed.

His behavior became weird — he became obsessive after the loss of her. 

Said that you needed no one but him, and he needed you too. 

Only you. 

Shigaraki says nothing, and you continue, “Sometimes, I like to pretend my real dad is out there, somewhere. Maybe lost at sea or something.” 

You laugh, a sad huff of breath. “I don’t think anyone like him could be a father, even though that’s all I know him as.” 

It feels weird talking to someone you barely know about your innermost thoughts, but it’s a faint relief off of your chest.  

“That sounds awful.” he starts, “Being at sea for months on end. I would probably get seasick.”

Now you laugh, genuinely. “Have you ever seen the ocean?” 

An innocent question, but one that makes him ponder. “No, and I don't think I want to.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs, nose scrunching at the idea. It's cute, you have to admit. “Too bright, too noisy and it probably smells bad.”

You smile, light and innocuous. What a negative nancy. “I’ve never been either. I would really like to. I had planned to, but…” you pause, mood souring. “But he wouldn’t approve.”

You don’t know why you're still talking, but the dam has burst, contents of your heart spilling over and out. 

“I'm an adult, you know? Twenty! It sucks seeing all my friends move on and do other things with their lives. But I was stuck.” you pause, looking at the ground, “I told him so, too. That’s where it all went wrong that night.”

That night.

You remember. 

You remember it clear as day. 

The argument happened during dinner.

A night like any other, so you hadn’t seen the escalation coming. Your friends had been telling you about a program, a little study exchange in a small beach town where anyone could go to research and learn about the animals in the area. 

You didn’t have many friends, but the few you held dear would be going. It would be a shame to be left behind — to have to spend another year in this house. 

It was a simple thing, you brought the idea up to your father, told him about how good of an opportunity it would be for you. 

That’s where it all went downhill. 

He got so angry, furious at the idea of his only daughter running off to some beach with god-knows-who doing god-knows-what. He told you to go on and forget it — it wasn’t happening.

Not on his watch. 

This was it, the final straw. You couldn’t possibly spend another minute at a table with someone who was so deadset and keeping you down and caged.  

So, you do something you never had.

You yell at him. Tell him he’s being ridiculous, that you should be able to go out and do your own thing. All your friends were able to.

By the time you realize you’ve chosen the wrong words it’s too late. 

Your father stood to his feet, the screeching of the chair ringing in your ears as he stomped his way over to you. 

“Where did all this energy come from?” 

You felt your heart sink as he stopped in front of you, his form towering over yours as you regret even opening your mouth. 

“Was it a boy?” he hissed and you wished then and there you could take it back. The outburst, the trip, everything. But it's out now and in the open. You would have to face the consequences. “Have you met a boy and he’s gotten into your head?”

You shake your head, desperately denying the claim, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. You move to stand as well, feeling powerless from your chair and he grabs your wrist.

“You’re not going.” He spits, voice stern and grip achingly tight, “you won’t be some back alley whore as long as I’m around.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” The panic is evident in your eyes as you try to pull away and talk some kind of reasoning into him. “There’s nobody, I’m telling the truth!”

The struggle you put up to release your wrist only makes you lose your balance, dropping to the dining room floor and landing on your elbow. The pain is pushed to the back of your mind as the towering, angry man before you drops with you, pinning you to the ground.

You feel frozen as he continues, too far gone in his anger to hear you out any further. 

“What does he have that you need so badly, hm?” There’s the strong odor of liquor on his breath, he’s always had a problem with drinking. Even more so after your mother passed.

“You’re being crazy.” Your voice is a whisper, trembling in disbelief at his actions. It’s never gone this far. 

“Oh, I’m being crazy? Look at you!” His eyes are wild and you’re sure he’s lost it. “My little girl would never raise her voice at me.” 

His tone lowers and the alarms in your head start to go off as your panic swells, spilling in the form of apologies and pleads for forgiveness. Anything you could think of to end this fight and go to your room. 

He doesn’t listen to you, only murmuring odd comments about your appearance. How much you look like your mother. 

It made you feel sick. So, so sick as you realize the apologies will not work.  There are no heroes coming to save you and your guardian has gone off the deep end. 

All the lingering leers, all the not-so-casual touches in the past have led up to this. Your breathing feels heavy as your heart beats relentlessly against your chest while you try to make sense of your situation. He finally tells you that you won’t leave him. Even if he has to break you, he’ll make sure of that.

Your brain kicks into overdrive as he reaches for his belt — the chiming sound triggers your fight or flight to kick into action. 

Adrenaline pumps through your body as put all your strength into a punch that lands right against his jaw. It's not much, but it's enough to knock him off kilter as you kick — successfully knocking him off of you and shakily stand to your feet, wasting no time running for the living room. 

It’s naive to think you could make it, but you try, only to have hope crushed as he grabs the back of your shirt in his fist, keeping you locked in place and the door well out of reach. 

It couldn’t end this way, you wouldn’t let it. 

You reach for the closest thing to you and it’s a potted plant in a vase. A glass vase. You don’t think, just grab the object with all your might and swing—

It shatters and he’s down. There's blood pooling below his head, but everything is quiet. You can’t believe what you’ve done. You reach your hands out, your natural instinct to heal has become muscle memory for you, but you pull them back.

He’s out like a light. He’s done.  

You look around the silent home and realize it’s only you. No bystanders, no prying eyes. Just you. So you do the only thing you can at that moment. 

You run. 

You run as fast as you can and as far as you can. 

Your first steps to freedom. 

The air is crisp. It's the only thing you can think of as your short inhales shake your body. You can’t remember where you are, what you were doing who you were with—

Until… until there's the crack of a can, the fizz of its contents bubbling and you can smell the sugary sweet soda inside. 

Tomura is in front of you, he’s still sitting and his expression is as neutral as you’ve ever seen it, but he’s holding something out to you. His energy drink. 

You blink once, twice, three times as you look from his carmine eyes back down to the can again. He’s shoving it towards you again and you can only assume he wanted you to take it. 

So you do.

You’re careful not to touch his fingers, even though they remain gloved, and bring the can to your lips. You chanced one last glance at Tomura, worried that deep down this was some kind of test that you were sure to fail, but he had already turned back to the open city. 

The drink is sweeter than you thought and you wonder how he could even drink these — in the middle of the night, no less. But it grounds you. It gives you something else to focus on.

You turn back to the sky,

“It’s getting cold out.” You speak, wanting nothing more than to fill the silence.

“Yeah.” 

The sun is starting to rise over the horizon, the tiniest peek of light through the dark, and the buzz from the energy drink was starting to rouse in your veins.

It’s a fleeting feeling — temporary, like the hazy memories of your nightmares. 

“Do you think I did the right thing?” The question falls from your lips before you can catch it, but you don’t regret asking. 

You liked to hear Shigaraki’s opinions. 

“Yeah.” He looks off into the distance, mind as far away as his gaze. He is deep in thought and you wonder if it’s about his past. “I do.”

You wished the sky looked different — a little less gray and a little more bright. 

Like there were actually stars looking down on you both. They’re not visible with all of the light pollution of a busy city, but you wished they were. At least it would be something to keep your eye on while you sat out here with Shigaraki. 

Something to distract you from the gnawing feeling in your chest. The one that screams at you about how close you were to danger. 

It’s easy to ignore. Shigaraki makes it easy. 

He is stoic by nature, but there are little actions, small things that show you he listens. 

You’ll have to prepare for the mission soon, but right now moments like these are nice.

Fleeting, like ash in the wind.

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 25

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, a tinge of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I'm not sad... 🥲 Honestly, I don't have words beyond gratitude and cliché goodbyes, so let's end this journey together 🤍

<< 24 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

25. Dare

“Ugh, I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come out here,” Jo groans and raises her flat palm to her brows, shielding her eyes from the scalding desert sun. “What the fuck is wrong with Palm Springs, huh?”

“C’mon, we’ve always wanted to go to Joshua Tree together since we moved to LA. This is like the perfect time,” Y/N argues cheerfully and nudges her friend with her elbow. “Look! It’s so peaceful.”

“There’s a dead carcass over there. Looks like a symbol of my marriage,” Jo deadpans.

Y/N purses her lips before compelling another positive smile to her face. “We can get rid of that. The girls really needed this after the whole Crowley debacle.”

The group left straight after the network meeting in Dean’s office this morning, which didn’t go as planned, to say the least. While several executives were surely interested, Crowley and H-ELLTV put an abrupt end to it. Apparently, they sold their fucking souls by signing a contract with the devil. Crowley’s words still rang in her ears on repeat.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, ladies, but H-ELLTV owns your characters, which means you can’t sell them to another network. You all signed a contract and made a deal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, fucking asshole…” Jo huffs her agreement but then throws her friend a suspicious sideways look. “What’s up with you, though? Why are you so chipper and cheerful like a fucking Disney princess? I thought you of all people would be fucking depressed and devastated about the stupid show ending.”

Y/N shrugs. “I am. I’m just trying to make the best of our last weekend together. Can’t I be happy?”

“Fuck no.” Jo shakes her head. “Something’s up with you. Usually, when you’re like this, it’s overcompensation ‘cause you’ve fucked something up. If I were still married, I’d think you’ve fucked my husband all over again. So, what did you do?”

Y/N shrugs once more and keeps her eyes trained on the sprawling desert landscape in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Dean also was a bigger asshole than usual this morning. So, I’m asking again, what shit did you fuck up now?”

“Nothing, okay? Dean’s always an asshole,” Y/N deflects defensively. Although, even she has to admit – those were some spectacularly icy green eyes this morning. Not that he ever looked directly at her or spoke with her even once. She probably would’ve turned to stone if he did.

“Fine, don’t tell. God knows I don’t fucking care,” Jo says indifferently and joins the other women as they set up their tents on the campground.

Y/N lets out a small sigh as she stares at the bluest sky she’s ever seen while the hot desert sun beams down on her. She watches the girls for a while, her heart slightly cracking at the thought this might be the last time they all hang out together. This year has been the best one she’s ever had.

But then, her heart stings even more when she thinks about the one person who isn’t here, wondering what he’s doing right now. If anything, she owes it all to him.

Dean nurses his beer with a sigh, his green eyes barely paying attention to the half-naked girl who’s winding herself up and down a silver pole in front of him. This used to bring him joy – day-drinking at a strip club and watching tits bounce. But now all he thinks about is how that girl looks nothing like Y/N. None of them do.

“Hey, son. Startin’ early today,” Bobby notes with a chuckle as he sits down next to him.

“Yeah, they canceled the show.” And while that’s certainly true, it’s not the reason why Dean’s sulking at a titty bar.

“Too damn bad. I loved the show!” Bobby tells him enthusiastically. “It was insane. Good insane. It had everything – comedy, drama, heartache, tits, violence, a fucking wedding? There’s something for everyone there.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Bobby. Really appreciate it,” Dean tells him politely. He likes the guy, but he’s not in the mood for chitchat. He’s barely in the mood for naked women, for crying out loud. This is a deep fucking depression.

There are only two promises he’s made to himself: One, he won’t slump like he did after his last divorce. There will be no excessive drinking, which leads to excessively pathetic crying, which leads to a myriad of bad choices out of sheer desperation. Remember that awful dating videotape he made? Yes, there will be no more of that. And then there’s of course two, no drugs – no matter how much he tells himself he wants or fucking needs them. A tiny dot of hope seems to be still dormant in his plastic heart, reminding him that she might come back, and he doesn’t want to risk disappointing her once she does.

Dean has worked fucking hard to be the best version he can be – a version she doesn’t seem to give a shit about. But even he has to admit: He likes himself a lot better now, so he refuses to turn back to old comforts, albeit it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“You guys interested in doing a floor show?”

Bobby’s words pull him from his reverie. Dean arches a brow at him, straightening a bit in his seat. “What? Here?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, idjit. My wife Ellen has some stakes in a club on the Vegas Strip. She manages the hotel there, too. They’re looking for a new headliner. Just do the exact same show, night after night, 300 miles east. Vegas is where the money is. Headliners make at least 25 grand a week. You think that gym is big? We have to fill 1,100 seats.”

Dean stumps and blinks at the old man a bit baffled. “Well, uh… I’ll think about it. Talk to my partner, the girls…”

Bobby smiles and pats his shoulder as he gets up. “You do that. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now, how about a lap dance? On the house. Can pick any girl that fancies your heartache. You ain’t foolin’ an old man like me.”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks. Think I’m gonna head home and drink myself into a coma there.”

“It’s getting dark soon. How much longer?” Jo’s brown eyes dart to Y/N as she drags her feet over a rocky path. The sun stings less than it did when they started their little hike, but her skin feels perfectly tanned by now and the water is running low.

“Uh, I think it’s supposed to be just up ahead that hill,” Y/N muses and swirls her head around the formation of rocks that all look the same, squinting her eyes into the distance.

Jo sighs, and her stare intensifies. “You’ve been saying that for over an hour. Are we lost?”

“Noooo…” Y/N doesn’t sound convincing and surely doesn’t fool Jo with her reply.

“Alright, gimme the map.”

“I don’t have the map. I gave it to Meg.”

Jo groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“What? Meg’s the trail leader. Trail leader gets the map,” Y/N defends her faux pas with reason.

“Great! So we’re fucking lost in the desert,” the blonde huffs.

Y/N chuckles lightly, mostly out of uncomfortableness and panic she tries to hide behind it. “No, there’s a trail marker right over there,” she says, pointing to a pile of rocks. “That looks manmade.”

Jo quirks her brow. “You mean like that pile of rocks? Or that one over there?”

Y/N follows her friend’s gaze, only to realize that there are lots of piles of rock that all look too fucking similar. She purses her lips and scratches her head before resting her arms on her squared-off hips. “I think we’re lost.”

“Yeah.” With an exhaustive sigh, Jo plops down on another pile of rocks and watches as the orange sun dips behind the horizon, shadows of blue slowly crawling across the desert floor and swallowing the light.

Y/N clumsily lowers herself down next to the blonde. Her leg hurts like a bitch, and the desert sand that has wound its way into her cast itches a good deal. Her hands and arms hurt as well from clinging to her crutches all afternoon. Maybe Dean was right, and this was a bad idea, after all. Why does he always have to be fucking right about everything? How can one person be so annoying and frustrating all at once?

“Well, you finally get your wish,” Jo deadpans. “We’re gonna die together.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says ruefully and looks at the first stars appearing in the night sky. “Maybe the stars will guide us home.”

Jo just looks at her, unamused and unsurprised. “You’ve never been camping, have you?”

Y/N twitches her shoulders apologetically. “It was only supposed to be a three-mile moderate beginner’s trail to a beautiful vista. It’s what the guidebook said.”

Jo shakes her head and blows a raspberry, hugging her knees. “Joanna Wesson, 27, found dead near a random cluster of rocks that might have looked like a trail marker. She was best known for playing Beth Crowne on the soap opera Paradise Bay before trying to revive her career on an unsuccessful wrestling show. She is survived by her son, Sammy, and her bitter ex-husband Sam with his secretary Jessica.”

“Well, at least you get an obituary,” Y/N quips. “Mine would just read: Soap Star Found Dead Next to Unidentified Woman in National Park.”

Jo even snorts at that. “Well, I’m sure Dean would cut and edit an adorable video tribute with a bunch of B-roll about you at your funeral.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Y/N pensively licks her lips, her heart doing those painful twinges again whenever she thinks of him. “You know yet what you’re gonna do next?”

“No, I-… I think I wanna produce,” Jo announces with determination in her hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna ask permission. I’m so tired of it all. For once, I wanna boss people around and tell ‘em what to do. You know, you were right.”

Baffled, Y/N raises a brow. “About what?”

“Men,” Jo says simply and then spits with fire, “I fucking hate them all. The Crowleys and the Dicks and the Cases and the Sams and the Deans… They make the choices. They dictate the terms… I’m sick of it all. I just hate asking them for anything.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Y/N says quietly but doesn’t look at Jo. Her heart stings for the millionth time. “I got that role for the Sondheim musical. They called this morning.”

Jo’s lips curve into a soft smile that reaches her eyes. “Congrats. I’m not surprised. You were really fucking good.”

Y/N’s heart flutters a little at the compliment. Tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t remember the last time Jo was nice to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Jo notes attentively.

“No, I am,” Y/N manages to choke out, but the sniffling betrays her intentions.

“But?”

Y/N bobs her head, swallowing. “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Jo huffs and rubs her cold and goosebump-littered arms as the heat disappears, the nightly air bringing a fresh breeze.

“Dean told me he loves me,” Y/N confesses. “He’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda obvious,” Jo says without a twitch of surprise. “Don’t feel bad for not loving him back. That’s what they want… For us to feel bad about every single fucking thing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think that’s how I feel,” Y/N replies and lets out a jittery sigh.

Jo’s head turns to her, eyeing her friend up and down. “And how do we feel about that? I can’t tell. It’s too dark to see your face.”

“I-, uh, I don’t exactly know,” Y/N says, which is partially true. She might know how she feels about the green-eyed director, but not how she feels about the situation overall.

Jo purses her lips and nods. “Alright, here’s a couple of options: happy, excited, scared, or… repulsed?”

“Well, uhm… scared,” Y/N admits slowly and gulps. “And excited… happy.”

Jo throws her arms up, shaking her head at the stars. “Jesus fuck! Then what the fuck are we doing here?! Is that why you dragged me all the way to the fucking desert? Because you’re running from your feelings?”

“Kinda. I thought the peaceful quiet and beautiful nature would bring me some much-needed clarity,” Y/N explains.

Jo lifts a brow but tries not to seem too annoyed. She’s accustomed to her friend’s theatrics, after all. “And? Did it?”

“The hike didn’t, but facing death kinda does,” Y/N jokes and begins to laugh a little, Jo soon joining her. When their laughter dies down and the desert sounds of chirping crickets and screeching eagles remain, Y/N exhales a shaky breath. “I’m in love with him, too. He makes me really fucking happy. But… I finally feel like I’m on the right track with my career. I am where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t wanna throw that away for a guy.”

“Who says you should?”

“I don’t know… Isn’t that how it goes? You did it,” Y/N argues.

Jo licks her lips and clicks her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause I chose the wrong fucking guy. Sam made me give up everything I ever loved and told me what to love instead. If you pick the right guy, he won’t make you do that.”

“How do I know it’s the right guy, though?”

Jo smiles softly. “Look, I’m not Dean’s biggest fan, but he’s yours. You know that, right? He’d never hold you back. He adores the ground you walk on. Yes, he’s an asshole with so many fucking issues, and he’s goddamn annoying most of the time, but he’s always had your back, even when he pretended that he didn’t. The guy would probably sell every limb and his fucking soul to see you get everything you ever wanted, Y/N. He wouldn’t be a mistake. You know what would be a mistake? Not trying because you’re too scared of making one. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Thoughtfully, Y/N nods in agreement and grabs her crutches, rising from her rocky seat. “I need to see him. We have to head back to the city.”

“Finally! Thank fucking God.” With a grunt, Jo jumps to her feet and helps Y/N to steady hers. “Maybe the girls made a fire bright enough, so we can find our way back.”

“Shit.”

“What? They have matches, don’t they? I’m sure these bitches can manage a simple fire, right?” Jo then notices Y/N’s hand curling around her bicep, her grip tightening. And then, Jo glances in the direction of Y/N’s eyes and sees the same damn thing. Her brown eyes widen.

“Mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the blonde hisses and holds on to her friend as well. Both women freeze on the spot. “What-, uh, what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should throw a stick?”

“A stick?” Jo arches her brow. The big cat snarls and stalks a little closer, making the two women jump back. Their hearts are thumping in their throats at this point. “It’s not a fucking dog, Y/N. It won’t play fetch with you.”

“I know that. How about you come up with a better idea, then?” Y/N snaps through gritted teeth. The lion hisses again, causing the women to tremble down to their bones and hug each other tighter. “I think I should jump it.”

“Are you nuts? No!”

“Look, while it eats me, you can flee. I can’t run with my cast anyways. This is the best option,” Y/N insists, but Jo vehemently shakes her head.

“Fuck no! You’re not sacrificing yourself. We die together. You’re not leaving me behind,” Jo maintains. “I always knew my death would be your fault. Don’t ask me how, but I knew you’d get me killed somehow.”

The wild cat takes another step forward and lowers to the ground as if to get ready to jump its prey – them. But then a few tumbling rocks and breaking twigs draw its attention behind the women. Is there an even bigger cat here?

And suddenly, Meg leaps forward from above them with a loud howl and snarls at the cat, which hastily tucks its tail between its legs and flees down the hill into the dark night. Y/N and Jo expel a big breath of relief and a shaky laugh as they find Meg.

“Meg, what the fuck? Did you just scare away a mountain lion?” Y/N gapes at her friend in utter disbelief.

Meg only shrugs her shoulders. “I hate cats. What are you guys doing out here so long?”

“We got lost. Couldn’t find our way back to camp,” Y/N explains.

Meg furrows her brow and thumbs behind her. “It’s just over there. You guys have been hiking around the same hill for five hours.”

Jo shoots Y/N a small glare of annoyance and blows some loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Of course we did…” she mutters.

“We have to get back to LA!” Y/N declares eagerly, trying to climb the small rocky hill with her crutches, foregoing the more suitable pathway.

“Right now? It’s probably 3am when we get to Burbank. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Jo says as she attempts to climb after her friend.

“No! I almost died! Twice… Dean needs to know how I feel before I get bit by a rattlesnake, too,” Y/N reiterates passionately.

“It’s probably for the best,” Meg chimes in. “We kinda forgot to pack food. I was about to hunt something for us when I ran into you guys. We have tons of drugs and booze, though.”

Y/N’s knuckles thunder persistently on Dean’s door and conjure up a storm. She has jumped out of Ruby’s limo so fast, the girls are still scrambling out and flooding Dean’s front lawn one by one. They’re loud and obnoxious, but the ringing in her ears makes their chatter barely noticeable.

The lock clicks and the door opens. Dean stands in front of her with weary green eyes, heavy with sleep, tousled bed-head, and a furiously scrunched brow. He half yawns and half grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he feels clearer, minus the soft buzz of whiskey remnants in his bloodstream, he blinks at the young actress in front of him and then tilts his head at the circus show behind her.

God, between his punk rock daughter and this, his neighbors must really hate him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be camping in fucking Joshua Tree?” His voice is a gravelly bark. He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially when he just woke from a dream about her, but he’s not as masochistic as he used to be. He’s not a fan of torturing himself with the image of her any longer.

Y/N’s heart somersaults as soon as she sees him, even though his apprehension hurts a bit. “Look, I almost died tonight. We got lost in the desert and then a mountain lion almost fucking ate us.”

Dean licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not fucking surprised. Told you Palm Springs is the better option. So, did anyone fucking die? What’s the head count?”

“No one died.”

“Huh. Then why the fuck are you here in the middle of the night, Y/N?” Dean bites, his brow creasing in anger. He can’t even fucking look at her for a second without his heart being on the brink of an explosion. Even saying her goddamn name hurts like needle pricks in an abused vein.

“I–” Y/N swallows thickly. Her drumming heart is stuck in her airway along with her words.

“She’s here to tell you she loves you!” Ruby hollers behind her before several girls tackle her and clasp her mouth shut.

Dean’s heart twists upon the sick joke, his frown deepening. But then he glances at Y/N and thinks he can spot the truth in her eyes. He thought that once before, though, and was terribly wrong.

Y/N gives a shrug of one shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. A small smile forms on her lips. “What she said.”

Dean nods and drags a hand over his freckled face, feeling the tears well in his eyes, too. Fucking whiskey. Always renders him goddamn sentimental. “Look, uhm, you kinda gotta tell me this yourself. Otherwise, I won’t believe it, okay?”

Upon his request, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks him into his eyes. “I’m in fucking love with you.” As soon as the words are out, she starts crying and the tears fall down her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dean’s heart tumbles into free fall, and he’s sure not even a parachute can stop it. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Is-, is it too late?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, grinning brighter than the California sun on the longest day of the year. “Fuck no. Even if it had taken you thirty years, I still would’ve taken you back. That’s kinda how once-in-a-lifetime love works, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good movie,” Y/N jokes between her tears, her fingers tingling to touch him.

“Yeah, best one there is.”

His hands grab hold of her and pull her into his embrace. He claims her lips, Y/N eagerly parting her mouth as his tongue slips between. The kiss is rushed and fervent and perfectly desperate. They’re both so gone they can’t even hear the girls cheering and applauding them in the background.

“You’re gonna come inside?” Dean asks in a murmur against her lips, barely letting her breath.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, Lothario, you got space for us, too?” Cassie shouts with a wide smirk.

“Yeah, we’re fucking starving,” Ruby adds with an impatiently arched brow.

“We, uh, forgot to pack food,” Y/N explains with a chuckle.

Dean sighs and smiles knowingly. “Of course you did.” He then turns to the women waiting on his lawn. “Alright, get in. I’ll order some pizzas.”

The women then proceed to brush past the couple and filter into Dean’s house. Missouri pinches his cheeks, Ruby pats his head, Cassie fist-bumps him and sends Y/N a flirty wink, Meg tousles his hair, Charlie shrugs apologetically, and Jo offers an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m never gonna get rid of them, am I?” Dean looks down at her and tightens his jaw, even when a grin is visible.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s like you’ve adopted twelve strays. One of which actually turned out to be your long-lost puppy. They’re gonna be here until you die and then eat your corpse,” Y/N quips.

“Funny.” Dean clicks his tongue, his dimples itching to form a grin.

“Oooo! Let’s call the guys!” he hears Ruby exclaim from inside his living room. “It’s a fucking wrap party at the boss’ house!”

“No! No party! Guys, c’mon!” Dean storms inside after them, leaving Y/N giggling on his doorstep.

“Let’s call Garth, Kevin, and Benny!” Donna suggests, ignoring his protests. It’s like they can’t fucking hear him.

“I’ll call my husband, too!” Bela adds and eagerly dials Cas’ number on his landline.

“Oh, right, Cas…” Dean mutters with an eye roll as he remembers the impromptu wedding. “No fucking Benny!”

Y/N joins his side and rubs his back in comfort as he watches his house sink into female doom. “You okay?”

The deep trenches in his brow flatten into soft valleys as his green eyes lock on her. He dips his head and pulls her to his lips, kissing her slow and reverently. “Better.” He smirks. “Just gonna have to sage the whole house tomorrow.”

That earns him a playful slap on his chest. He laughs and pulls her closer with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, uh, speaking of party…” Dean mumbles before he addresses the whole room, grabbing their attention with an authoritative clear of his throat. He’s still got it. “You guys wanna do shows in Vegas?”

“What?!”

Dean’s eyes find Y/N’s gaping face. He chuckles a little. “Yeah, uh, Bobby offered me a deal. There’s nothing in the network contract about live shows. I already went over it with Cas this afternoon. It pays well, too. You guys interested? It’s not like any of you have actual jobs lined up, right?”

Y/N closes her mouth. “I got that Sondheim musical in San Diego. It’s a workshop production, but if it goes well, it could go all the way to Broadway. I could end up in New York.”

“Good,” Dean says and smirks. “You’re fucking fired.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N’s mouth falls open again. “You said you’d never fire me!”

“Yeah, well, this is for your own good,” Dean reasons. “You think I’m gonna let you quit Sondheim for some stupid wrestling show in Vegas? You gotta be fucking nuts! This is what you fucking wanted. Don’t make me kick your stupid ass onto that stage. It’s gonna look embarrassing for you again…”

Y/N bites her lips to conceal her grin. Her eyes meet Jo’s, who mouths ‘I told you so’ at her. “Thank you,” she tells Dean and kisses his cheek. He furrows his brow at her in suspicion. “But rehearsals don’t start until June. Still gonna need a job till then.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow shoots up in realization. “The June in nine months?”

“Yeah, the June in nine months,” Y/N confirms with a laugh.

“Whoops. Well, consider yourself rehired till June, then,” Dean relents.

“So, if I ever have to work in New York–”

“Then we’ll go to New York. Big fucking whoop-dee-doo. You know I hate LA.”

Y/N giggles, nodding. “What would you do in New York?”

“Same I do here, just on a little balcony instead of a backyard. I sit with my typewriter by a table and smoke and drink,” Dean retorts. “I’ve actually been working on a new script. I’m moving away from horror and into Western.”

“Got inspired by the motel’s wallpaper, huh?” Y/N teases. “What’s it about?”

“Father-daughter storyline. Thought I’d give that a shot…”

1990, 5 years later…

“Dean! We’re gonna be late!” Y/N reminds him and holds the blindfold in place over her eyes as he drags her somewhere by the hand. Her heels can barely keep up with his fast pace. “You know, check-in at LAX is the worst. Our flight departs in two hours. I’m nominated, Dean! I can’t reschedule! The girls are all flying in, too…”

“I know! I’m fucking hurrying, okay?” Dean assures. However, she can hear the stress and tension in his gravelly voice. He then suddenly halts and positions her into place by her shoulders before carefully taking off the blindfold. “Alright, here we are.”

Y/N blinks her eyes open and recognizes blurry shapes of purple and gold. She lifts an eyebrow as ornaments on the walls and a big stage come into view as well. “The Aztec porno theater?”

“Mayan,” Dean corrects her and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets down in front of her on one knee and tries to fumble out the too-big ring box from his too-tiny suit jacket pocket. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, wait!” Y/N stops his endeavor with raised palms, her eyebrows meeting her hairline when she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N!” Dean frowns in frustration and rises to his feet with a huff and a shaking head. “I know you’re against marriage and the patriarchy and all that bullshit, but c’mon… We’ve been dating for five years. We have a good thing going, right?”

After spending a whole year in beautiful Las Vegas – the Paris of Nevada – the two of them moved to New York. Dean sold his house in Burbank and opted for a Brooklyn apartment instead. Claire also studied film at NYU before she graduated last Spring. But every few months, the couple finds themselves back in LA – for interviews, for business, for friends.

“Dean–”

“No! You know me. I’d make a great fucking husband. You love it when I make reporters laugh on the red carpet. I’m an awesome trophy husband, okay?”

“DEAN!”

“WHAT?!”

Why the fuck is she angry now? He should be the one that’s angry. She’s turning down the best opportunity of her life. She should consider herself lucky he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He even had an amazing speech prepared to knock her right off her feet, but does he get to say it now? How he wanted to grow fucking old together and support each other? How he wanted to marry her all those years ago when she told him she was pregnant? Nope...

“I’m fucking pregnant!”

Dean blinks at her in confusion before his eyes begin to wander around the familiar theater. Did he take something? Drink too much? Did he actually travel through time or is this a weird fever dream on his deathbed?

“What’s it with you and this theater? And why do you always yell that?”

“Because you never listen.” Y/N giggles and bites her lower lip. “And I’ll gladly marry you if that’s what you were going for. I just figured I’d tell you before in case you wanna change your mind and bail.”

“Why the fuck would I bail?” Dean’s brows knit together, close to offense.

She shrugs and holds up her palms in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Why? Isn’t it mine?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a grin twitching on her pink lips as she slaps his arm. “Yes, of course it’s yours.”

“And you’re keeping it? You sure?” Dean throws her a quizzical look.

Her brow furrows. “Why, you aren’t?”

“No, I am!” he assures her swiftly, realizing how it sounded. “Hell yeah, I want another kid! You know I always wanted to make up for missing out on Claire so much! I finally get to change a diaper, go to the park, or the fucking zoo while my wife works… It’ll be so fun!”

Y/N tries to stifle her laugh. He seems happy, judging by the joyful glint in his green eyes. They resemble sparkling emeralds.

“But are you sure, y' know?” Dean checks with a deep look into her eyes. “I mean, I do what I can to support you and keep the thing alive in your absence, but you know you’re still gonna be benched for a couple of months, right? I’m not a fucking seahorse.”

Y/N laughs a little at that. “I know. I’m fine with sitting on the bench for a little while. I’m kinda exhausted. I did two Broadway musicals almost back to back, three off-Broadway shows, all the workshops and the rehearsals and Matinees and the dancing and the singing… Not to mention I’m nominated for a fucking Tony tonight,” she says and is close to out of breath by the time she finishes her list of accomplishments.

“Which you’re gonna win,” Dean reassures her persistently. He’s been telling her since the nominations were announced (and even before that when he first saw her in the role on the first night).

“We’ll see,” she brushes him off, although her blushed cheeks betray her words. In her heart, she hopes so as well. “Anyways, I could use the break,” she admits and takes his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers. She places a loving kiss on his lips. “Right time, right guy, right baby,” she says, smiling.

Dean squeezes her hand happily and pulls her to his lips for a searing kiss. “So, where did we land on that whole marriage thing?”

“See? You’re never listening,” she teases, laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Under one condition…”

Dean smirks. “I've had the same exact thought – Vegas. It’s perfect!”

“What, no! I don’t wanna get married in filthy Vegas, you dork!” Y/N frowns playfully, shaking her head. “I wanna get married in Nebraska. I want my dad to marry us."

Dean’s brow creases. He chuckles in amusement. “What, like a shotgun wedding? Could be fun… Pastor marries pregnant daughter to older man. Is this gonna make headlines in the townie paper?”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head at him. “No, it’s a shotgun wedding. It’s very common,” she deadpans.

“I’ve never met your parents,” Dean realizes then. “Why have I never met your parents? It’s weird they never come visit you,” he ponders.

“Oh no, they do,” Y/N tells him, pursing her lips as she twirls her hair around her finger. “They’ve seen me both in Into The Woods and Gypsy.”

“Really, when?” Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Whenever you were in LA, visiting Claire,” Y/N admits ruefully. She never told them she was dating the director, not sure if they’d approve – not that she gives a shit, but she wanted to spare herself all the sermons and the exploring of the Sunday school dating pool. Whenever they asked who owned the men’s clothes in her apartment, she lied and said she had a gay-but-in-the-closet roommate. “But you can meet them now,” she promises with a reassuring smile on her lips. Thank God she’s an excellent, Tony-nominated actress. “I’m sure they learn to love you just like I did.”

“Learn to?”

“I love you.” Y/N smiles mischievously and shuts up any further comments by kissing him.

Dean grins and relents with a blissful sigh. “I love you, too.”

THE END 🌅

Thank you all so much for reading and making me laugh with your comments and screams throughout! 🤍

Are we done with these two for good? Probably not. I've left gaps and doors open on purpose, so I'm sure they'll make an appearance again at some point in the future 😉

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70

[poppitron360]

Just read Leo’s death scene in BOO and I’m hopping on the angst train before I keep reading and he comes back-

I wrote this short fic just now, about Frank and the Hephaestus cabin dealing with the aftermath of Leo’s sacrifice.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Frank took a deep breath, and approached the Hephaestus table, nervously. He recognised a few of his Camp Jupiter friends sitting with Leo’s siblings. Out of all the cabins, theirs seemed most affected by the battle. They ate their food with a sense of solemn melancholy, talking in low voices. Most of them, particularly the older ones, barely touched their food. Even the Romans, who had barely known Leo, seemed to share in their siblings’ grief. Frank could tell that Leo’s death had hit them all hard.

“Jake Mason, right?” He asked, addressing the guy sitting at the head of the table, slowly turning his spaghetti over with his fork, but not eating it.

“Yeah?”

Frank heaved the large wooden box he was carrying onto the table, trying to avoid people’s plates.

“Leo… he- he didn’t exactly leave a last will and testament…” Frank said, trying to keep his voice from choking up, “But he told me to give you guys this.”

He opened the box, and the campers peered inside.

“The lost scrolls of Archimedes,” He explained, “We found them underneath Rome. Leo’s been studying them. He wanted you to have them.”

“Woah…” One of the campers gasped. The others stared in awe at the scrolls in the box.

“There’s more,” Frank told them. With shaking hands, he reached into the box and pulled out from underneath the scrolls a collection of small, leather-bound notebooks, rectangular in shape, a different gold inscription stamped on the front in Ancient Greek.

“The Valdez Texts…” Frank announced, “Leo knew he was probably not gonna make it out of the battle. He wanted to make sure people could carry on his legacy. He copied all of his blueprints and schematics of the Argo II, all his inventions, all his findings and teachings, his notes, his unfinished projects, everything he learned and discovered- all into these notebooks for you guys to study, make improvements, learn from them, carry on his work.” He looked around at the table, “He told me it was very important that it was shared between children of both Hephaestus and Vulcan. No more fighting. No more stealing. He was a brother to you all, and…” He turned to the visitors from Camp Jupiter, “He told me to tell you he’s really sorry for launching a missile attack on your city… he hopes this helps you rebuild it.”

They all stared, speechless, at the texts.

One of the older-looking girls- Frank remembered her name was Nyssa- reached out and took one of the books in trembling fingers. She flipped through the pages, staring in awe. “Valdez made all this?”

“Well, me and Hazel helped him copy it all down,” Frank admitted, “His handwriting is atrocious.”

He suddenly felt a sharp pang of sadness. Was, he thought, his handwriting was atrocious.

Nyssa chuckled, sadly.

“And Hazel helped illustrate the drawings and diagrams. It was the least we could do to help you guys. And Leo wanted to make sure it was just as much a Roman thing as it was Greek.”

Nyssa handed her copy to one of her newfound siblings from Camp Jupiter, and picked up another, “And they’re ours? To share? The scrolls too?”

Frank nodded, “Leo thought it was only right that you all should have them. All his rough work was destroyed when the Argo II broke apart, but he made sure these made it out.”

It had been Buford’s last act of service to his master. As soon as they’d arrived at Camp Half-Blood, that wonderful little table had taken the crate of valuables and flown away to safety before the ship could explode. Once the battle was over, he had flown back to Frank, and with one last forlorn “Put some clothes on” from the Coach Hedge hologram, the table had deactivated. Frank didn’t want to just throw Buford away, so he’d kept it as a writing desk. He’d study, map, plan, and create on it, just like how Leo would’ve wanted. He planned to take him back with him to Camp Jupiter- a little piece of him to stay with Frank forever.

He looked at the pile of books. He thought it was strange- Leo’s life’s work condensed into just a few notebooks. His entire legacy on the table in front of them. But Leo was a smart guy. He knew these books would be passed down for generations, much like Archimedes’ texts. Every Greek and Roman scholar that people talk about still to this day- Hippocrates, Pythagoras, Galen- was remembered because they wrote stuff down. And Leo knew the importance of that. He wasn’t just giving his siblings some dusty notebooks, he was giving them knowledge. He was giving them power. Frank’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. It was exactly the kind of genius thing Leo would do. He just couldn’t believe he was gone.

He picked up another notebook, and turned to a random page and began to read in his head:

Valdez Philosophy No. 730- One question a good mechanic must always ask themselves is: Is it worth it? Is it a problem that’s worth solving? Is it a machine worth inventing? Don’t get me wrong, I love a Hydraulic Chicken Launcher as much as the next mad scientist- but sometimes the cost of time and materials outweigh the necessity for it.

But if the machine can help out a friend, and maybe even save a life?

That’s never not worth your time.

Frank’s eyes welled with tears. Underneath the words was a sketch of something Frank recognised. It was the pouch that Leo had made for him to keep his firewood safe.

That’s never not worth your time.

After everything they’d been through together, after the way Frank had treated Leo when they’d first met, after all the death-glares and the snide remarks and the passive-aggressive comments that weren’t entirely meant in kindness- Leo still cared for Frank. He still took the time to make sure he could keep him safe. He still felt like Frank was worth it. This kid always put other people first, to the point where he had died to do so. He was brave, and heroic. He was the reason Frank no longer feared fire. He’d changed his life. Frank owed him everything. Now, he’d never get to repay that debt.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Anyway, I’m gonna go cry now. Platonic Valzhang is everything to me.

[katerina-marie]

Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 5

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (Past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 11.8k (whew)

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), no use of y/n, vaginal sex (though not super explicit) so please avoid accordingly! More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes: Peep the cw, because in case you missed it there will be 18+ content in this chapter. But warning, I do not have the talent to write explicitly detailed sex so it's more narrative/vaguely described. I applaud all authors that have that ability! Also, this is 99% fluff and vibes because that's what we all need, right?

P.S. If anyone recognizes where part of the title/included line is from.....no you don't and I'm sorry, not sorry lol

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Chapter 5: Heart of None, Heart of One (Don't Be Afraid, I Feel It Too)

Neither you or Suguru were dressed for the affluence of this particular part of the city, the two of you wearing light and airy clothing to help ward off the oppressiveness of the summer sun. Names of restaurants and boutiques that you hardly recognized lined each side of the street full of ostentatious vehicles, and you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly Suguru had dragged you to a place neither of you had any real business being in. His fingers were twined through each of yours and had been since the two of you hopped off the train to begin your stroll towards a destination unknown. You weren’t sure if he was being intentionally vague with where you were going, or if Suguru had failed to think any further than necessary and inform you of your day’s plans. 

Men and their inability to consider five minutes ahead of themselves for anyone else’s sake. 

You passed a building with black bricks and golden writing emblazoning its name above the door, and you felt your mouth begin to water as you recognized that the style of the restaurant lended itself to your favorite foreign food. A certainly more upscale version of it anyway, if the valet’s podium and immaculately dressed patrons were any indication. 

“We should come here one day, Suguru,” you told him wistfully, inhaling deep the scent of rich food before it faded from your nose as your steps took you further and further away. Suguru huffed a noncommittal chuckle and gave you an incredulous look of question. 

“Sure, I’ll just swipe Satoru’s credit card when he isn’t looking and we’ll have ourselves a night out.” His voice was full of sarcastic humor and you rolled your eyes at him, because of course you were aware that your meager student allowances couldn’t afford such luxury, nor would Satoru be willing to part with his card without an invitation to join what would have been a date night for the two of you. The idea of it was fun to imagine in the least, and you filed the name of the restaurant away in the back of your mind for an unspecified day in the future somewhere. 

“So what are we doing here?” you asked, peering around the city as you both came to a crosswalk and minded the traffic currently flowing through it. “I can’t say that I have a suspicion, and I would like to enjoy the last afternoon of the weekend together if you don’t have something already planned.”

Suguru was quiet as he glanced up and down the street once the vehicles cleared the road, and he tugged at your hand to spur you into movement once the signal had been given to ensure your safe crossing.

“We are having to make a quick stop to retrieve something,” he said, intentionally avoiding your narrowed eyes by keeping himself one step ahead of you. You’d yank your arm back and hold your ground in a juvenile display of defiance at his reticence, but you didn’t favor being run over in the middle of the street, nor were you confident of your victory in strength should it be put up against his; you’d count on being pulled along no matter how hard you dug your heels in. 

“And what is it that we are retrieving?” You grew annoyed at Suguru’s reluctance to speak anymore than what was barely necessary, and now that the two of you were again on the safety of the sidewalks, you had half a mind to start testing his patience as he was doing yours. Your boyfriend must have been able to pick up on the change in your disposition, and he turned to you with a weary sigh as the two of you came to a stop. 

“Satoru called me earlier,” Suguru admitted, and your face dropped into distaste, mouth open to offer your dissent for whatever moronic task your boyfriend’s best friend has saddled the two of you with, but he shot you a warning glare that stayed your tongue. “He’s still on that assignment, but he forgot to finish up his reports for the last one and Yaga’s going to have his ass if he doesn’t turn them in first thing tomorrow. I told him we’d take care of it this once.” 

You scoffed, offended disbelief fueling your ire for the white-haired sorcerer, and you fixed your withering look on Suguru.

“You coddle him,” you hissed, promptly snatching your hand from his and marching forward on your own even though you hadn’t the faintest clue to where you were. The surrounding buildings were no longer fancy restaurants and expensive retailers but instead towering, dark-windowed monoliths with impressive double glass doors at their entrance. Still swanky, but more unassuming. 

“I’m helping,” Suguru argued, jogging up to your side to keep pace with you. “Friends do that for each other.” 

“I mean, yeah they do, but this feels more like Satoru is intentionally being lazy, unable to deign himself to possibly do his own work and would rather put it off to the less fortunate of us.” Your tone was scathing and your words mean for meanness sake, even if they held a scant bit of truth, and from the look on your boyfriend’s face he didn’t appreciate the disparaging of his best friend’s character. You supposed Satoru could now be considered your friend as well, now that nearly a year and a half had passed since you met your significant other’s “other”, but it had been slow building between you and Satoru, if not for the complete opposite personalities and upbringings you each had then for becoming accustomed to sharing Suguru. 

“Cut him some slack,” Suguru said, his expression knowing and slightly irritated, but his voice for you was softer than it was moments ago, and he brought you to a halt with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not ignoring the fact that Satoru is not the most apt student when it comes to his paperwork or always considerate of other people’s time, but he has a full plate and even heavier burden attached to his name, so I’ll let it slide sometimes.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d agree, but you didn’t want to taint the afternoon with Suguru just because of your disdain for Satoru’s lack of planning, so you gave him a half-hearted shrug and glanced over his shoulder at the building the two of you came to a stop in front of.

“This it?” 

Suguru nodded and took your hand again to lead you through the frosted glass doors serving as the entrance. “He has an apartment here for when he wants solitude, so we’ll just pop in to grab the reports and then be on our way. We’ll stop for lunch after, how about that?” 

The noise of affirmation you made lacked enthusiasm, mostly because you had been thoroughly chastised by your boyfriend and not because you didn’t want to share a meal out with him, but Suguru was undeterred and you turned your attention to the details of the front lobby. The high walls were painted alabaster and arched over certain hallways you guessed lead to various amenities. The slightly darker beige floors gleamed under rich lighting, leaving the forest green and muted mahogany fabrics of plush looking couches and other luxe decor to stand out in their superiority. You and Suguru continued through an archway and came upon an older man situated at a stately wood desk sandwiched between floor-to-ceiling glass doors that prohibited your entrance. You bristled at the idea of having to convince someone to allow you through to somewhere the two of you didn’t look to belong, or worse, have to stand by the desk as other residents came and went while Suguru beckoned Satoru to pick up his phone and petition you two through. However, to your shock, Suguru simply smiled and waved at the gentleman—who returned his greeting in kind—and he had the glass doors sliding open with a touch of a button just in time for the two of you to walk through them.

“A silver spoon Satoru does use,” you commented wryly. The two of you stepped into an open elevator, and you were pleased to see a stifled grin on Suguru’s face. 

“That I won’t deny,” he said, pressing the button for an obnoxiously high floor. You chattered between yourselves about lunch options and other plans for the rest of the day whilst traveling up, and your arrival to Satoru’s floor was announced with a pleasant trilling of a bell. As you walked down a hallway, you took notice of the distance between the doors of each dwelling, marking the considerable size of each one. Suguru came to a stop at the very end of the hall and pressed a series of numbers into a shiny keypad before motioning you through the now opened door. 

Satoru’s apartment was as beautiful as you imagined, with its sprawling living area and enormous windows the first thing to appear after making it through the entrance, and then an extensive gourmet kitchen was located on the left. There were a couple other hallways you assumed lead to various rooms, and you had a thought to explore (snoop) when you felt a hand at your back.

“Satoru should have some sweets in his fridge,” Suguru said, dropping a brief kiss at your temple and then another at your cheek as he brushed by you. “I’m going to his office right quick if you want to help yourself. It’s the least he can offer.” 

That brought a grin to your face, and you immediately turned towards the kitchen as Suguru’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction. Satoru’s fridge was nearly twice your height and the stainless steel was polished so perfectly that you could nearly see your reflection in it. It was all so grandiose, but the excitement immediately abated when you opened the fridge and saw nothing but a couple bags of sweets and water bottles taking up a minute amount of its expansive capacity. You grabbed one of each and brought them to the large island across from the fridge and tucked into your snack. As you munched, you let your eyes drift from space to space, everything meticulously placed and artfully decorated. Though you couldn’t help but notice the absence of anything that made it personal. There were no photos or cookbooks or trinkets of any kind. The copious amounts of furnishings and state of the art appliances all made up an impressive looking home anyone would be thrilled to make use of, but there was not one sign of usage or life that would indicate that Satoru did anything of the sort. The thought humbled your opinion of him a touch, and the quiet melancholy of his apartment made the sweet in your mouth taste oddly of cardboard.

How lonely. 

Now, years later, as you marveled up at the building that scraped the sky, you wondered if Satoru was sitting in the quiet of his apartment cutting a lonesome figure and feeling as such. 

You had taken most of the morning to scour the school grounds in pursuit of him, but no evidence had turned up to support his stay there. Megumi had confirmed it when you ran into him in your frenzied search and mentioned that Satoru had texted him to cancel their end-of-week training because he’d be off campus. The thought of having to transport yourself all the way to that part of the city where his apartment was located felt daunting in your exhaustion, but when you closed your eyes or let your mind wander, the images of Suguru and Satoru walking away from you after turning their backs superimposed over each other and sent a new wave of panic over you every time. 

So you cleaned yourself up the best you could in the least amount of time you were willing to give, and then set out on a train. After that, the walk from the station to his apartment was about ten minutes, but you had only been there once, and you had started to worry when recognition of the area still hadn’t struck. You were only half certain you had found the correct building until you made your way inside the lobby and found familiarity in the arch of the walls and luxuriousness of the furnishings. Ahead, still seated at the same wooden desk, was the gentleman from the one time you had visited with Suguru. Age had greyed his hair and added lines under his eyes, but you recognized him the same. As you walked up to his desk with a nervous smile, you hoped you looked more put together than you felt, and you had just opened your mouth to try and convince him to let you up when he grinned at you. 

“For Gojo, right?” 

You were taken aback at the friendliness in his voice and the expectant way he looked up at you from where he was seated, and you were sure your mouth had flopped open inelegantly. “Uh, yes, but how did you—,” 

“Years ago, he left me a photo of you and a man with black hair and explicit instructions to let either of you up at any time without questions asked.” The gentleman glanced down at his desk and you could just make out his hand scribbling at a large notepad. When he looked back up at you, his gaze was inquisitive. “I just barely remember you from the one time you came with him—the boy appeared often enough that I recognized him—but I haven’t seen either of you since.” There wasn’t any judgment in his voice, just simple observation, but the whole encounter was picking at the fraying threads of your already frail emotions. 

“Yes,” you bit out, swallowing to clear the hoarseness of your voice, “it’s certainly been, uhm, a long time and…” There wasn’t anything you could come up with to fit into a brief enough explanation, and thankfully the gentleman picked up on that fact. 

“Would you like me to call up to him and let him know you’re here?” He offered, his hand already drifting towards a phone on the edge of his desk. You shook your head and flailed your hands in an effort to dissuade him from doing so. 

“No, no, please. I’m…surprising him.”  

The man smiled gently and gestured with his head towards the glass doors as he opened them with a push of a button. “Off you go then.” 

You gave him a hurried thanks and rushed off through the doors before you could lose what little courage remained in you, and when the elevator shut just after you stepped through it, you leaned back against the wall of it to take in large mouthfuls of air. Satoru was definitely home, and you maybe had two minutes to compose yourself into something presentable before you were face to face with him. You took it as a positive sign that he hadn’t immediately revoked your extended invitation into his building (unless he had simply forgotten to and now you had another idea to fret at) and you hoped that when you knocked at his door he would neither ignore you entirely or answer and then proceed to slam it shut in your face. If you made it far enough that he welcomed you in, you had absolutely no idea what you were to say to him, and the pinging of the elevator bell signaling your arrival to his floor made it clear you were running out of time to come up with anything. 

Your steps on the tile echoed loudly in the empty hallway, and you were positive it was your tired mind that made them sound reminiscent of Satoru’s name. By the time you came to his door, it was ringing in your ears and beating to the same rhythm of your pulse, and you wondered if Satoru could hear it from wherever in his apartment he remained hidden from you. The stress of it had you wanting to linger outside to come up with a speech or some kind of plan before you knocked on his door, but the thought that he could sense you waiting—hesitating—drove you deeper into embarrassment, so you lifted your hand to knock your knuckles against the door without a second consideration. The time it took for him to answer left your thoughts to scramble. 

Would he look at you with the same anger he surely saw reflected in your own eyes just hours prior? You figured you both had a right to feel such a way, but whereas you had hurled word after word of condemnation at him without ceasing, regardless of their truth or lack thereof, he hadn’t been given a moment to offer scant more than a stuttered reply. Was it presumptuous to have the hope that he would repay you in kind? That he would offer what you hadn’t and listen to what you had to say? Never again did you want to live with the regret of last words unspoken.

The beeping of his door unlocking snagged your attention, and you inhaled sharply when the knob began to turn. Through a small crack in the door, you saw Satoru peer his head around it, just offering you a sliver of a singular blue eye and the glimpse of a closed off expression on his face. You tangled your fingers together in the hope he didn’t see them shaking, and you gave him the barest of contrite smiles.

“May I come in?” 

Satoru didn’t hesitate to give a single nod of his head and you took a step back when he pushed open the door wide enough for you to walk through, murmuring a small ‘thank you’ as you passed by him. You didn’t wait for him to continue further into his apartment, eager to get out of the small entryway and into the openness of his living space if only so you could feel slightly less confined. In a quick glance around, you noticed that Satoru’s apartment looked nearly identical to how it did the one and only time you visited it. There was still a museum-esque quality to the cleanliness of it, but you could see a half-full glass of water on the island in his kitchen, and you had spied his pair of black shoes by the door next to where you had toed yours off. 

The susurration of his house shoes on the wood floor could be heard coming up behind you, and you turned slowly to face him. You took in his casual clothes, a dark grey sweater and navy lounge pants, and noticed him doing the same to your similar but more feminine outfit. When your eyes met, it pained you to see how his were guarded, lacking their usual brightness and enthusiasm, and you knew it was somewhat your fault. 

“I should have let you talk more,” you blurted, head cleared of any logical thought. “I was within my right to be angry with you, but I should have heard you out, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

Satoru’s expression eased and you wrung your hands. “I want to respect your space. I’m willing to give that to you, but I’m afraid of leaving things unsaid and—,” 

You were horrified when your eyes began to sting and the inside of your nose burned. You flicked your focus down to the floor in the hopes that not looking at him would keep you composed enough to get the rest of your words out. “If you’re willing, I’d like to talk this out with you. I would hate for things to end the way they did.” 

When you looked back up at him, his eyes were wide, and Satoru shuffled forward to reach a hand out to press against the back of your arm. “Of course,” he said, his voice so emphatically eager that it panged your heart. “Of course I’ll listen to you.” 

The pressure of his hand guided you towards the ample seating in his living room, and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the sofa placed in front of a massive entertainment system. Satoru sat just far away enough that two of you wouldn’t touch, but he laid out his arm along the back of the sofa, turned on his hip, and leaned forward slightly on his thigh so he could face you. You mirrored his position but kept your hands in your lap. 

“I don’t hate you. I never could,” you breathed out, and a part of you died inside when relief slackened Satoru’s features and his shoulders lowered as tension bled out from them. “I was angry, and maybe even felt a little betrayed, but it wasn’t you I hated.” 

There must have been a stricken look on your face, because his hand that rested on the back of the sofa lifted and hovered in the air for a moment before he moved it close enough that he could just graze his fingertips along the top of your arm. 

“I think I hated him. I hated Suguru in that split second.” The words felt heavy and disjointed in your mouth, not quite understood by your brain, but you felt palpable liberation once they were out. Satoru kept his eyes on you attentively, and you were powerless to the words that spilled from your tongue. 

“I hated him for what he did. I hated that he left me, and I hated that he chose to speak with you one last time instead of me. I hated that you had to kill him, and that we have to wake up everyday to live in the aftermath of it.” You were interrupted by a hiccuping cry that forced its way through your teeth, and when you looked up at Satoru helplessly, his hands shot out to take yours into his own. 

“But not you, I would never hate you,” you said once you had regained your composure, “and I would like to hear what you have to say. To help me understand what you were going through and why you made the choice to keep what Suguru said a secret until now. I’d like us to be completely understanding of the other, with the intention of being able to move forward.” 

Feeling much like you had just finished a sprint, you drew in a few deep breaths to steady the racing of your heart and calm the adrenaline running through your body. Satoru didn’t look angry or upset. He had an open, albeit cautious, look on his face and he studied your hands in his grasp momentarily before gently releasing them, and you both withdrew your hands to let them rest on your respective laps. 

“It was panic,” he started, pausing to meet your eyes. “I was so panicked that evening, about what I had just done and how I was supposed to reveal that to you. I could barely think straight enough to tell you I killed him, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of having to relay to you what Suguru said when I could hardly make sense of it myself.” 

You watched Satoru closely as he wiped his hands down over his legs and you both heard and felt the stuttered breath he pushed out from deep in his chest.

 “I’m not saying that to excuse my behavior, but it felt like the easiest thing to do for myself at that moment, and I regret it. If I could go back…well, I don’t actually know what I would have done.” Satoru inched a little closer to you and raised a questioning brow. “Would you have been okay if I had told you that he had said something, but couldn’t yet share it with you? Would have it been better to tell you everything he said, but warned you that I didn’t have the capacity to explore the implications of it right then with you? Or—god—I should have told you at any point between then and now.” 

The ideas Satoru was presenting caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever really considered before what you had wanted to hear in the moments when your entire world was collapsing around you. Surely you would have wanted to know, but the anticipation of waiting to hear what those words would have been had you chosen the first option probably would have driven you to madness. In regards to the second, knowing what Suguru had said would have prevented the whole mess the two of you were in now. However, knowing yourself, you very well might have fled the school like you did to avoid discussing things with Satoru once he was ready, keen on never once touching such a topic for the rest of your life, and who knows what outcome would have resulted from that. And him revealing what Suguru said any time after that day and between now would have mostly likely played out the same way it did last night.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, and you couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh. “Either alternative has its merits and its corresponding negatives. In the future, I think open communication would be best, but for things past I don’t see much point in dwelling on what should have been.” 

Satoru nodded, seemingly agreeing with what you had said. You chewed your lip, considering the weight of the question you wanted to ask him before ultimately deciding that he deserved the chance to let himself be heard. 

“How have you been?” Your inquiry had his mouth opening to respond, but he was silent in the aftermath, and you assumed that he needed time to condense his thoughts into words. 

You empathized with that particular plight.  

“Tired,” he said finally, solemnly, and you moved closer towards him until your knees knocked against each other. “I would give anything to have a night’s rest where I didn’t dream about killing my best friend.” This time, you reached out your hand to grip his fingers in yours, and his answering smile was full of gratitude. “Or have a nightmare where you hate me,” he added, squeezing your hand to balm the sting of his words. 

The two of you were silent after that, each of you taking turns glancing at one another and then back at your tangled hands before focusing on anywhere else in the room. However, there was a collective sense of expectation hanging above you both, and you had a good idea of what topic was waiting to be broached. 

“Satoru,” you murmured, biting down on the inside of your cheek as he lifted his head to listen to you. There was trepidation in the way he held himself, and you wondered if he anticipated what you were going to say next. “I tried to kiss you.” 

He was rapt in his attention on you, his face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling, but he fiddled with your fingers and ran his thumb along the inside of your wrist. He ducked his head just barely, and when his hair shifted over his forehead, it was just enough to conceal his eyes from you. “You did.” 

Satoru’s evasion grated you, but you set aside your frustration to focus on what you were trying to convey to him, to get him to understand what you couldn’t even quite wrap your head around fully. 

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to me because of what Suguru said.” His head snapped up and his brows furrowed at your words, but you kept going before he had a chance to interrupt. “I think you probably have an idea about what I feel for you, but I don’t expect you to reciprocate just because you might have some misguided sense of duty or responsibility towards me, and I can forget about that near-kiss if that’s—,” 

“I want you,” Satoru said on a exhale, and he looked to be fighting a bashful grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Your noise of surprise filled the heady silence following his declaration, and you felt as though the two of you teetered on the edge of some great precipice. 

A quiet “oh,” was all you could get out, breathless in a mounting giddiness, and he chuckled at whatever flush warmed your cheeks before his features smoothed out into something more solemn. 

“I do,” he insisted, and you could sense the ‘but’ following his statement and it made all the butterflies that had erupted in your chest fall leadened into your stomach, “but I can’t help feeling a little…unsettled about it, maybe? Not in a bad way necessarily, never with you—,” 

Satoru stammered, an overwhelmed breath heaving his shoulders, and you watched him with a pang of sympathy as he struggled to grasp at the words clearly evading him. “I don’t want you to think I feel entitled to you, and I don’t feel like I’m betraying Suguru by wanting you. I don’t even think I need his permission or anything like that. In fact, he seemed to give it in his own twisted way that night, and it’s just…you were his, once, and now you’re…” 

He trailed off, at a loss for the proper words to adequately explain a concept you both seemed to wrestle with, and the look he gave you was helpless and beseeching in a way that was delightfully captivating to you: eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and if his gaze could be anymore adoring you’d melt into the fabric of his fine linen couch. 

What was previously off limits had become an alluring possibility. A person who had always occupied a strictly friendly role had begun to appear in a way not thought of before. It was overwhelming, exciting, terrifying in what it could mean to want someone who had once been unobtainable, who you had not once considered for yourself before the loss of someone precious to both of you. But Suguru was gone now, and what more could be owed to the two of you than indulging in a shared happiness?

You giggled, catching your bottom lip between your teeth to try and contain the smile that was surely about to overtake your face, and you tugged on Satoru’s hands to pull him in close to you. 

“Don’t be afraid,” you whispered, your voice light and playful while the blue of his eyes danced and his cheeks went round in elation, “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Later, as you contemplated your existence in the quiet sanctuary of your room, you would berate yourself for not taking the opportunity to kiss Satoru senseless. Alas, you had remained dutiful to your mutual agreement to let the enormity of the morning settle before getting carried away with frenzied touches and the mingling of panted breaths. Instead, the two of you stayed seated on his couch for another hour, close in the way you had both drifted to lean against the other while chatting idly about anything ordinary. 

You had taken moments to gently lift strands of hair from his eyes, goosebumps erupting over your skin when his focus couldn’t decide whether to fix on your face or follow the movement of your hand. When you had later regaled him with a forgotten tale from your time abroad, Satoru had spent his time listening by swirling a finger over the top of your kneecap before letting it drift just slightly over your thigh so he could squeeze it gently. The pressure had you stuttering over your words, and you used the increased need to jump from your skin as an excuse to leap from the couch and beg for a glass of water. Satoru smirked at you in that annoyingly smug, but persistently charming habit of his, and had simply sauntered off to his kitchen to leave you to follow in his wake. 

When the afternoon sun began to push shadows further into the depths of his apartment, you begrudgingly announced your intended departure, pointing out to Satoru the exhaustion that clung to you both when he began to protest. A much-needed nap was in order, and he only surrendered his disagreement when you let out an exaggerated yawn. He followed you to the door with your sleeve caught between two of his fingers. The two of you stared at each other after you had slipped on your shoes, neither quite ready to bid the first goodbye. You eventually took the initiative to rock onto the tips of your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you squeezed him to you. Satoru arms circled your waist and after nudging his nose against the top of your head, you heard him breathe in deeply before letting it out in a long exhale, and the yearning of it made you ache. 

You had to pry yourself from him, and you didn’t turn to look back as you walked down the hallway lest you lose any remaining self control and skip your way back to Satoru. It was only once you crossed the threshold of the elevator that you heard the click of his door closing shut. If you had a dopey look on your face as you made your way home, evidenced by the knowing grin on the mouth of the gentleman working the door in the lobby, then who were you to deny it?

As you lay in your bed, huddled under blankets and your head cushioned by pillows while waiting for the swiftness of sleep to weigh down your eyes, you stared at a couple of pictures now decorating a small cork board hanging above your desk. None of them contained a singular person more present than the others and were all full of various friends and toothy grins. For once, the appearance of black hair and pierced ears didn’t evoke a dull throb in your chest at a future lost, but instead welcomed a feeling of contented nostalgia for memories treasured. When your eyes started to flutter and you sensed that your battle against sleep was coming to an end, the sight of brilliant blue from the corner of one photo held your fading attention and beckoned the prospect of enduring happiness by a relationship newly minted. 

————————————————

A dreary midmorning wasn’t something that could keep you cooped up on a Saturday free of obligation, and in an endeavor to make the most of your spare time, you busied yourself with errands in the city. If you found yourself standing in line outside the building of your favorite sweet shop, you would insist it was only to fill your own belly. Any extras that made it into your bag would surely serve as a snack over the rest of the weekend and not linger in your room in the hopes a certain white-haired man would make an appearance and find them. 

The thought of Satoru had you reaching for your phone as you shuffled another step further in line. You had texted Satoru a simple ‘good morning’ right before leaving your room then promptly threw the device into the bottom of your bag to be forgotten until after your errands. Otherwise, you would have worried yourself beyond what was considered healthy about whether or not that message presumed too much in light of yesterday’s breakthrough. 

Maybe overkill would lend itself to your passions too. 

To your dismay, your phone remained disappointingly devoid of new messages, but the sudden appearance of small raindrops on your screen took your attention before you could waste more time wishing it would flash with Satoru’s name. While the sky looked quite grey in your perusal of it, the drops never fell faster or increased in size while you waited for your turn to step into the shop, and you hoped the weather would stay its course until you returned home. Because you, in your distraction, had forgotten to snag your umbrella as you scurried out the door that morning. Instead of dwelling on your possible misfortune, you gave a cursory glance at the shop’s menu board sitting by the door and when you were nearly halfway through reading it, a shadow came over you. 

“Dessert for breakfast again?” 

You jerked your head towards the familiar voice and came face to face with Satoru. He hovered close enough to you so that the large umbrella he carried could shelter both him and yourself from the faint pattering of rain, and you met his beaming smile with one of your own. 

“Satoru! What are you doing here?” His arrival wasn’t at all expected, but you drank in the sight of him no less, pleased to see him in casual clothes instead of his uniform and sporting a black coat to ward off the last of the morning chill. 

“You know, just out and about,” he offered, and mischievousness made the corners of his mouth twitch. You suspected his eyes would twinkle just the same if you could see them through his blindfold. 

“Right,” you drew out, not quite sure if you believed that he just so happened upon you by chance, but you were too preoccupied with the fact he was standing in front of you again to question it any further. “Are you busy? Or do you have time to join me?” 

He was quick to nod, and you reached out to wrap your hand around his bicep when someone cleared their throat pointedly from behind. You jolted, heat flushing your neck and cheeks when you realized that there was a large gap in between you and the door to the shop, and you scurried forward. Satoru beat you to the door, swinging it open for you before you had a chance, and you ducked in while he sat his umbrella off to the side. 

You came to a stop a reasonable distance from the person in front of you and crossed your arms with a small huff as you pretended to study the variety of different sweets sitting in their display cases. Satoru’s coat brushed against your back as he came up behind you, and you prayed he didn’t notice the shiver that shook your shoulders when he leaned down to whisper right by your ear. 

“Distracted?” he asked, voice deeply flirtatious, and a scent a bit spicier than the mild soap you recall him smelling of wafted to your nose and made your thoughts hazy. 

“Nope,” you said as casually as you could manage, trying your best to make a mental note of what options you wanted to order so that you didn’t look like a bumbling fool when it was your turn. His answering chuckle was not only heard, but felt against your back. 

“You sure about that?” 

You whipped your head to the side to glare at him out of the corner of your eye, and your cheek nearly made contact with the tip of his nose. “Positive.” 

There would never be any certainty with his eyes hidden, but you swore you could feel his gaze on your lips, and if you ignored the thought and turned your attention back to what was in front of you, it was only because there was nothing you could do about it in a crowded little sweets shop. 

Thankfully—begrudgingly—it was your turn to order, and you stepped away from Satoru and approached the counter while taking in a much needed deep breath. He didn’t stray far from you, however, and you were conscious of how he lingered at your side while you ordered a couple things for yourself and one or two for Nanami in exchange for the few times he had bought you something from the bakery. 

You were just about to pay for your portion when Satoru came up and bumped you aside with his hip and a smirk on his face, and you watched with mild horror as the employee set down a bag of sweets nearly bulging in its fullness. 

“You have a problem,” you commented warily, imagining the amount of sugar in that bag alone and feeling phantom pain in your teeth. You eyed Satoru as he placed down his card to pay for both orders. 

“If you say so.” His shrug was light hearted and drenched in boyish charm, and you shook your head at him. Before he could find any more opportunities to indulge random acts of chivalry, you swiped your bag off the counter and made haste for the exit, pausing only to throw a wink over your shoulder as you stepped outside the door. You barely caught his indignant protest as he finished up his transaction but paid it no mind as you bent down to grab his umbrella and trotted off down the sidewalk. You only made it to a cross walk a couple yards down and had to come to a stop before he was jogging up to your side. 

“Rude,” Satoru pouted, sidling up next to you to slip the opened umbrella from your hand. 

“I can’t let people think I willingly associate myself with someone who has the taste buds of a child.” You giggled and snuck your hand in the slim space between his side and his arm to curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow. Something fluttered pleasantly in your belly when the action softened the deepening frown on his face. 

“Not all of us can have such sophisticated palettes,” he grumbled, but you could see the hint of a smile on his cheeks, so you leaned just a little further into his side. The delicate kiss he dropped onto your temple had you choking down any retort you were prepared to give him back, and the two of you stood in shy silence until the traffic signal changed in your favor. 

“Follow me to the school?” you asked, already in motion by the time the words left your mouth, and the answering look Satoru gave you made it clear that he never intended anything else. 

————————————————

Twenty minutes later had the two of you back at the school and seated on Satoru’s coat under the large tree nestled in the corner of the campus training grounds.

“Leave my bag alone,” you hissed, slapping at the wandering hand Satoru kept trying to sneak into your own stash of sweets. 

“I wanted to try one of yours. They’re different,” he whined. He stretched over your lap in an attempt to grab said bag from where you had moved it to your other side, but you stopped his progress with a hand on his chest. You pushed back against him until he was seated again. 

“No, what’s left are mine and the ones I bought for Nanami.”

“Nanami?” he asked in offended disbelief. “And you didn’t think to get any for me?”

“I’m surprised they aren’t already in your bag, Satoru. I think you bought the whole store,” you said, feeling a little sick to your stomach when you took note of the dwindling size of his own purchase. He scoffed in disapproval and hunched down further against the tree the two of you were resting against. His antics had your eyes rolling, but you went ahead and pulled one of your treats out from the bag as you had intended to do before he decided to try and pilfer them on his own. 

“Here,” you told him, feigning the exasperation in your voice. You held the treat out in your hand, expecting him to take it from you with his own, but Satoru—with uncovered eyes gleaming—leaned forward and ate the snack right from your fingers. You had a brief second to register the heat of his lips and the way his teeth had just grazed your skin before he was sitting back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Tasty,” he said, looking all too pleased with himself, and all you could do was sit there with your heart pounding. The thought of kissing Satoru had been plaguing your mind since even before the two of you had fought, and now, when his lips were flushed pink and there were crystals of sugar caught on a corner of them, you were weak in your resolve. 

You curled your fingers into the neck of his shirt and pulled him in to meet you, eyes already closing so you didn’t scare yourself out of the idea if there was a shocked look on his face. Your lips met his with an urgency, but you were mindful not to clash teeth or press too hard, and you felt marginally better when Satoru knocked his nose against yours in order to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. His chilled fingertips were a shock to your skin when they settled on the edge of your cheek and under your jaw, and he hummed pleasantly into the kiss when he felt you jump. Satoru’s other arm came to wrap around your back, and his fingers dug into your shirt when you used the tip of your tongue to swipe away any remaining sugar on his lips. 

You were vaguely aware of Satoru pressing closer to you, inching you back incrementally, but you were too lost in the feel of his mouth moving against yours and slipping your arms up and around his neck to pay much mind to it. So when you felt yourself falling back against the ground with Satoru’s hand bracing the back of your head it didn’t trigger the urge to stop, especially not when his free hand landed heavily in the dirt next to your head so he could lower himself down and chase after your lips. However, you could only avoid the cold wet of the ground seeping through your collar for so long, not to mention the fact you two were in public, and you ducked your chin slightly to break away from Satoru. 

“It’s unlikely,” you murmured, feeling him trail his mouth over your cheek to press a kiss just below your ear, “but any of our students—or our peers—could walk by at any given moment.” 

The noise of disagreement he made tickled the skin under your ear that he was nibbling at, but you didn’t have to tell him twice before he was pulling away just hair. All you could see above you was white eyelashes framing bright blue eyes, and the tips of his hair tickled your forehead when Satoru lowered himself just a little so he could nudge his nose into your cheek affectionately. 

“You’re not wrong,” he sighed, sitting himself back up and tugging you along with him by your arm. You pat down your hair and brush some dirt from your sleeves while keeping a watchful eye on his expression from your peripheral. Satoru didn’t seem particularly disappointed or upset at your words, but you, in your habit, worried about the implication of them anyway. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” you reassured him, drawing his focus as you hurried to get your thoughts out to him. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you either, but this is…” you trailed off as words failed you. 

This was new and something precious to you. For the first time in years, you had someone by your side that cared to know everything you thought and longed to be near you. It was all a touch overwhelming to fall for someone you hadn’t ever pictured in a romantic role, and you were eager for the time to understand it fully yourself before allowing others to fix their attention on it. 

“Don’t worry,” Satoru said, and he was cheerful and giddy in the way he smiled while he dragged a finger across the back of your hand. “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Your burgeoning relationship carried on in secrecy for the next three months. In between classes and training of students, you and Satoru would find yourselves in an obscure hallway or forgotten classroom to share whispers and fleeting touches. It was nothing torrid or salacious as of yet, but everyday you longed for the moments you had alone with him to bask in muffled laughter and give in to lingering kisses that he would pull you into when you would try to leave for the umpteenth time. More than once you caught his head following you as he and the students walked by you on school grounds, and the previous week Kugisaki had commented on how keenly you studied Satoru while he demonstrated a fighting technique to Itadori. 

And now, when the school day was long over and the sun was beginning to set, you felt at ease walking through the door of Satoru’s office door to surprise him with spoils from your day. 

“Knock, knock,” you called out gently, peeking your head around the doorframe to find Satoru already looking up at you, blindfold nowhere to be seen. Fatigue clearly was gnawing at him. His head dropped from where his chin was propped up in his hand, and there was the faintest hint of purple under his eyes. A pen was clasped in his right hand where it rested on a large stack of paperwork, and you took notes of the various others crowding his desk as you walked in. “How are all the reports coming along?” 

Satoru groaned and threw himself back against his chair. “It’s been terrible! I’ve been stuck here finishing these reports since this morning. I didn’t even have lunch!” 

You laughed at his plight as you came to stand next to him and lean back against his desk before pulling a small brown sack from your bag. “Here,” you said, passing it to him, “I got you something while we were out today.” 

His face lit up in excitement ,and he eagerly snatched the bag from your grasp and buried his hand in it to pull out the pastry located inside. “You’re incredible,” he said, pausing to express his gratitude before he shoved half of it into his mouth. 

“You’ll choke one day,” you warned, vaguely impressed when he ate the other half in just as big of a bite. Satoru shook his head, and his grin told you he was proud of himself. 

“Was that from our bakery?” he asked, and you were grateful he had swallowed before speaking. 

“Yup. The first years did so well in training today that Nanami and I decided to end things early and treat them. We ended up running into the third years on the way, so they joined us and we all had a happy time together.” Satoru’s face fell somewhere in the beginning when you started talking, and by the time you were done his mouth was turned down into a full blown frown. 

“Without me?” He pouted, and the sad, puppy-esque face he gave you would have worked if you didn’t know what would be awaiting you if he didn’t finish his reports. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted, shaking a finger at him, “you needed to get these done, or else it would have been me taking over the extras and then we would both be miserable.” Satoru scowled, but the sigh he let out was resigned. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

You reached out and ruffled his hair. “Of course I’m not,” you teased, “but I brought you a treat to make up for it.” 

Satoru cocked a brow and stood from his chair so he could take a step towards you. Your lower back was already pressed into the edge of his desk, so you had to crane your head back to meet his eyes. “That’s true,” he said playfully. “You do make everything better.” He closed the space between your chests and the audible hitch in your breathing made him smirk. 

“Cheesy,” you muttered, but exhilaration flowed through you when his hands came up to cradle your jaw and he lowered his head enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your nose. Satoru hummed an amused sound before finally taking your bottom lip between his. You tucked your arms below his so you could fist your hands into the fabric of his uniform as his sides and a fluttering burst into your chest when he started stroking the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs.

It wasn’t wrong to say that Satoru had transfixed you. Everything about him—the way he smelled, the depth of his laugh, how his fingers felt when they danced over your skin—was alluring to you, and you couldn’t help but clutch him closer as your lips moved against his. In response, Satoru’s hands dropped down to grip at your waist, and you let out a noise of surprise in the brief moment your lips disconnected when he lifted you up, only to set you back down on his desk. He was quick to kiss you again, chasing you when you leaned back to make space for him in between your legs.

His hands seemed like they were everywhere at once: between your shoulders to press you into him, cupping your chin to angle it up and allow his lips to ghost over your neck, and then spread over your thighs to grasp and knead. The room was quiet except for the heady exhalations and gasping breaths of the air you shared, and you heard the rustling of paper being scattered as he cleared a spot behind you. 

Somewhere deep in your mind, your brain supplied you with the thought that Satoru’s office was not the ideal first place to do this—to have him. Certainly not as his hand started to sneak under the bottom of your shirt or your fingers toyed with the button on his pants, but every inch of him was plied against you and it would take something monumental to separate—,

“Ahem.” 

As it turned out, your principal clearing his throat outside of the wide open door of Satoru’s office was catastrophic enough for the two of you to spring apart at something close to the speed of light. You propelled yourself off Satoru’s desk to stand rigid at the side of it while turning your head to gawk accusingly at him, because surely the honored one should have sensed Principal Yaga way before he ever arrived. But from the way he immediately dropped straight into his chair to conceal himself from the waist down proved that, astonishingly, Gojo Satoru could be caught unaware. 

 Neither of you three said a word. Principal Yaga eyed you and Satoru with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, and you couldn’t decide whether hurling yourself out of the window behind you would be less painful than the scrutiny coming from the large man at the door. 

“There’s paperwork for this. You two can each get a copy from my office tomorrow,” he said eventually. You were relieved to hear a lack of judgment or disappointment in your principal’s voice and decided you could live with the resigned finality that colored instead. He didn’t offer anything else and had just begun to turn away with a shake of his head and a hand rubbing at his temple when he spun back around suddenly, making you flinch from where you were still rooted next to Satoru’s desk. 

“I want those reports finished and on my desk first thing in the morning, Satoru.” His tone brokered no discussion and—in all the time you’ve known him—you witnessed the loud-mouthed sorcerer at an apparent loss for words. He simply nodded in agreement and then Principal Yaga was gone. 

“Well,” Satoru started slowly, turning to face you in his chair, “I think that makes things official.” His mouth then tilted upwards into an unbothered grin, and he looked at you expectantly. Strained laughter died in your throat. 

“I guess so.” 

————————————————

In an effort to help make up for last week’s incident , Satoru called you midway through the Friday afternoon to, not ask, but summon you for a late night dinner date. In exchange, you got to pick where the two of you would eat and what dessert you would share at the end. It had taken little to no convincing on your part to get you to agree, and when the name of a restaurant in the upscale part of the city near his apartment slipped from your mouth, you were surprised to find that no guilt came along with it. 

Once upon a time, you might have wistfully imagined yourself seated and dined at that particular restaurant with Suguru, as you had told him when the two of you first passed it on the street. However, that daydream never came to fruition, and you refused to let a faded prospect with your long-lost ex-lover get in the way of creating new memories. So, in order to do just that, you took time getting yourself ready and slipped into a new dress before taking a train to the city to meet Satoru. 

The restaurant was everything you expected, and you took in with a small smile the low light atmosphere and your secluded table illuminated with flickering white candles. Waiters bustled to and fro, and the soft plinking of a lounge piano underscored the muffled murmurings of the restaurant’s patrons. You and Satoru talked about anything and nothing as you looked over the menu. The establishment wasn’t overabundant in the options it provided, instead taking great care to provide a few exceptionally well crafted meals, but you still had a difficult time making your decision nonetheless. Satoru offered to select one of the two dishes you went back and forth between for himself so you’d have the opportunity to try it, and while the idea melted your heart into a little puddle, you urged him to pick what he wanted for himself. 

A waiter came by and presented you with an extensive wine list, and while Satoru didn’t partake, he guessed with unbridled enthusiasm at which type you’d choose. His answer had been wrong, but the determined gleam in his eyes told you he’d never again make that mistake. After eventually making up your mind and successfully placing your order, the rest of the dinner flew by. The two of you spent time exchanging bites of each other’s food and sharing stories about the progress of the first year’s training. 

When you were brought the dessert menu, you both leaned over the table towards each other to look over it together, and when the two of you couldn’t decide on just one, you suggested ordering two. Satoru had raised a brow at you, having already heard twice by then how you were too full to have your own dessert and, despite his protest, insisted on sharing one with him. He relented, and you ordered two. When the waiter was out of earshot, you told him in a pointed few words that you had every intention of sharing that second dessert with him as a middle of the night snack. Satoru immediately sat straight in his seat, eyes flashing with heat and want and a whole other amalgamation of emotions that set your blood alight. 

By the time dessert came, you were two minutes shy of snatching the check and hauling him out the door, sweets be damned. But Satoru simply laughed and passed you a spoon while he situated the plate of dessert halfway between you two. When you were two bites in, stomach protesting and your eyes feeling just a bit heavy from the dimness of the restaurant, you tucked your foot under Satoru’s to rest it against his ankle. His answering smile was tender and maybe a little bashful, and while it could’ve been the second glass of wine that caused the stirring in your chest, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was your heart expanding enough to make room for him. 

————————————————

“I want to go there again next week,” you said blissfully, both satisfied from a delicious dinner and feeling relief from the cold floors of Satoru’s apartment on your sore feet. If you never again picked up the heels you had kicked off at his door, it would be too soon. You meandered into his kitchen and plucked a water bottle from his fridge to down in just a few swallows. 

“I suppose we could go back once a week until we finish trying every dessert and dinner option available,” Satoru responded, coming up behind you to curl one arm around your waist and press a kiss into your hair. “Thank you for being my date.” You lifted your arm to reach behind you and drape it around his neck, and he let his mouth glide across the skin that he could touch. 

“Always,” you murmured, and while the implications of the word felt a little heavy and maybe a bit presumptuous for the early stages of your relationship, it didn’t diminish the truth of which you spoke it with. Satoru didn’t seem to have an objection to it and merely pasted every inch of his front against your back. 

“If you’re tired, or if the second glass of wine was too much, I’m happy to lend you a change of clothes and offer you a guest room for the night. We can make breakfast in the morning if you’re willing to supervise.” His laughter tickled your skin, and you were quick to shake your head and turn in his hold.

“No to the guest room, but yes to breakfast.” 

He smiled into the kiss he placed onto your lips and you fisted your fingers into the collar of his shirt in an attempt to keep him against you when he stepped back and nodded in the direction of a hallway. You caught his hand from behind when Satoru turned to walk towards what was presumably his bedroom and held on to it as he led you. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, eyes promising and mouth slightly parted, and when he whirled around completely to tug you through the open door of his room, you caught yourself on his chest and giggled. 

While Satoru busied himself with nuzzling his lips against the curve of your shoulder and fiddling with the various clasps and a zipper at the back of your dress, you peeked around his arm to study the vastness of his bedroom. It was as expertly put together as the rest of his home, but still mostly lacking in its signs of life. The high beamed ceiling and towering window framed by lush dark curtains created a feeling of openness, but the plush comforter on his bed and the stone fireplace set across from it helped cultivate a sense of coziness. You spied his uniform draped over the back of a chair nestled under a desk, and a thrill went through when the computer sitting atop it flashed a screensaver familiar to you—the picture of your dessert from the cafe a thousand miles away. 

You had the mind to ask Satoru about it, but before you could he was peeling your dress off your shoulders and down your arms. His eyes flicked up to yours in silent permission and it only took a subtle dip of your chin before he was pushing it the rest of the way down your torso, and you squirmed when his fingers danced over your ribs in a way that tickled. Hands started to move in a hurry after that point. Yours flew to the buttons of his shirt while his traveled up your arms to cup your cheeks so he could kiss you again. When you divested him of the fabric concealing his chest, seeing it land in a flutter next to your dress on the floor, you immediately started in on his belt, taking pleasure in the stuttered breath Satoru let out above you when you yanked on it in your efforts to get it off. 

As soon as he stepped out his pants, Satoru was turning you to the bed and he just barely caught himself above you when the two of you fell back against it. You grinned up at him as you shuffled up towards the pillows, and he followed obediently to settle between your legs when you opened them for him. It wasn’t until Satoru had already shimmed your underwear off your legs and did the same to himself did you feel a prickle of nervousness in your belly at the sight of him. There had been a few others in the time between Suguru and now, but they all had blended into faceless bodies and blurred memories of dark bedrooms, none ever so important that you bothered to recall them in times of loneliness. But this—Satoru—would be different, and you had only ever known one other man in such a deeper level of intimate feelings.

“Comparing me to someone?” The sarcastic quip from Satoru reclaimed your attention and nearly had you leaving the bed altogether, but the hidden undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice kept you under him. One day, the two of you would have a discussion about appropriate boundaries and how to express one’s emotions with proper words, but for now, you would reassure him that he would not have to spend his entire life worrying that he would never be enough for you. 

“No,” you said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and he actually looked chagrined. “I was actually thinking about how you were longer than I expected.” You punctuated your words by reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, and all the air rushed out of his lungs in a forceful exhale. It wasn’t a lie on your part. Where Suguru had been impressive in his width, Satoru excelled in his length, but that wasn’t any of his particular business. 

“I always thought you’d wear some expensive cologne everyday,” you continued in a whisper, tightening your grip around him until he sagged against your chest and let out a low moan in your ear, “but you smell faintly of clean scented soap and that surprised me.” You trailed the hand not currently occupied over the ridges of his spine and had to bite at your lip when Satoru shuddered against you. “Your skin doesn’t run as hot as I imagined it would, but I don’t mind it.” 

He chuckled a bit at that, and the breathless sound of it made you shiver. In a strained voice he asked, “anything else?” You let out a questioning hum, feigning your need to contemplate the idea, and Satoru nipped at your neck in retaliation. 

“Okay, okay!” you squealed, wriggling under him as he continued his assault up over your ear before replacing them with soft kisses over your cheek. “Your hair feels as soft as it looks and not a day goes by that I don’t think about running my fingers through it.” To emphasize your point, you raked your nails over his scalp and a pleased grumble sounded low in his chest. You debated sharing your next thought with him, but he was searching your eyes in a way that was a little desperate and heart wrenching, so you obliged. 

“The night of that failed date, right before we fought,” you began quietly, tracing your finger over Satoru’s cheek and the bridge of his nose, “I spent the whole time wishing it had been you.” 

The admission must have taken him off guard because his eyes widened and a pink flush took over his cheeks. His chest brushed more firmly against your breasts as his breathing accelerated in the slightest, and you reached up to nudge the tip of your nose against his. You didn’t bother waiting for his reply, and arched your hips upwards to grind them against his, this time you both let out echoing moans. Much of what came next happened in blurs of frenzied movement; his hand slipping between your legs and moving about in a way that had you throwing your head back into his pillows until his room was filled with the sound of you chanting Satoru’s name. When you were breathless and panting, he trailed back up your body with his lips straying to the dip of your waist, the curve of your breast, and then back to your mouth. 

When he finally made space for himself inside you and pulled your thigh higher over his hip, all you could do was grasp at his back and grip at his arms while he murmured your name into the crook of your neck. His movements stole your breath and overwhelmed any other thoughts in your head, but you didn’t mind how much room Satoru took up. Not when his fingers traced your features in delicate awe and wonder, and not when he had you calling his name in response to the sudden burst of warmth that poured over you a second and third time before he followed in kind. 

Satoru rolled the two of you over when your chests were still heaving and limbs were trembling, wrapping you up tightly in the breadth of his arms so you could rest your cheek just under his collarbone while he whispered soft affirmations and praises in your ear. You decided then, when he was still nestled inside you and spoke excitedly of a midnight snack in a plastic to-go bag and of shared breakfast in the morning that Gojo Satoru would never be too much for you. 

————————————————

When Satoru blinked awake, the first thing he noticed was the calmness with which he came out of sleep. His skin wasn’t slicked with sweat, nor were his blankets tangled around his legs. He hadn’t thrashed into consciousness, tormented by an endless loop of nightmares filled with his dead best friend’s face or your vehement ire. Instead, his eyes opened drowsily to take in the blue-black of twilight peeking through his curtains and became instantly aware of the sound of rhythmic breathing to his left. You slept soundly on your side facing away from him, but with your back pressed against his arm. Satoru let out a long breath, feeling more rested than he had in months, but he was in no hurry to find his way out of bed and away from you. In an attempt to coax his mind back into slumber, he shifted onto his side and wiggled down into the bed until he could snuggle his face against the back of your neck. You made a sleepy noise of annoyance when he wrapped his arm around your hips to pull you against him, but you didn’t wake and Satoru sighed in contentment before letting his eyes fall closed.

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

I hope y'all enjoyed this sweetness as much as I did!

The next chapter with be the last, but will not be nearly as long and will wrap things up and give a happy ending to our couple. I'm excited to share it will y'all soon<3

Have a good weekend!

Taglist: @paprikaquinn & @kafanizdakicokiyi

[slut4fictionalmen33]

I Was Pregnant (newt)

Summary: Y/n tells Newt she used to be pregnant but WCKD found out while she was being held captive

Warnings: miscarriage, angst, language, weapons, PTSD (think that’s it)

Word Count: 1.0k

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbCBaye/ (based off this tiktok)

“No! No!” You screamed, thrashing under the nurse’s hold. “Don’t do this!” You pleaded.

You had no clue how long you had been pregnant for but WCKD believed it was early enough to get rid of it.

“Newt will kill you!”

“Shut her up.” Janson said.

One of the nurses grabbed a sedative and you thrashed harder in the other nurse's hold.

“No! Minho! Help me!” You yelled as they injected you, sending your body limp and unconscious.

Meanwhile Newt, Thomas, Brenda, Harriet, Vince and Jorge were all planning an escape for you, Minho, Aris, and Sonya.

“They will be transported by train to the last city in 3 months. We can hijack a burg and pick up the box with them in it.”

“Thomas, we're supposed to be moving forward not backwards.” Vince stated. “We’re gonna run out of time.”

He walked over to Vince so he could talk slightly quieter. “Y/n needs Newt and Newts needs Y/n. He cries himself to sleep every night. He needs her.” He explained quietly enough so Newt couldn’t hear.

“Let’s get on with it!” Newt yelled, bringing them back to the meeting. “I’d like to have a solid plan to save Minho and Y/n.”

“Right.” Thomas said, sitting back down around the table.

~

You woke up in one of the hospital beds, the white walls and sheets practically blinding you.

You were sore and aching and you knew what had happened as soon as you saw the puddle of blood in your bed. You wanted to cry but nothing came out so you screamed. Loud enough to get the whole facility's attention.

But unfortunately only Janson entered the room.

“You bastard! How could you do this to me?” You sobbed. “You deserve to die!”

“Aww is someone sad? Poor Newtie. How’s he gonna feel when you were bearing his child and you got rid of it?” He mocked.

“He will kill you. And if he doesn't, all the rest of them will. I can promise you that.”

“I’ll count on it.” He said sarcastically walking out of the room leaving you alone once again.

~

It was finally the day Newt was coming to save you.

“Let’s get a move on!” Newt yelled hoping in the truck with Fry, Harriet and Vince.

Newt was eager to save you. Like Thomas said he did cry every night. It was stressful having to go through the flare by himself.

“Coming!” Thomas yelled, hopping in the back with Harriet so he could help load all of the guns.

~

All the while you were getting loaded onto the train with Aris, and Sonya. “Do you know where we’re going?” You sat down next to both of them.

“No clue. I’m so sorry about your baby.” She changed the subject.

“I-It’s fine can we just move on?” You refused to cry. You felt as though it rewarded WCKD. They loved when the subjects cried.

“Sure.” She hugged you as best she could with the chains around her wrists.

A couple WCKD guards came into the cart to count you once or twice and then left you alone.

You and Sonya had fallen asleep rather quickly, But you were awoken to a loud thud and screaming.

“Y/n! Minho?” You heard Newt yell.

“Newt! Newt!” You screamed. “Newt!” You screamed until you couldn’t anymore. And then you saw sparks around the door. Someone was coming to save you.

You sat there heart racing waiting for the door to be knocked down. You were ready to see the culprit and you hoped to God it was Newt.

Please, please, please. You wished in your head. Then the door was knocked down and you were met by Newt and Thomas.

“Newt!” You exclaimed. He ran over to you and wrapped his arms around you. “Newt.” You sobbed.

“It’s okay I’m here we’re gonna get you out of here.” He pets your hair.

“Thank you. Thank you.” You repeated so grateful that they came to save you.

“I have to help Thomas now okay? I’ll be back I promise.” He gave you a quick peck on your head and then ran off with the dark haired boy.

“They came back.” You turned to Sonya and Aris. “They came back.” You repeated almost in shock.

“Yes Y/n he came back for you.” She comforted you.

“No but what happens when Newt finds out about the baby?” Tears threatened to fall.

“It’ll be okay Y/n I promise. He will still love you. He loves you so much and there’s still time.”

“Thank you Sonya.”

~

Once everyone had gotten back to the right arm they quickly realized Minho wasn’t in the same cart as you, Sonya, and Aris. Which meant they would eventually have to go back for him but for now you just sat comforted by your favorite people.

You sat in silence for the most part except for the occasional ‘are you okays’ and ‘I love yous’ from Newt.

You were reluctant to tell him about the baby but you gained enough courage and strength to pull him into the other room and tell him.

You sat down in one of the chairs while he pulled a chair right next to you.

“Newt there’s something I need to tell you.” You sighed hoping he would understand.

“What is it, love?”

“Well…” A couple tears rolled down your face.

“Woah sweat heart? What happened?” He kneeled in front of you.

“While I was in WCKD… I was pregnant.” He gasped, causing you to stop. “But Janson found out before you saved us and ‘got rid of it’”

“No… this can’t be happening. No, no.” He cried.

“I’m sorry. I-I there was nothing I could do. T-they held me down. T-they put me to slee-…”

“I’ll kill them.” Newt interrupted.

“W-what?” Of course you had told Janson that but you didn’t think Newt would want the same thing.

“I’ll. Kill. Him.” He grabbed your hands. “I’m so sorry they did that to you. Considering how hard it is to find out my child was taken away from me it’s got to be at least 3 times worse for you. I’m so sorry Y/n.”

“I-I love you Newt.” He stood up.

“I love you too Y/n.” You stood up with him and kissed him passionately.

“I won’t ever let anyone hurt you ever again.” He hugged you.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - "Are you wearing my shirt?"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is about to go on a mission without Müller which makes her a little bit nervous, but she doesn’t know how to tell him...

(CW: nsfw, smut, spanking, marking, a bit of fluff and angst)

“Fuck, Karina.”, he moans. My new favourite sound in the entire world. König moaning my name as he comes inside me. He slows down, pumping inside me once, twice, a third time, and I feel how he pushes his cum out of me, the sticky liquid coating my inner thighs. He pulls back, looking down at where his dick is plunged into me and his gaze gets even more heated. Possessive. Depraved. “Fucking perfect.”, he grumbles and all I can do is smile up at him. He chuckles. “Don’t give me that look, Fräulein.” My smile gets wider. “What look?”, I tease him. He pulls back and flips me, to spank me. He slaps my cheek hard and I yelp, his hand coming down again until the skin turns red. “That’s what you get for bratting.”, he snarls and bends down to bite my ass, and I yelp again. “König!”, I yell incredulously. He just laughs again and smacks my butt one last time. “Come on, get up, we need to get in some training.”, he says and goes into the bathroom. “Brute.”, I throw in his direction, which only makes him laugh harder.

He goes into the shower and I quickly hop onto the toilet, you know, preventing UTIs and so on. When I sit there, on the porcelain, for just a quick moment, I think about sneaking a peak. Now that I know that he normally showers without his hood, without a mask. But no, that would be too much. A breach of his trust in me. I shake the thought from my head. My imagination will have to make do.

I wipe myself clean and am out the bathroom again. Looking around to find my clothes that we threw away so carelessly when we pounced on each other. The first thing that I spot with my eyes is his shirt. The big black bandshirt he wore before fucking me - DEATH in big funny letters on the front. I just take it and pull it over my head. His scent engulfs me and without an ounce of shame I smell the fabric and let it flood my senses. Goddamn. I’m going to miss him when he’s away the mission. But I can’t tell him. I just couldn’t.

I reach for my pants and loop my feet through the trouserlegs when he comes out the bathroom again. "Are you wearing my shirt?", he asks, his voice incredulous as he takes me in from head to toe. I just stand there, halt as I pull my pants up, unsure what to make of his comment. "Yeah, uh? I'm sorry I should've asked.", I tell him quickly. “No, it’s uh- it’s fine, I just-“ A deep sigh shakes his upper body and I can see how anxious and nervous he’s getting all of a sudden. Fuck, I didn’t think about that. “I didn’t really have anybody wear my stuff ever. And I- fuck.”, he stops speaking and swallows hard, his eyes fixed on me. I shed the t-shirt in a quick motion, holding it out to him, as mortification colours my cheeks red. “I’m sorry, it was presumptuous of me to steal your shirt, I-“ He doesn’t take it, just leaves me hanging, while I stand there in my bra and pants.

The silence sits between us, suffocating me a little bit. My hand drops down, the t-shirt sweeps over the floor, and I look away because I can’t answer his eyecontact anymore. “I- I wanted to have something of yours, when you’re away.”, I whisper, ashamed. We’re good at the whole hooking up stuff. The hard, unattached fucking. The depraved filth we want from each other. The friendly enough situations in between where we enjoy each other’s company enough to not make things awkward when we’re not currently in each other’s pants. But this? Stealing his shirt? Admitting that I wanted to have something of his when he was away? The implications that I might miss him, his smell, his presence? And still ignoring the possibility that every time we go on a mission, that it could be the last time.

He crosses the distance between us, reaching for the shirt and pulling it over my head again. “Fucking take it, it’s yours.”, he says. “I just got caught off-guard seeing you like this, okay?” He pulls me into him and I snuggle against him, into his broad warm chest, as he presses my head into his pecs and a little kiss to my head. “I never had anybody wear my clothes before, okay? And I like how it looks, I like how my huge shirt looks on you.” I nod into his muscles and let my hands glide over his warm skin. “Okay… I still should’ve asked. I’m sorry.”, I repeat myself. He’s caressing my hair softly and I can feel him shaking his head. ”Don’t be.”

He pulls back a bit, puts his hand on my chin and makes me look up at him. “I tell you what though, you gotta return it, when I come back, okay?”, he whispers. And I nod, blinking away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. The unspoken ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come back to you’ is so clear in his eyes.

The t-shirt as a token of his promise when we’re both too emotionally stunted to say how we really feel. What we really want to say. And I’m fine with that.

[buglord-isaac]

Angst angst angst part 2

Soap stayed in the hospital for a few days on bed rest, but after those few days he became so restless that he demanded to be let out. He had multiple broken ribs, multiple gunshot wounds, stitches on his head, along with other cuts and bruises, but he was so hopped up on prescription pain medication that he could barely feel it. He hated the infirmary. He’d much rather be in his room with his familiar smells and with no one to look at him.

The nurses let him out with a few specific conditions; he was to take his pain meds on time, and he was to spend as much time resting as possible. He was fine with this. It wasn’t like he was going to be doing drills with broken ribs, he wasn’t that stupid.

Being back in his own room felt like absolute heaven. He got many stares from recruits and soldiers on the way there but when he got there he felt overwhelming safety. He set an alarm for lunch and passed out on his bed, aided by the insane painkillers. He woke up to his alarm, groggy and confused but more relaxed, took his painkillers again, then made his way to the mess hall for lunch.

When he got there, Price and Gaz stood immediately and rushed over to him.

“Soap! You’re up! How are you?? Are you okay??”

“Aye I’m good… can’t kill me that easy.”

His eyes were drawn to Ghost, who had been sitting with the other two and was now looking up at Soap with eyes that his groggy mind couldn’t read. He was painfully reminded of the last time they talked. His focus snapped back to Price, who was asking him for details on his injuries.

“Sir I need to sit down. The meds make me lose my mind…”

“Right right.”

He guided Soap down onto a chair. “I’ll go get you somethin’ to eat, alright? Just stay here.”

“Aye sir. Appreciated.”

His focus now switched to Gaz.

“So what’s your body like? How broken are ya?”

He stayed quiet for a second. He could tell that Ghost was listening intently, and all he would be doing was proving his worthlessness to Ghost. Proving him right.

“Broken ribs… four gunshots… burns, cuts from metal, cuts from glass, shrapnel, some broken fingers.”

“Jesus bloody Christ, Soap-“

Both of them looked at Ghost, who had spontaneously shoved his food away and gotten up while Gaz was speaking. His eyes showed signs of hurt… or anger… like someone had burned his tongue or spat in his food. He left with that same displeased look in his eyes. God.. why did Ghost hate him now… Soap looked down at the table, taking a shaky deep breath.

“Thought we had somethin’…”

“It’s not your fault, Soap.” Gaz put an arm on Soap’s forearm. “Whatever he’s goin through right now isn’t your fault.”

Price put a tray of food in front of Soap. “He’s right. It’s not you, it’s him. He seems to be going through something right now.”

“It’s me. You saw the way he snapped. Whatever…”

He started to eat and ignored whatever Price or Gaz had to say, his mind dissociating and thinking only about the food on his plate. Once he got through all the food, he just sat with his eyes closed, nearly falling asleep upright until he felt Price and Gaz guiding him up and to his room. Bloody hell… he hated being this weak.

“When I’m better… I’m gonna train so hard… I’m gonna be the strongest…”

“I’m sure you will be, Soap.”

He was guided down to his bed and passed out almost immediately. Curse those painkillers…

[brandwhorestarscream]

I am very interested in the Transformers One cybermorph AU. And how D-16 and Orion (and B and Elita) react to the discovery.

Because Orion would not abandon D for anything at this point. B probably has no idea what a Cybermorph is, and Elita might know, but with all the other lies Sentinel told, who knows what the truth actually is.

But Alpha Trion is, of course, right there...

Wheee someone else shares my interest (งᐛ)ว I'm thinking that, in this situation, those under Sentinel's rule don't know about the morphs. They appeared very late in the war, and perhaps their emergence could've helped pave the way for Sentinel's betrayal. Orion and friends are completely blindsided by their existence >:)

Consider: D-16 who is Queen Mother Galvatron's lost little morphling, displaced during the war somehow 🤭 without his cog he's stuck in permanent root mode, and has no idea what he is. Neither does anyone else, save for one person 👀 it's Sentinel, he knows and has been holding onto him as a last ditch effort bargaining chip to use against the hive

Godddd im just thinking about the angst, Dee's already horrified and sickened by everything he found out about Sentinel, then Alpha Trion grants them their cogs and the alt mode he finds waiting for him is one of those things. Idk exactly when, but at some point during their journey they saw morphs in all of their terrifying glory.

In the movie where he fired his very first shot from his cannon, blasting that vehicon (press f for steve), that's instead switched out for him leaping onto the drone and tearing it apart with his teeth and claws akin to the vicious mauling attacks of the neomorphs, screeching and chittering threateningly in a language he doesn't understand ("BACK OFF MY HIVE!" He shrieks in morphspeak. "OFF! AWAY! MINE!"

Then he hears B-127 make a strangled noise and the scrambling of pedes, and he looks up and sees the other three staring at him in mild horror and disgust. He flinches back, drawing up to his full height, and finally looks down at himself--before backpedalling in shock himself because no no no no no, this can't be- this isn't happening- he's not- he can't be-!

His back hits a trees and he pounds a panicked fist into his chest once, twice, "Get it off get it off getitoff!" tone panicky by the third hit. He wants to be back in root mode, now, and finally that seems to do it. He shifts back down to his original form, and touches his face anxiously, observing his fingers and feeling his denta, razor sharp a moment ago but now flat. "I- I'm me?!" He asks, sounding strangled. "I- I'm still me- I- I'm still-"

"...Dee-" he looks up, startled, chassis heaving in fast, shallow gasps. He finds Orion in front of him, expression full of concern, brows upturned and mouth pressed into a thin line. "Dee, what... how... wh-why didn't you ever tell me?!"

"Tell you?! I didn't know myself until just now- don't look at me like that, th-this is a big shock for me too!" he has his arms wrapped around himself as if he could physically hold himself together. His optics flit from Orion to the other two behind him. Standing a safe distance away, and looking tense. Ready to run.

"Ok, so," Elita one refuses to let her hands shake, so she hops from foot to foot to work off the nervous energy, trying to appear ready. "What, are we, you know. Going to do?"

"We're taking this to Iacon-"

"Not that," she swats Pax's shoulder. "I mean about," her optics flick over toward D-16 meaningfully. "Him."

"Uh, I'm right here-"

"What do you mean, Elita?" Orion shifts closer to D-16. "I don't... why wouldn't he come with us?"

"Because he's one of them?! You want to bring one of those things straight to Iacon?!"

"I am right here-"

"Elita, what- he's not like them, he's- Dee and I, we've all been fri-"

"Ap-pup-pup!" She thrusts a silencing finger in his face. "Pax I have been extremely forgiving up til now, I didn't scrap you when you got me fired, I didn't slag you when you got me thrown off a train, I didn't even slag you or bigmouth back here when you dragged me onto this stupid quest. I am not, under any circumstances, letting you bring a morph to Iacon City!"

"I am RIGHT HERE!" D-16 suddenly bellows. "Stop acting like I'm not here! If you have a problem say it to my face!"

"Maybe I will!" Elita growls. "I don't know what you are exactly but I saw what your little brothers and sisters did back there, I am not gonna let you do the same thing to our home!"

"It's my home too, or did you forget that?! You're older than me, you were there the day I... came..." the silver mech's face suddenly goes slack, and he straightens up from the slight hunch he'd entered so they could yell at each other face to face. "Online. Wait..." a trouble shadow slides across his expression. "Did I come online? Or, was I... did I..."

If he's a cybermorph, then... that means he wasn't constructed cold. From the little they know, morphs are a techno-organic species. They can't be constructed cold. Where did he come from, then? From who did he come from? How did he come to be in Iacon in the first place?

[velvet-paradox]

Heartstrings (Part Three)

Heartstrings (Part Three) Pairing: Vessel x Female reader Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW, 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, there's some drug mentions, angst, Vessel hurts readers' feelings, he's caught between a rock and a hard place, some flashbacks, how Sleep slips into Vessel's life, mention of self harm and a reunion! Tagging: @synnersaint @megangovier20 @thesoundresoundsecho

ENJOY!!!

He couldn't remember whose idea it was to break into the city pool well after hours but you'd all hopped the iron fence, II had let you step on his back to get over the height of it. Trying to keep quiet was hard, you and the boys had gotten high an hour before which lead to you all splashing each other to cool down.

Someone else was there though.

Some girl that had caught Vessel's eye that spring had tagged along, he wasn't sure she'd get into the antics of maybe getting busted, but she joined just the same. Clinging to his arm while his besties floated or somersaulted beneath the chlorine.

He watched you float by as the girl rested her head on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm? Nothing's wrong."

The girl grunted. "I know we haven't hung out a whole lot, Ves but I can tell when something is bothering someone and you sir, are a bundle of nerves."

Vessel sighed with a shrug, focusing on III dunking IV. "It's nothing really. Don't worry about it."

She didn't press any further, which he was grateful for because how do you express to someone you're going steady with that all you care about is floating several feet from you, fully dressed without a care in the world? You didn't belong to him but in a way you did and he touched the necklace as an afterthought.

"That thing is so gaudy." She laughed and Vessel jumped as if she were made of fire, touching it. "Where'd you get it?"

"Y/N; she found it."

"Y/N found it and you wear it? What does it mean?"

It means everything.

"Uh well," Vessel started, his mind still a bit on the fuzzy side. "We play a game with it. She wears it for three days and I have to do whatever she says and then it's my turn."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You do whatever she says? What if she told you to jump in front of a moving car?"

Vessel snickered. "I have."

"And you just did it?!"

"Well to be quite fair, I deserved it. I did dare her to lay down on a set of train tracks until we heard a whistle."

"Oh my God!"

"It's all for fun though."

"Wait-- so only you two play the game, not them?" She pointed to the three boys attempting to play chicken and failing miserably.

"No. Just us."

"Sounds childish." She shrugged and got up from the bench, lighting up a joint of her own.

Was it? You two had been playing so long it just flowed easily, just something you did like take a shot, curse when a car cut you off, growl when you stubbed a toe. It was natural. But as he sat there, dry as bone on the pool bench he was a little upset.

Not with you and not necessarily at her either but the way she'd said like. Like he shouldn't be having fun, indulging like he was too old for playground games, even if he did enjoy them.

"Hey sourpuss," you said, splashing his shoes with water as your crossed your arms over the stucco concrete of the pool siding. Wet and glistening and smiling. "You comin' in or what?" ….

III knocked on the bedroom door, red wisps of memories dissipated entirely once the lankier man peeked inside. "You up?"

Vessel rolled over, having apparently fallen asleep as the bright light from the window was now setting beautifully below the horizon. He pushed himself up, still holding onto the necklace.

"Uh yeah man, what's up?"

"You got yerself a phone call, mate."

Vessel made his way downstairs, the boys made themselves scarce while he padded over to the tipped over receiver. smoky yellow with faded number pads. "H-hello?"

"Hello yourself."

Vessel gripped the bottom of the phone, his heart beating in his ears as if he were underwater.

"Ves? You there?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm uh I'm here. How are you? It's been awhile."

"I know," you apologized and Vessel couldn't help but coil the cord around his fingers. "It's been forever. I hope you're not mad I sent you the necklace."

"I'm not but-- wait. How do you get this number?"

"Ask II."

Jerk off, Vessel grumbled but stayed on the line. "I'm not surprised actually. I haven't held the necklace in so long, feels foreign but… familiar. I can't believe we wore that thing constantly."

"I know! We had some good times with it though. So uh… not to be pushy after all this time but-- would you be game?"

"What do you have in mind?" ….

"MARRRIED?! Y/N's getting fuckin' MARRIED?!" III freaked out, IV gasped and II didn't make a sound. "She can't. She can't marry some loser!"

"You don't know if he's a loser, III." Vessel grumbled, the blood was rushing and pooling in his head, clogging his ears and making him close his eyes to block out III's dramatics, with his fingers at his temples. He'd been laid up upside down for twenty minutes after your phone conversation. Vessel bit back tears at your excitement, squealing on your end with glee.

"Says you!" III exclaimed and stomped around the living room. His heart broke into fractions, little petals of his heart fell to his feet. Sleep tsked in the corner.

"You know good and God damn well brother, that she belongs with us. A falling out, sure, that can be mended but to marry off to someone she barely knows… I don't like it. Not one bit."

"By the sound of it you'd think it was you whose still in love with her."

The room fell insanely silent. All eyes were on Vessel when he cleared his throat.

"After all this time…"

"It's not that big of a deal, honestly."

"You shouldn't lie to them, my pretty little host," Sleep cooed and manifested right in front of Vessel's face, hanging there like a fly caught in a spiders' web. "You should tell them how badly you miss her, pine for her, that you've been waiting for her until the end of time. Y/N is your puzzle piece is she not?"

Vessel let out a shaky breath as the other guys chatted and made all kinds of accusations and scenarios. Maybe this was a cry for help, a plea, she was trapped maybe. That Stockholm Syndrome shit.

Something foul.

He may have told them you were engaged, someone had taken his place; that had been heartbreaking enough. What he didn't tell them was that you'd dared him to walk you down the isle, give you away, hand you off to some stranger.

Tears slipped out of his eyes and made tracks over his eyebrows and hairline as the boys continued to argue. Maybe he'd give in and fly out to see you, see for himself with his own blue eyes that you were in fact safe and in love and not grasping at straws for your past life.

Maybe. Maybe…

"Calm yourself now, Vessel. If you keep up that heartrate Y/N will be able to hear from the parking lot!" Sleep quipped in his ear, dangling over his shoulder like an afghan shawl on his grandmother's couch. Vessel did in fact let himself go, along with the other eepy's in tow, all just as excited to see you again. Three years is a very long time after all.

Three years of heartache and loneliness he'd turned into music, got those fragile pieces out of his nervous system, out on paper and murdered with ink. He thought about that journal entry when he'd caught you kissing IV, tear stained pen reminded him of too many things.

The accident.

Only it wasn't an accident. More like an incident you weren't meant to overhear and one that he horribly regretted.

….

"Take that ugly thing off."

"What?"

"That stupid necklace! You can't honestly tell me you think that thing looks good on you?"

Vessel frowned behind his homemade mask. It wasn't Tommy Hewitt levels of grotesque or made of human skin but he was experimenting with becoming more anonymous lately. You'd gotten him into another fight of sorts, the one left a gnarly scar on his cheek that made him more self-conscious than he had been before. Even if you did claim he would be more devil-may-care that way if he chose to show his face.

Red flags flew up and landed at his feet at her words. She was being nasty and for no good reason.

"I don't see the problem with it. Or why you have a problem with it." In the back of his house he'd followed her outside when you showed up, happy and full of spirit. Vessel remembered it had just began to rain and you had shook off your head and kicked away your boots.

She had a problem with you and he couldn't understand why.

"Because you blind idiot! She's in love with you and you wearing that God awful necklace every three fucking days isn't helping and it's driving me nuts!" She shouted.

Vessel didn't know what to say.

He'd never been yelled at like that before especially by a girlfriend!

"I'm going to say this very clearly now, alright?" She motioned with her hands, rearing on Vessel in the back garden like she was reprimanding some rotten child. "What means more to you? Me or some silly little necklace Y/N found messing around in dirt? Hmmm? You're an adult now Vessel, a man. A grown man playing foolish games with a foolish girl with a foolish promise. Soulmates don't exist, Vessel. Fate isn't real."

Vessel took his time, holding the beads and coins in his painted hands, memories, all fond and full of fun and fancy. "It's real to us."

"Us? You and Y/N… why are you wasting my time? If you love her so damn much why aren't with her instead?"

"I'm not… I'm not wasting time. I like you."

"But you love her."

"That's not that same thing and you know it."

"Do I, Vessel? What I do know is this," She stood toe to toe with him then, soft hands on his shoulders that felt like a fire poker in a blacksmiths' cool bucket. "Either you tell me and show me how much I mean to you and take that dirty thing off or you go on and tell her you want to be with her and let me go. I can't sit by here another day knowing your heart only belongs to her."

Vessel didn't like this. At all. Commitment, ultimatums, hard lines drawn in the sand. It made him nervous, edgy, uncomfortable.

Yet on the one hand he knew what she was saying. That's why she didn't like you. You were filling the position she had wanted. So Vessel clutched the necklace, determined not to hurt or maim either one of you with his action of pulling the coins over his head. She smiled and watched as he held it in his hands. He'd just put it right back on once she'd left anyway.

No harm no foul, right?

Only it was the worst thing he could've done in that moment. Save for what he told her next.

"There. See? It doesn't mean anything, just some thing lost in the dirt. "

"Is that true?"

Vessel's face dropped, clutching the thing in his hands and with a grimace turned to face you behind him at the back door.

"Y/N-- it's not what it looks like."

"Vessel…"

"It means nothing to you?" You asked, your voice a little watery as you stepped down into the garden, your eyes only on him. "Was it all just a game then? None of this is real? Are you even my friend?"

This was certainly real as he could feel his heart began to scramble and throb out of his chest, up his throat and threatened to lurch out of his mouth at any given second. He could see you cry, muffled words and actions, your hands up in the air in anger he'd never felt the wrath of. You were shouting at him, even louder than his girlfriend had been moments ago. There were other dark figures filling the space behind you as you cried.

Only when you'd snatched the necklace from his hands, did he suddenly come back to life.

"It's a mistake I'm sorry I'm sorry--"

"This means nothing now Vessel! You ruined it," you pointed, gripping it so tight he was scared you might break skin. You righted yourself, not bothering to wipe your wet face, lashes full of dewy tears as you spat on the ground with a shiver and sniffle. Your eyes were like lava, molten and insanely hot with purpose. "You ruined it. If this means nothing to you, none of it at all… then neither does this."

You could hear a pin drop.

A shattered mirror; broken glass on a stone floor.

Pain.

Vessel watched you grab both sides of the necklace and tear in two. Beads and coins fell to the wet ground. He couldn't believe it. He didn't mean to… but it was too damn late.

You double fisted what was left and before you left his house for the last time, crying and rushing past your friends, even as they called after you, you had said the one thing he'd replayed over and over in his mind for the last three years.

"Game. Over."

He kicked everyone out after that, needing to be alone was an understatement. He broke plates and windows, screamed out in agony for the tenth time, the thought of the police being called was fleeting. And honestly, he'd probably want them to take him. He'd held a shard of what was left of his bathroom mirror to the tender side of his wrist. Pushing it in just enough to let his nervous system alarm him. All he saw was red.

Viscous red.

"You'll regret that, you know?" A raspy voice sang out in the mess that was left of his bathroom, bloody knuckles spilled over black paint, under his nails as he gripped the shard tighter. Had someone broken in while he tore his house apart? An intruder? A vagrant? Vessel looked around but came up empty.

"What do you want?" Vessel asked behind the shower curtain, scared of what might greet him on the other side.

"I'm here to help, silly. You poor thing tsk tsk tsk, such anguish you're in. What peril, one wrong move and you'll be on the other side with no way to fix what it ahead of you."

Vessel stood up, back to the ugly green tiles of his shower. sticking out the glass the other way now. "What are you-- what are you saying?"

"I can help you," the raspy voice swirled and sounded like it was coming at him from every angle possible. Above, below, in both ears and out of his own throat as if he were talking out loud to himself. Even though his voice was nowhere near what he was hearing. "I am in need of a new host and you my boy, absolutely reek of perfection."

"Go away. Whoever you are."

"Are you sure, boy?"

Vessel fell over, slashing at the air when a blood red cat with six black eyes perched at the top of his shower curtain, swaying its' tail and tilting its' head at him. "Ah! What the fuck?!"

" 'ello Vessel."

"Ho-ow do you know me?"

"I've known you a long time my boy, you just didn't need me like you need me right now," the red cat disappeared and reappeared at his feet, hugging Vessel's legs, looking up with blinking black eyes. "Like I've said; I can help you. All you need to do is ask?"

"Ask? Ask what?"

"I am in need of a host, you believe in me and everything and I do mean everything you've desired will be yours. I know you've lost a friend, a true, honest and loyal friend this night. Pity."

"I can't lose her, please. If you'll bring her back to me I'll do whatever the fuck you want."

"Now now, no need to be vulgar, Vessel." The red cat leapt and floated up to Vessel's eye level, eyes blinking one at time before it outstretch its' paws to his forehead, or where his forehead would be behind his handmade mask. Inky eyes merging into one as he gave in, without question. "It's quite simple really. Become my host. Take me in, swallow me whole and accept what is given so freely."

"And in return?"

"You do as I say."

"And for me?"

The cats' grin was evil, sinister even, all fangs and obtusely sharp and dripping with desire. "I will keep a very close on Y/N, she'll be protected but only if you succumb to me. Be my host, be my arms and legs darling boy," the cat said its' name, an ancient deity of desire, once a pillar of hope and granted longing. "Become you're true form; become my vessel, Vessel." ….

"Think she looks the same?"

"Will we recognize her?"

"Will she recognize us?"

"Of course she will! You're pretty hard to miss all the way up there!" II jeered up at III, bags in hand as they made their way through the bustling airport. They got looks, that was to be expected with their faces concealed with balaclava's. Security would have a field day and detain them rather quickly if they wore their full gear.

"Knock it off or I'll make you even shorter, punk." III countered and made II trip.

A feral squeal erupted throughout the airport, everyone looked around, the crowd of people parted as if this were some choreographed event or some dance mob scenario because as the people began to part and step aside, grab their loved ones, their children, their service dogs… there you stood at the end of the airport.

You were jumping and waving your arms around frantically, motioning for them to come closer, to hurry up that you might combust.

"She looks so happy." Vessel mumbled nervously the closer they got to you, Sleep appeared on top of his head, dangling his little paws over Vessel's forehead.

"She's about to be a lot happier, my boy."

You grabbed II and hauled him into a giant hug, somehow getting him up off his feet for a millisecond, IV did manage to pick you up after cupping your face and patting your head. III swung you around like a ragdoll, all eyes wet with feelings and lost sands of time.

"There you are." You said once III set you down, stepping over a downed duffel bag and marched right up to Vessel, excited and thrilled to see him wearing the necklace, the trinket of years ago swaying against his chest.

You smelled the same, God you looked good and healthy. Your arms locked around his shoulders, raising yourself up on to your tip toes. You hugged him tighter until he returned the same generous embrace.

"I missed you so much." You admitted and that made Vessel shudder and heat through like an oven. "I have so much to tell you."

"I missed you too." Vessel whispered back and as he pulled away he was uncertain by the watery look in your eyes. He thought they were glossy from happiness but the way you sniffled, took his hand, pointing towards the open doors to the outside world beyond, he wasn't so sure.

[princesse-de-ravenclaw]

Champagne Problems (ii)

summary: Y/N Y/L/N has everything: a wealthy family, a famous last name, and the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding community as her soon to be husband. What happens when she’s reunited with a forbidden friend from the past?

tw: angst if you squint??

word count: 5,015

The next few weeks passed by dreadfully slowly, but eventually, September 1st rolled around and it was finally time for Y/N to go back to school. She was excited for the school year, but she had a lot on her mind. Once she boarded the train, Y/N passed compartment after compartment, waving hello to friends, but deciding to keep going until she found one that was empty. She shared a dorm with three other girls, this was going to be the last alone-time she got until Christmas. Her alone-time was short lived, however, when a knock came on the door to her cart and a familiar face showed itself through the window. Y/N smiled as Sirius opened the compartment door. “Need some company?” he he asked with a smirk. “I suppose I could handle that,” Y/N smiled and motioned for him to sit down.

“Don’t you have a group of friends to sit with?” Y/N asked as Sirius made himself comfortable. “Don’t you?” he quipped, raising and eyebrow. “I suppose. But I don’t always sit with the same group of people on every trip, either,” Y/N shrugged. “And here I thought you stopped paying attention to me in first year,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Trust me,” Y/N laughed, “I did. But your group has quite the reputation.” “Anyway, I dunno. I didn’t see any of them. Either I’m the first one on, or they’re farther down the line and if that’s the case, I’ll see them when we get to school,” Sirius shrugged. “How was the rest of your summer?” he asked. “Boring. Stressful. Otherwise, uneventful. How was yours?” she answered honestly. “It was pretty good, actually. I third-wheeled with Lily and James a lot, but we saw some really cool films, took a trip out to the beach, and then Mr. and Mrs. Potter went out of town so we had the whole house to ourselves, it was cool,” Sirius smiled fondly as he described the adventures he shared with his friends, and for a moment, Y/N wished she could have been there, too.

“Oi! There you are! We’ve been looking for you for-oh, hello,” James exclaimed as he and Lily barged into the compartment. “Um, hi,” Y/N smiled politely. “Y/N, right?” James asked. “Yeah. You’re James, and I’m guessing you’re Lily?” Y/N replied. “That’s us,” Lily smiled. “Pardon my boyfriend being rude, but do you mind if we sit with you?” Lily asked, nudging James who had already taken a seat. “Oh, shit, sorry,” James replied quickly. “Oh! Of course, please,” Y/N motioned to the seats and Sirius hopped up from his spot across from Y/N and moved over so he was sitting next to her. Lily took the window seat opposite Y/N and James sat next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders. An awkward silence settled over the four teens for a few minutes. “So, Y/N, how do you know Sirius?” Lily spoke up. “Oh, we grew up together. Our parents are close,” Y/N answered. “Oh,” Lily tried to hide her confusion. “We sort of fell out during first year because of.. um... I don’t know, my parents stopped liking him,” Y/N explained. “Hey, don’t feel too bad,” Sirius nudged her, “My parents stopped liking me around first year, too,” he joked, easing the tension and getting everyone to laugh.

“Bloody hell, you guys! I’ve been looking for you all morning!” A short boy with poorly styled hair opened the door to the compartment. “Wormtail! Nice of you to join us, mate!” James exclaimed, patting the open seat next to him. “I’m sorry, did you just call him a worm?” Y/N asked incredulously. “It’s an inside joke. That’s Peter. Pete, this is Y/N,” Sirius introduced them, and Peter seemed to see Y/N for the first time. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Hello!” “Nice to meet you,” Y/N smiled at him and then glanced out the window. Definitely no alone time on this train ride. But it could be fun. Sirius has just been telling her about all the good times he had with these people, maybe Y/N would have a good time with them as well. Just a few minutes later, the whistle blew and the train was on its way to Hogwarts.

The train rolled on, and the teens chatted amongst themselves, catching up on what they had done over the summer. Y/N remained quiet, unless to answer a question. She felt nervous, for some reason, to be around Sirius’s friends. They were nice, and even funny, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel out of place. After about an hour and a half, the compartment door opened. “These prefect meetings get more and more boring every-oh, hello, Y/N,” Remus said as he plopped down in the seat next to Sirius. “Hi, Remus,” Y/N smiles politely. “You two know each other?” Sirius asked incredulously. “Yeah, we’ve had classes together. Last year we were paired together in advanced potion making,” Remus shrugged. “Well I’ll be damned,” James laughed. “I do talk to other people outside of you lot, you know,” Remus taunted. “You’re kidding! Since when are we allowed to have other friends?” James asked dramatically, earning laughs from all of the teens. And so they joked, and laughed the whole way to the school; and while Y/N felt like she was intruding on their time together, the marauders had already begun accepting her as one of their own.

-

After the sorting ceremony, Y/N went straight to her dorm- the first feast of the year always left her exhausted, she suspected it was all the rich food in her belly. She planned to change into her most comfortable pajamas and curl up with Desdemona before drifting off into a much needed sleep. Y/N was almost able to go through with her plan, too, but what she hadn’t accounted for was that her roommates would also skip the festivities and come straight to the dorm as well, eager to hear all about Y/N’s engagement party. “Y/N, Y/N!” they exclaimed. “We looked for you at dinner but we couldn’t find you, you have to tell us all about the engagement party!” her roommate, Ellie, exclaimed. “Did Amelia Rosehart really design your dress?” Dawn asked. “Let us see the ring!” Cynthia squealed. “It was very nice,” Y/N started. “Amelia did design my dress, and styled my hair and makeup. I looked like a completely different person. We just answered a lot of questions about the wedding plans and had dinner, and then everyone left and Peter and I had a good talk,” she explained.

“I can’t believe you’re marrying Peter Williams, you’re living my dream,” Dawn declared as she plopped into her bed. “Isn’t he so wonderful? Is he funny? I always imagined him being funny,” she gushed. “He’s nice, yeah. And I dunno, I suppose he’s moderately funny. I’ve met funnier people,” Y/N shrugged, “But then again we didn’t talk that much.” “What about the ring? The ring!” Ellie reminded her. “Oh, right. Here you go,” Y/N held her left hand out for the girls to inspect, and Dawn nearly fell out of her bed trying to leap over to see the ring. It was massive, honestly. In the center, there was a large, oval shaped diamond. Around that, there was a small band of emeralds outlining the diamond, and then smaller circular diamonds around the gold band. Y/N felt ridiculous wearing it at school, but her parents insisted she wear it. They believed it would show everyone how well off the family was going to be.

“Was it his grandmothers?” Cynthia asked excitedly. “His great-grandmother’s, and then his grandmother’s, and then his mother’s,” Y/N told them. “Merlin’s beard, it must go back to the 1800s!” Dawn cried. “1897, yeah. His great-grandfather had it custom made for his great-grandmother, and then they passed it down the line of the oldest siblings in the family,” Y/N confirmed. “Godric, it’s nearly a hundred years old and it looks brand new!” Ellie’s exclaimed. “Every time it got passed down it was repaired, plus they expect me to have it cleaned every eight weeks,” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “And the party, was it extravagant?” Cynthia asked. “It was.. tasteful. The whole mansion was decorated, and we had a team of chefs come in from France, the food was magnificent, by the way, and yeah.. It was good,” Y/N nodded. “Godric, Y/N, you are so lucky!” Ellie yawned as she climbed into her bed. “I suppose I am,” Y/N agreed as she picked up Desdemona and snuggled up in her blankets. Desdemona’s purrs soon lulled Y/N into a much needed sleep.

The next day, Y/N woke up before her dorm mates to have a shower before the day officially started. She liked the girls, she really did, but she was in no mood to talk more about the Williamses or the party. She returned to her dorm and got ready as quietly as possible before slipping out at heading down to the great hall for breakfast. She passed Sirius and James as she walked in, and she and Sirius exchanged smiles and small waves before she found an empty table to sit at to have a quiet breakfast. Thoughts of her future tangled with thoughts of her upcoming classes, and as Y/N looked down at her empty bowl, she realized that she had forgotten to even taste her oatmeal. She supposed it didn’t matter, it was time to head to her first lesson anyway. She grabbed an apple to snack on later, and made her way to the Transfigurations classroom.

Y/N took a seat in the middle of the classroom and let her thoughts consume her while she had a little while before the lesson started. She was ripped away from her thoughts when the chair next to her scraped across the floor. “This seat taken?” Y/N was surprised to find Sirius holding onto the chair next to hers. “Uh, it is now. Please, sit,” Y/N answered with a smile. Y/N hadn’t had a class with Sirius in a few years, she suspected because he tended to slack off whereas she was one of the top students of their year. “Well imagine that, I put in a little extra effort last year and got moved up into the class with the smart people,” Sirius laughed as he set his belongings down. “Yeah, see what happens when you actually put that brain in there to use,” Y/N teased, lightly tapping on his forehead. At the table behind them, Lily raised an eyebrow and looked to James questioningly. James just shrugged in response.

-

Y/N’s next class was charms, where she took a seat next to Dawn, and was saved by professor Flitwick’s speech cutting off any questions Dawn could have asked. The class itself was pretty uneventful, as Flitwick somehow got distracted and ended up telling the class about his entire summer, instead of starting an actual lesson. When the class ended, Y/N elected to wander the halls for a little bit instead of going straight to her next lesson. She had learned last year that if she was the first to arrive to class, Professor Binns would trap her in a horrendously boring story that conveniently would not end until it was time for class to start. So, she took her time, strolling into the History of Magic classroom just before the door shut signaling for class to begin. Her eyes scanned the room for a place to sit, and she was pleasantly surprised to see Sirius seated in the back of the classroom with an open seat next to him.

“Mind if I sit here?” She whispered as she set her bag down. “Course not, take a seat, friend,” Sirius smiled. “We’re friends again?” Y/N asked him with a slight tilt of her head. “Well, we sit together in two classes and I enjoy the conversations we share, so yeah I suppose we are,” Sirius shrugged. “Is that okay?” he asked. Y/N grinned, “Yeah, that’s okay.” Sirius smiled in return before turning his attention to the front of the room where Binns had started his lesson. Professor Binns was extremely passionate about his job, and Y/N knew that. She tried to listen closely and give him her full attention, more so because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings than actually caring about what he had to say, but he had the most monotonous voice she had ever heard, and the lesson was just so bloody boring. It didn’t help either that James and Sirius were using a golden snitch to pass notes back and forth, either. Finally, Y/N caved in and turned to Sirius.

“Please tell me you’re exchanging cheesy jokes, I’m so bored I’m going to lose my mind,” she whispered. “Almost. James and I are trying to find an animal that best describes Binns. James thinks he’s most like a tortoise but I think that’s too obvious,” Sirius leaned in to tell her, sliding the wrinkled parchment to her. An idea popped into Y/N’s head and with a smirk, she lifted her quill. I think he’s most like a naked mole-rat. He’s wrinkly as hell and is so engrossed in his job that he kept doing it after he died, she wrote. Sirius leaned over her should to read what she was writing and laughed out loud, quickly covering it with an obnoxiously loud cough. He folded the parchment up and stuffed it inside the snitch before sending it back over to James. When James read the parchment, he let out one loud laugh but quickly composed himself before sliding it over to Remus who’s shoulders shook as he chuckled silently. James took the paper down and scribbled another note to pass back to Sirius. She’s in. See if she wants to come to Hogsmeade with us on Saturday.

-

The week sped by as Y/N nervously awaited the weekend. She really liked Sirius’s friends, but her family had a long history and a bad reputation, and they all had every right to despise her for that. Y/N held completely different beliefs than even her own parents, but the legacy her family name held still filled her with guilt. She almost felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for them to realize that they didn’t actually want her around. Y/N elected to wake up early and go to the great hall as soon as Saturday breakfast began. The hall was nearly empty, as most of the students preferred to sleep in on the weekends.

She sat alone and piled her plate with fruit, but instead of eating, she just sat there, trying to calm her nerves and prepare for the day. By the time the rest of the students began showing up for breakfast, Y/N realized that she wasn’t hungry, and she decided to take her uneaten food out to the forbidden forrest. She wasn’t expected to meet Sirius and his friends in Hogsmeade until 10:30, she had plenty of time. On her way out of the great hall, Y/N passed Sirius and Remus, giving them a quick smile before ducking her head and slightly speeding up her pace. Sirius and Remus looked at one another, and Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Remus beat him to it. “Go on. We’ll see you in Hogsmeade,” he told Sirius. Sirius grinned before turning to follow after Y/N.

When he finally caught up with her, Y/N had just found a place that she decided was deep enough into the Forbidden Forest. “You know, I’m pretty sure Hagrid comes out here to feed the creatures every night,” Sirius spoke up, “You don’t have to sacrifice your breakfast to them.” “I already had it on my plate, and I decided I wasn’t hungry. Didn’t want it to go to waste,” Y/N shrugged. “Plus, I like the animals,” she said, as a little rabbit hopped up and ate one of the berries she had tossed on the ground. Sirius chuckled at the bunny as he stepped closer to Y/N to see the little animals scurrying around the fruit. “What are you doing out here?” Y/N smiled as she turned to him. Y/N was terrified that Sirius was going to snap out of it and realize that she came from everything he hated, but at the same time his presence always made her feel so comfortable. “Wanted to come check on you. You seemed a little off leaving the great hall,” He answered honestly.

“Oh, I’m okay. Just wanted to spend a little time outdoors,” Y/N flashed him a positive smile. Sirius didn’t respond for a minute. “Did you know that your voice changes when you’re trying to be pleasant?” He finally asked her. “What do you mean?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Your voice gets higher and you nearly over-annunciate your words so that you sound more confident than you’re necessarily feeling,” he shrugged. “I noticed it at the engagement party, and most of the time when you talk to James, and Lily, and Peter.” “Oh.. I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Y/N started. “Y/N you’re not obligated to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, either. I just want you to know that you don’t have to put on a front for any of us. And I don’t want to you to feel like you have to, either,” he assured her. “You don’t have to be ‘The Daughter of the Y/L/N Family, you can just be Y/N with us.”

“Sirius, I’m so nervous around your friends. I’ve been playing the role of Y/N Y/L/N for so long that I don’t think I even know who ‘just Y/N’ is. And everyone else is fine with the front, but your friends are all so true to themselves, and what they believe in. I just feel like they’re bound to realize that I don’t deserve the kind of friendship they give. I don’t know how to be around people and be relaxed and just roll with the punches,” Y/N admitted. “Hey. We all know that you are nothing like your parents. And they already like you, I can guarantee they aren’t going to change their minds. Plus, I like to think that you’ve been pretty relaxed and honest with me these last few weeks,” Sirius offered.

“I’ve known you my whole life, of course I’m comfortable around you. I don’t think that counts,” Y/N counted. “Oh, it counts,” Sirius decided, earning a laugh from Y/N. “Really though, don’t get so into your head, you’re great, just being yourself,” he assured her. Y/N gnawed on the inside of a cheek for a moment before lurching to the side in order to squeeze Sirius in a quick hug. “Thanks,” she told him, avoiding his gaze. Sirius grinned and nudged her with his shoulder, “Any time.” “Oh, Merlin! We’ve got to be late going to Hogsmeade! I had only planned on being out here for a few minutes,” Y/N scrunched up her face. “That’s alright,” Sirius assured her, “I know a shortcut, come with me.”

Sirius led Y/N back to the castle, up to the third floor, to the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. “Dissendium,” he said softly, and the statue opened up to reveal a tunnel. “What in the-“ Y/N blurted, but Sirius gave her an exasperated look and she cut herself off. “What in Merlin’s beard is this?” she whispered aggressively. Sirius motioned for her to go down the stairs and she reluctantly began making her way down, Sirius following and immediately falling into step next to her. Once they were a few steps down, the statue closed back up, Y/N stopped to look back but Sirius kept walking and Y/N determined that it did what it was supposed to do and caught back up with him. “It’s a secret passageway,” Sirius told her. “There are loads of them around the castle. This one leads to Honeydukes’s cellar, where I figure everyone will be because Remus likes to stock up on chocolate on the first trip of the term,” He said. “How do you know where they are?” Y/N asked him in amazement. “We... do a lot of things that aren’t homework,” Sirius shrugged. “I’m gonna let it go for now, but I definitely want to see some of the other passageways,” Y/N told him. Sirius grinned and agreed before picking up his pace a little bit.

By the time Sirius and Y/N climbed up the stairs from the cellar into Honeydukes shop, the marauders were still browsing the selections of sweets. “Hello all, we made it!” Sirius announced as he approached James and slung his arm around him. “Wow, Sirius is late, who would have expected this to happen?” Remus commented in a monotonous tone, earning laughter from James, Lily, and Peter. “Would have been on time but I got distracted by Y/N out in the forbidden forest trying to sneak a bowtruckle into her pocket!” Sirius grinned. “You know, I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went,” Y/N quipped. “I think the most important question here is: do you actually have a bowtruckle in your pocket?” James asked her. “Unfortunately, I do not. I actually was wanting to get a few to live in my garden at home but my mother thinks they’re vermin and forbade it,” Y/N admitted.

“No problem, here’s the plan: We find a bowtruckle for you. We spend the entire year training it to play camouflage and be still when other humans come in the garden, and boom-your parents will never even notice it,” James proposed. Y/N was taken aback at his willingness to help her at the drop of a hat, but she tried not to show it. “Do you really think that will work?” she asked him. “Of course! Bowtruckles are very intelligent,” James shrugged. “Plus, your mother doesn’t pay much attention to things that she deems unnecessary,” Sirius added. “Sirius!” Lily scolded. “Oh, no, it’s okay! He’s totally right,” Y/N assured Lily with a laugh. “She’s been in my conservatory maybe three times, and all she ever does is glance around and say ‘it looks nice, dear,’” Y/N over-corrected her posture and did an exaggerated impression of her mother. “As long as it didn’t move around, she would probably just see green and think it belongs there,” Y/N added.

“Sounds doable,” Remus shrugged, “When do we want to start?” he asked. “Do you all really want to do this?” Y/N asked, looking to each of them. “It does sound fun,” Lily nodded. “Plus, I love any excuse to piss off parents,” Sirius smirked. “I think we’re all in,” Peter added. “Alright,” Y/N smiled. “Maybe we can skip lunch in the great hall tomorrow and bring our food out to the forbidden forest instead?” Y/N suggested. “It could be like a picnic and a mission all in one.” “Oh, I think lunch in the forest would be lovely!” Lily exclaimed. “Lunch tomorrow, then. Operation Bowtruckle is a-go!” James declared. Y/N grinned as the group split up to finish picking out their sweets.

“I can’t believe they just decided to up and help me like that,” Y/N told Sirius as she picked up a tin of lemon-sherbets. “I told you, they like you already. Plus, we all love a good mission,” Sirius smiled and nudged her shoulder with his. “I’m really excited, it sounds fun. Plus, I think it’ll be a nice way to stick it to my family once the school year ends,” Y/N admitted, “It’s not harmful in any way, but it’s slightly petty and I think it’ll make me feel a little better.” “I personally don’t think it’s enough to make up for them selling your freedom, but if it makes you feel better about it than it’s a start,” Sirius shrugged. Y/N froze at his words but quickly snapped herself out of it, hoping that Sirius wouldn’t notice, but he did.

“I... I didn’t mean it like that,” Sirius told her softly. “It’s okay, really-“ Y/N tried to stop him but he cut her off. “I just mean that they’re asking a lot of you, and sneaking in a two-inch leaf creature isn’t nearly on the same scale of sacrifice,” He told her. “No, you’re right. I just don’t really have any other way to rebel so I’m doing what I can,” Y/N shrugged and gave a light laugh, and Sirius could tell she didn’t want to pursue the topic any further. “Maybe we can train it to be very stealthy and sneak around your house making noises to mess with your mum?” Sirius joked, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “What,” Y/N laughed, “You want to use a bowtruckle to gaslight my parents into thinking the manor is haunted?” Sirius joined in her laughter for a moment before shaking his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of rodents in the walls but I like where your mind is,” Sirius told her, and they both burst into laughter again. “You’re crazy, Sirius Black,” Y/N laughed as she shook her head.

The teenagers finished picking out their sweets and the group reconvened outside of Honeydukes. “Anyone fancy a trip to Zonko’s?” Remus offered. “I actually need to go to Scrivenshaft's for a new quill,” Lily replied. “Oh, I wanted to get some parchment and quills for journaling!” Y/N agreed. “The boys always lose their heads in Zonko’s anyway. Y/N, why don’t you and I go get our supplies and leave them to their toys,” Lily flashed Y/N a wink as all of the marauders began to protest. “They aren’t toys!” Peter cried. “We’re planning chaos!” Sirius protested. “Yes, I can see what you mean. They’re obviously very passionate about the pranks,” Y/N laughed, “I’d love to join you, Lily.” And with that, the group split into two.

“So you said that you and Sirius grew up together?” Lily asked as the girls made their way through Hogsmeade. “Yeah, our parents are good friends so we spent a lot of time together as children. Shortly after the start of first year my parents wrote me a letter saying that Sirius was becoming too much of a troublemaker and that I wasn’t to see him anymore,” Y/N admitted. “And that was just… it?” Lily asked. There was no judgment in her question, just complete surprise. “That was it. The society we grew up in, what Sirius did is almost unheard of. We’re trained from birth to listen to our parents and be upstanding members of the community. If our parents tell us that we aren’t to associate with someone, we never see them again. Image and status are everything to them,” Y/N told her.

“So what changed?” Lily asked, opening the door to Scrivenshaft's and holding it for Y/N to enter. “I don’t know, I ran into Sirius at my engagement party over the summer and I was a little bit miserable. Sirius was the only one who noticed, and we talked and, I don’t know, it was nice to have a genuine conversation with someone. It was like no time had passed and I realized that I missed him. That’s sort of crazy, isn’t it?” Y/N laughed nervously. “That’s not crazy at all, everyone needs friends that they can depend on, and Sirius is a good one,” Lily smiled. “But let’s back up just a tad… You’re engaged?” Lily asked incredulously. “Yes. Well, sort of. I mean… Yes. My parents promised me to the son of another family when we were children. Now we’re to be married when the school year ends,” Y/N explained. “Y/N that’s… heavy,” Lily stopped rummaging through shelves to look at Y/N. “Oh, it’s alright. Peter seems nice, and financially well off, and I’ve been prepared for this for years so it’s okay,” Y/N nodded and Lily didn’t want to press on.

“But you and Sirius seem to have reconnected without a hitch,” Lily offered. “Oh, yeah absolutely. It’s weird how we’ve only just picked up again and he already seems to know me better than my family and my other friends,” Y/N pondered. A knowing glimmer shone in Lily’s eyes and she just nodded as Y/N began looking for the parchment she needed. Lily stood pondering for a moment before catching up with Y/N. She decided it was best to not press on and changed the subject. “That’s the best parchment for personal writing, I think. Do you write?” Lily asked her. “I like to write out my feelings, mostly. Sometimes I write poetry, but that’s pretty much the same thing only in a stuck-up way,” Y/N laughed, “What about you?” “I don’t think poetry is stuck up at all, I think it’s beautiful! And I like to journal, write about my day, things to preserve memories, you know?” Lily replied. Y/N smiled, “I think that’s brilliant. I’ll have to try that-writing down my favorite memories from the day.”

“I’d love to read more poetry,” Lily pondered aloud. “Oh, I could recommend you some books! My parents had me reading poetry my whole life to improve my prose, that’s how I got into writing it,” Y/N offered. “I would love that! What else do you like to read?” Lily asked. “Old stuff, mostly,” Y/N admitted with a laugh, “Shakespeare, Dickens, Brontë, Wilde, stuff like that.” “All good, yes, but hear me out: modern sci-fi, or if that’s a little too much for you, some romance?” Lily suggested. “I’d be open to both, honestly,” Y/N nodded. “How about we do a book swap? Every Sunday we meet in the library and pick out a book for the other to read-You pick out a poetry book for me, I pick something modern and muggle for you, and then the following Saturday we can talk about the books!” Lily exclaimed. “Lily Evans, I think we’re going to be very good friends,” Y/N grinned as she tossed her arm around Lily’s shoulders and the girls made their way to the counter.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 15: Stop, You're Losing Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael needs a stapler, but you realize too late that you told him to check all the drawers on your desk, and he finds something you never wanted him to see.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, protective Michael

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: I wanted to wait with finishing posting this, but I had a really shit day and I probably won’t get to write for this series for a while now, anyway, so this might be the only Mikey snippet you get to see for a while :( My life’s all over the place and once I pass my last final (which I’m counting on) there is a lot more stress coming toward me. Mikey is gonna move to the background a bit. But it also gives everyone time to catch up with the updates. That being said though, the angst train has arrived. Hop on!

You settle in at home later that night, pizza cartons in front of you both as you indulge in the dinner you agreed on that you would have. 

You’re happily chewing on your breadsticks and sipping your wine while Michael is having a glass of water (when he told you he doesn’t drink, you reminded him that he did when he came to visit you at the café the night you were both having a bad time, and he told you that he decided not to drink anymore after that, so you let him be). 

Work wasn’t as exhausting with him there. You had fun. And when you saw him and Sarah talking about your little spider incident, you found yourself smiling because you could tell she was trying to accept him, and Michael was kind enough to respect her boundaries.

Whatever happened between them while you were getting milk, you’re not sure, but you’re glad they found common ground. Whatever that ground might be. She doesn’t know everything about you, so she couldn’t have shared truths about you that you don’t want him to know. Whatever they talked about, it doesn’t matter because you’re happy now. 

You watch Michael as he eats, his hair standing in all possible directions; he ran his hand through it a few times before, trying to ease the tension in his scalp. He did a lot of heavy work before prison, in prison, and with Amanda, but today has been exhausting in a much different way–positively so. His bones ache, but he feels good about it, and that makes the soreness and the exhaustion so much more rewarding. 

He looks endearing like this. Even though he’s slightly sweaty, disheveled, and tired, he is still so endlessly beautiful to you. Like an antique vase adorned ihr paintings not many understand; that’s what his scars are too you, and everything else he might hate about himself.

He looks content–happy, almost–and you want nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. He deserves to feel this way more than anyone else in this godforsaken world, you think. He deserves to be loved and happy, and he deserves to move on the way he wants to.

You reach for one of the breadsticks and point it in his direction. “Breadstick?” you ask. 

He snaps out of his thoughts, smiling tiredly at you as he leans on his hand. “That’s the last one,” he says. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering.”

“They’re yours.”

“You want it or not?”

“You’re still hungry–”

“Want me to feed it to you?” You get up. “You know I will.”

Michael chuckles. You approach him with the breadstick, your lips curled up into a smile. His eyes meet yours. “Ya really gonna feed me?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. 

You shrug. “You look a bit tired, I'm just trying to help.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then why do you act like one?”

With a playful huff, he opens his mouth slightly. You hold the breadstick in front of him, pretending to contemplate for a moment before bringing it closer, closer, and just as it reaches his lips, you swiftly pull it back. “Hmm, or maybe I changed my mind,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Playin' hard to get with a breadstick now, are we?” he retorts. “Tha’s low, love, even for you.”

You giggle and give in, bringing the breadstick back to his waiting lips. He takes a bite, savoring the flavor, and you can't help but feel a surge of affection for the man sitting in front of you.

“Taste good?” you ask.

Nodding, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. You chuckle. As soon as he has successfully swallowed, you lean down to press a kiss to his lips that are still oily from the grease of the pizza, and you both taste like garlic and onions, but he’s still too sweet to resist.

You hold his head up with your finger under his chin, tugging a little at his beard, and he deepens the kiss. Your finger moves from his chin to his cheek now, and you pull him flush against you. His hand strokes leisurely over your back, and you sigh happily into his mouth. 

Breaking the kiss for a quick breath, you rest your forehead against his. His hand is tangled in your hair now, gently massaging your scalp. It’s an instant snooze button for you. You could fall asleep like this in his arms and it wouldn’t matter, but you’re sweaty and your mouth tastes like pizza, so you eventually need to clean up. For now, though, you can rest together at the table, and share some more kisses until one of you starts getting drowsy enough to cut it short. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. 

He nuzzles his nose against yours. “I love ya too,” Michael murmurs. 

You press your lips on his cheek. “I love you,” – you kiss his other cheek – “I love you,” and you continue pressing your lips all over his face until his nose scrunches and he giggles when it tickles.

“You know what I do?” you ask.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck. “Let me guess,” he says, “ya love me?”

“Mhm, I love you.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Michael lets out a soft sigh when you start stroking his hair, and another confession slips past your lips, followed by the same three words as many times as you can say them, and he returns them every single time. 

Eventually, you start yawning. “We should get washed up,” you tell him. 

He kisses your collarbone. “Yeah, we should.”

“Did you fill out all the insurance forms?”

“Yeah.”

“And your forms for the solicitor; got them, too? I don’t remember what they’re called.”

He nods again. 

He got an appointment with his solicitor fairly quickly after he begged the secretary to put him through. He feels good about his chances in the case with Anna–a case that isn’t even a real case yet–he just needs a professional to tell him if he’s right. He needs to hear that he’s not getting his hopes up but that he actually has a chance.

The past few meetings had been awful, but he feels more positive this time around because he has proof of his efforts to be better now, and you promised you would vouch for him if someone required proof that he is in a relationship–you promised you would provide all he needs you to provide and more, and he’s thankful for that.

Michael offers you a soft smile. The forms are on the living room table; he left them there after filling them out while you were waiting on your food and you decided it would be a good idea to clean your cupboards–he wasn’t allowed to help.

“Yeah, I just need to staple ‘em,” he says. “I’ll take care of it when I’m home.”

You rub your eyes. “Or you could use mine,” you say.

“Or I could do tha. That’d be grand.”

You get off his lap and make your way to the living room with Michael in tow. “It’s in one of the drawers on my desk. Knock yourself out.”

You’re not conscious, you can’t be because if you had been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have offered him to check your desk for a stapler, let alone your drawers, instead of doing it yourself.  

Michael moves over to your desk. There is no stapler on the top, so he pulls open the first drawer. The one with the lock. He doesn’t think about it at the moment because it opens, but then he feels the lock on the outside and he remembers all the times he watched you lock it in the morning before you left for work.

Your eyes widen. “Not that drawer!” you call out, but it’s too late.

You made a mistake and now his eyes are focused right on the newspaper clippings and brown paper file you are so careful to keep locked away at all times.

You forgot to lock it and it’s your fault he‘a seeing them now, but you still find yourself feeling so violated. This is your privacy and he is staring directly at it, not moving an inch away from it. He doesn’t pretend he didn’t see them; he stares at the contents as if he has every right to.

It starts slowly breaking your frozen heart. It doesn’t thaw, it breaks, and ice is a vulnerable state of consistency. Either it melts or it breaks, and when it breaks, it hurts. You’re fragile. This is hurting you–he is hurting you–and the glass shards start digging into your soul as they nick artery after artery.

Michael’s eyes fall inside the drawer, and it’s then that he realizes that your secrets run even deeper than the phone call he overheard–they run deeper than anything he could have expected and more. It’s earth-shattering, to say the least. 

He takes the papers out of the drawer, his fingers tracing over the brittle newspaper clippings. But there is more where it came from. 

“Love,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “What is this?”

He doesn’t want to accuse you of anything. He wants to give you a moment to explain, to tell him what you’re hiding and who hurt you, but when his eyes fall on you, he is met with a brick wall. 

‘3-year-old killed in a car crash’

‘Car accident leaves 3-year-old dead, two more injured and police baffled’

‘What really happened on December 13th?’

And the file he’s holding carries your last name. The first name, he doesn’t recognize, but the surname is undoubtedly yours. There is a post-it on one of the pictures; a little girl next to a bigger yet still little girl. Eleanor, it reads, with the year 2015 written underneath it. He was still in jail back then.

Six years ago. 

Your eyes are glued on the papers he’s holding, and his shock mixes with yours. 

“You weren’t supposed to find this,” you whisper. 

“What the hell happened?” Michael asks. His eyebrows furrow and his hazel eyes fill with the purest form of concern, and when you look into them, your heart tears open a little more. “Why– who is Eleanor?” He asks out of genuine curiosity, which is precisely the problem. 

You snap out of your daze, and the trap snaps shut around your ankle as the steel curtain closes, trying to keep the smoldering fire out.

You tear the file from his hands, hugging it tightly to your chest. The wolves are circling in on you and you have nowhere to run. The walls of your apartment start caving in. The ticking of the clock sounds deafeningly loud in your ear, the voices screaming out of every corner of your mind, and you just want to scream.

You want to scream because it hurts so much, and yet you can’t ask for help or talk about it because there is still a part of you inevitably holding you back. You’ve been forced to shoulder it alone from the beginning, and now that Michael caught a glimpse of the truth, you feel like he has torn the bandaid off your scars, but they weren’t fully healed yet, so you’re bleeding out internally all over again until you die a slow and agonizing death. 

His eyes soften and he takes a step forward. He knows he crossed a line, but he couldn’t help it. It was instinct to grab the documents. He had hoped you would tell him, but he should have known that you would start feeling cornered by him. You’re not the most open person out there; you remind him of a frightened deer, almost, and he is supposed to protect you from heartbreak rather than cause it. But here you are, close to crying, and you curl in on yourself. 

“I didn't mean to–” he whispers. “God, I’m so sorry, love. I wasn’t thinkin’…”

You shake your head, hugging the files tighter. He knows too much. The more he knows, the more danger he is in. The more he knows, the more vulnerable you grow. And the more he knows, the more real the truth becomes and it starts eating you alive the same way it did four years ago. You wanted nothing more than to be happy. You were happy for a moment, but it was torn from you in an instant.

A few seconds is all it took for everything to change. 

“But–“ he takes a deep breath, finding some composure left in him. “If you talked to me, I could help ya.” Michael’s hazel eyes hold a hopeful glint that hits you like a knife. “I know ya’ve been hidin’ some things from me and I get it, but… if yer in danger,” he says, “I need to know. Ya don’t have to carry everythin’ alone. You told me tha.”

You bite your lip. “You shouldn’t have opened that drawer,” you say. 

Silent anger. He knows your defensive response all too well. 

“I was just lookin’ for a stapler,” he reminds you softly. “Ya told me to, remember? For my documents. I didn’t mean ta– I would never invade yer privacy on purpose.”

Not on purpose and especially not out of malicious intent.

He thought about it, but thinking and doing are two entirely different things. He’s not that type of person. You’re supposed to know that. You know him better than he knows himself, but right now, neither of you seems to have really known the other. Or so it feels like, anyway.

Michael is defeated, and now he is the one cornered because curiosity got the better of him. He should have ignored it.

“It wasn’t your place,” you repeat. “You weren’t supposed to find it.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He takes another step forward, his hand reaching for you as he tries to pull you back from the edge, but you recoil. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” he says. “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s alright, but… but this seems serious, love. Please, talk t’me. At least tell me that yer safe or- or that I’m overreactin’, and I promise, I’ll drop it. Just please…Give me somethin’, anythin’, to know yer alright and this isn’t as serious as I think it is.”

Your jaw tightens. You’re being unfair, and you know that before you even open your mouth, but you’re raging inside, you curse yourself and the world and your father, and you think about Maya and all that you could lose, and you can’t do this to him. He was never meant to find out, especially not like this; that’s on you and you alone. 

If you had put in just a little more effort, or if you hadn’t let him in in the first place…

“You know you shouldn’t have seen that,” you say, your tone growing a lot more stern. “You know you shouldn’t have seen it and yet you took it out. I told you, I struggle with commitment, with trust, and you abused it! Michael–”

“Hey,” he interrupts you. He doesn’t raise his voice, but he matches your tone. “I was worried,” he repeats. “I was worried ‘bout ya, that’s all. You can’t blame me for wantin’ the woman I love to be safe. That’s not fair.”

“It wasn’t your place!” your broken voice roars across the room. “You violated my trust. You could have just let it be. You–” You break off to take a deep breath. The lump in your throat gets stuck.

You want nothing more than to step forward, fall into his arms and cry, but you’re stuck. You are physically unable to move, and it is all your fault. 

“I could tell somethin’ was off,” Michael takes another step toward you, “and I’m sorry for lettin’ my curiosity get the better o’ me. I know this is your life and your privacy–believe me, I do–but… somethin’ isn’t right here. Something’s botherin’ you. I told ya, I’d do anythin’ to protect ya. I wasn’t jokin’ when I said tha, pet.“

Something about the look in his eyes tells you that he was honest then and he is just as honest now. Deadly serious.

But you’re too caught up in whatever poison is infecting your bloodstream with its ideology to see things clearly. “No,” you whisper. “This fucks up everything.”

“What does it fuck up? Tell me.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t… you weren’t supposed to happen, but you did anyway, and so I tried keeping it from you, but I failed again, and now everything’s so fucking fucked up. Fuck!”

“Yer not makin’ any sense right now. What’s goin’ on? Talk t’me, please. I can see yer hurtin’ and it breaks my heart–“

You take a step back when he comes even closer. “No,” you say.

“Does it have anythin’ to do with your sister?” he asks, and by now, he’s not even trying to hide what he did anymore. “When she called ya this mornin’ and you went to your bedroom to talk. Does tha have anything to do with it?”

“What?” You look up to meet his eyes.

He didn’t… did he? You were being careful. You went into a different room. You whispered. You made sure he wouldn’t hear. 

Did he hear you? If he did, you’re beyond fucked, and the worst part would be that he kept it to himself the whole day without admitting it to you. 

Liar, a voice in your head calls, and your defenses become stronger, the alarm blaring and you want nothing more than to run. 

Michael takes a deep breath. The guilt in his eyes is answering enough for you, but you are too stiff to move anywhere, and he is coming closer by the second.

“I wanted to check on ya ‘cause ya didn’t look alright, and I overheard the phone call with your sister,” he admits. “I didn’t mean ta, but… I did.”

“Oh, my God!” Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you swear you can feel your heart stop. 

So he knows. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough to draw conclusions, and now that he’s found the file, he knows even more, and your whole life suddenly crumbles at your feet like paper that has burned to ashes. It hurts, but the pain isn’t good or pleasurable this time; you’re in emotional peril with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. You’re Jesus nailed to the cross. You’re stuck in a maze full of thorns. You can’t get out. 

He’s right in front of you now. “Someone’s hurt ya,” he says, “In more ways than one. I can tell. They’re still hurtin’ ya. And… I think I know who it is, I just need ya to tell me so I can help. I promise, I won’t let anyone come near ya. I love you so much,” he says your name, and his hand lifts in the air to cradle your cheek. “Just tell me and I’ll raise fuckin’ hell.”

The touch that made you feel safe before feels like a deadly brush of wind now.

You recoil, and Michael’s heart joins yours on the floor. “Don’t… don’t touch me,” you say. It’s not just words, you’re pleading him to get his hands off, and you have never done that before.

Your voice breaks. Tears start welling up in your eyes, but your body is so wound up, they won’t fall. 

You know you can’t be close to him. Even the thought of his touch hurts you. You need to be anywhere but here, and he needs to be somewhere far away from you, too. 

Michael pulls his hand away. God, you hate yourself. He looks like you just reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed it in front of his eyes. The blood coats the floor along with the frozen pieces of your own heart, but it is his essence that paints the saddest picture. Maroon spills on the carpet, but this time there is nothing and no one to clean it up and pour it back into the glass. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You take a deep breath. “Maybe you should go.”

“No,” he doesn’t move, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I can’t leave you like this.”

“Michael…”

He shakes his head. “Not before you let me in.”

“Stop,” your voice breaks again, and you can merely hold back the treacherous tears. 

He reaches out but stops himself this time. You look so broken and he can’t help you because you won’t let him, and he has never felt so torn inside. Being burned alive is nothing compared to how you’re making him feel now, and he should probably pull away for his own sake, but you wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t need help. 

“I love you,” he breathes, “So let me love ya. Please. You just have to tell me what’s goin’ on and I promise I can fix it.”

You swallow. “You don’t get to decide what I should or should not tell you,” you say. “And you had no right to pull those papers out and confront me as if I owe you an explanation.”

He wants nothing more than to scream. “I would never do tha.”

“But you did.”

“That’s not what happened and ya know it!”

You flinch a little at the sound of his voice, and he curses himself for losing his temper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just scared and- and worried. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean ta yell–“

It hurts that you won’t talk to him.

Your warmth disappears completely. Centimeters turn into a meter, and soon you’re standing right by the front door, your back turned to him as your hand hovers above the handle. 

“You should go,” you repeat.

“You can’t mean tha,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I yelled, but please–“

“It’s not because of that.”

“Jesus, I know! I– What happened? Everythin’ was fine five minutes ago, we had dinner, we kissed, and now– why can’t ya just talk to me? I thought we trusted each other well enough by now ta know that there is no judgment. Ya know there isn’t, love. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Don’t push me away–”

Your voice cuts through the air like a knife, and it lands right in his chest. “I want you to leave,” you keep on insisting. 

He shakes his head. Standing behind you, he turns you around and grabs your face with his hands. You whimper. It hurts. He isn’t being harsh; his fingertips just hurt because they’re so gentle, so careful, and you can’t stand it. 

“Please,” he presses his forehead against yours, “don’t do this. Not over a fuckin’ stapler.”

But it’s more than a stapler, and he knows it.

Your nails dig into his wrists. “You have to go,” you say. “Please, you have to. I can’t…”

Michael clutches onto you, refusing to let go. “No. I love ya, and I'm terrified that if I leave, it's over for us. Just tell me we can survive this and tha... tha you still want us and I’ll go and give ya space, but I need to know that you won’t leave me.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can't offer him any reassurance. “I don't know–”

“I can’t live without you anymore. I need ya, love. Just think about this.”

“Please, Michael,” it is your turn to beg. “Right now, I need you to go. I need… I need you to leave. So please just do me a favor and go.”

In a moment of desperation, Michael leans in and kisses you. Even his lips burn.

You find yourself moving against him, but only for a brief moment before you gently push him away. “Stop it!” you snap. “This isn’t– I told you to leave.”

“I’m so sorry–” He lets go of you. 

You open the door.

Michael's gaze lingers on you for a moment, his eyes pleading with you to change your mind. But he knows, deep down, that you're right. Reluctantly, he turns away. His emotions wear heavy on his shoulders, dragging them down to his feet. But he doesn't want to fight with you. So he grabs his coat and the unstapled documents on your living room table and walks through the open door into the hallway. You're standing there, across from him, but you're still so far away. You're unreachable. 

He glances back at you. “Are ya sendin' me away forever or just fer now?” The question is a hard one to ask, and the answer, he knows, is going to be a bitter pill to swallow no matter what you tell him. 

You shift from one foot to the other, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” you whisper. 

He was right; it is a very bitter pill to swallow. 

He got you not so long ago and now he is losing you, and he doesn’t even understand why. 

“Just answer me one more thing,” he says. “Did I just lose ya?”

You look down, unable to answer. You lost yourself, but there is no way you can explain it to him in a way that would make sense.

Without another word, he nods and wipes his nose, and then he heads toward the stairs. Your eyes linger on him, but when he turns around to look at you, the door falls shut and you’re gone. Just like that.

Michael is tied to the ground, the roots of his pain keeping him tethered there. He hears you slide down your door and then you’re sobbing loud enough to fill the hallway with your sad symphony. 

He wants to turn around, run back to you, and kick the door down to take you into his arms, but he’s hurt too, and he knows that if he runs back to you, you will only push back harder, and so he straightens his shoulders and leaves. 

He loved and he lost you, just like everything in his life, and he can’t help but feel like this is his fault all over again. He wasn’t made to be loved. 

In a moment of desperation, he pulls out his phone and sends a text, ‘Need a ride.’

Only a few seconds later, Jimmy’s name shows up on the screen, asking for the address, and he lets out a shuddering sigh of relief. 

The road to your apartment isn’t long, and with Jimmy’s driving style, the black car pulls onto your street in less than thirty minutes. His brother lets down the window, eyeing him and the tears in his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Michael opens the door to the passenger side and gets in, foregoing the greetings. He’s still mad at him, but Jimmy is his brother and there has never not been a time he called him when he was in trouble. Tonight is no different. 

Jimmy looks at him. “Ya wanna tell me why ya told me ta pick you up here?” he asks. 

Shaking his head, Michael looks out the window as the landscapes start passing by. He bites down on his thumb, trying hard to keep the leftover tears at bay when he thinks about you broken on your apartment floor, crying as if you’re in excruciating pain, and he is nowhere near to help. 

But you don’t want his help, he needs to accept that. He can’t fix everything or everyone. And he can’t help you if you don’t want him to. It’s sad and it hurts, but it’s true.

“What happened?” Jimmy once again asks. “Was it yer girlfriend? Did she hurt ya?”

Michael shakes his head again. 

“Then why do you look like yer about to drown this car in tears?”

“I just needed a getaway car,” he answers. 

“Getaway car from wha?”

He’s not sure. Your relationship, maybe, but he would never run away from that if it wasn’t necessary. You made the choice, not him. He needed to get away before his heart could break anymore, that’s why he called Jimmy. He needs to go home, whether he likes it or not. And his brother is still family, despite how many times they argue. 

“Michael,” Jimmy urges him. “If she hurt ya, tell me and I’ll make sure that little girl knows she messed with the wrong family.”

“No,” Michael says, and this time his tone takes a dangerous tone. “You don’t get to touch her. Stay out of it. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Then tell me the truth!”

“She lied.”

“About?”

“She lied,” he repeats, his eyes once again trailing over the landscapes and city lights. “She lied and kept secrets and then she told me to leave, but she didn’t hurt me on purpose. Shit happens. We’re over. That enough for ya?”

Jimmy sighs, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

But Michael doesn’t really hear him. The cotton engulfs him and with it, your sobs fade into the distance and the loneliness makes its home in his heart all over again. Gone is the happiness and the butterfly effect; it’s just him now, and he figures that maybe, this is exactly how he is supposed to be–lonely and alone. 

You’re not sure how long you have been lying there on the floor. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, you don’t know. Your eyes are burning from the tears you shed and your voice is hoarse from sobbing. The door is locked, but you somehow still wish Michael might come floating through it.

You’re such an idiot, but you can’t take back what you said. You shouldn’t. It was the right choice. Maybe pushing him away the way you did wasn’t the best idea, but the choice itself was the right one. 

If it was the right choice though, why does it hurt so much?

You manage to lift your aching body off the cold floor and into the kitchen where you find the wine bottle from dinner. You’ve only had a glass and it was still full when you got it. There’s enough to get rid of the pain, and yet not enough to make you forget. You don’t want to forget. You deserve the despair that comes with remembering, but you need some balm for your soul, and wine seems like the best choice to knock yourself out.

Michael didn’t deserve any of the things you said, and you should have never developed that crush on him in the first place. If you hadn’t, you couldn’t have hurt him so shortly after declaring your love for him. You tore his heart out, twisted the dagger deeper inside, and then impaled his heart and soul, too. You saw him slowly dying inside when he left, and you feel so guilty for making him go through so much shit again simply because you can’t face your own feelings. 

You loathe yourself. 

The papers he retrieved from the drawer land on your coffee table with a thud. The bottle of wine is already at your lips as you take a big swig, and then some more. You stare down at the articles and the file, and your eyes turn from sad to dead. You shut them off, all these unwanted emotions, because you fucked up now anyway and everything else is fucked, so shutting it off and focusing on fixing what you can fix is what you would do.

You’re angry, and it’s not just the wine that makes it feel so much stronger. The feeling consumes you. You have a fire inside of you that turns into an inferno and is ready to burn every hurdle in your path to the ground. You never had that before, and it makes you more determined now than ever. 

It’s three in the morning when the cellphone in London rings and tears Maya out of her sleep. 

“Jesus–“ her sleepy voice sounds from the other end. “Do you know what time it is?”

You take another swig of wine, and the bottle is almost empty now. The papers are splattered everywhere. Chaos has ensued around you. You are nowhere near closer to discovering the truth, but at least you’ve found a bottle of tequila and some lime juice. The wine isn’t empty yet, but you’re almost there and then you will focus on the harder stuff.

You thought you would find something, but you’re still empty-handed and angry, and your finger pressed that call button without your permission. 

“Hello?” Maya asks again. She calls your name. “Are you there? Are you alright? You know I have to somehow find a way to hide that 3am call from Dad, right? It’s not funny if you’re not gonna talk to me.” 

“You know,” you finally speak up, your speech slurring, “he said they were on their way to dance rehearsals.”

“What?”

“The M25 was not the way to her dance studio, especially not the turn they took off of it.” 

You kick the picture in front of you aside. You’ve had enough. You should burn them. You should burn him. 

Maya hesitates before she asks, “Are you talking about Ellie?” 

“There were no other cars. He wasn’t speeding. He just stood there with the passenger side toward where the truck was coming from, and…” You trail off.

She says your name again, and this time tears are audible in your little sister’s voice. “Stop,” she begs you. 

“He wanted it to look like an accident by speeding before,” you say, a pained scoff leaving your lips, “but he can’t fool me.”

“You promised–“ Maya cuts off to take a deep breath. “You promised you wouldn’t dig. Why are you digging?” 

You empty the wine bottle with another large gulp. Your features don’t contort. You barely taste the alcohol anymore. It reminds you of water. You grab the tequila next, but it’s hard to open the bottle with one hand. You go for it with your teeth. It works. The taste is more potent, sharper, and more bitter, and it adds to the buzz in your head that makes everything seem less bad.

Oh, but the anger burns brighter than ever because everyone knows what happens when you pour alcohol or gasoline into the fire–the flame is only going to grow, and eventually it’s going to end up out of control. You can’t put it out without putting your life at risk, so you need a firefighter, but with a fire as large as the one inside of you, even a fire truck would come too late. 

The same way they came too late to save your sister.

You swallow. “It should have been me in that fucking car with her,” you say, your voice void of emotions yet so loaded at the same time. “Or with him, and then he could have killed me instead of her, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

You’re so empty, you can feel the tears in your chest, but they won’t fall. You have nothing left to give. You’ve bled out.

Taking a deep breath, you take another sip of liquor. “I’m gonna get you back,” you state as a matter of fact. “It’s what I should have fought harder for in the beginning.”

“By snooping around what happened six years ago?” Maya shoots back. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna be the title of my biography.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Slightly buzzed. Doesn’t fucking matter. He killed her–“ you put the bottle back to your lips, “And he’s gonna suffer for it. You shouldn’t have to stay with him or Mom or anyone else. You belong with me.”

“I know he hurt you–“

“He abused me. He never touched you, but he touched me all the time and I am sick and tired of letting him control me. All of us. I’m gonna tie that accident to him,” you say, “and then I’m gonna watch as he burns. I’m gonna hurt him the same way he hurt me, and then I’m gonna get you back.”

Maya shakes her head against the phone. “He’s going to kill you,” she pleads, trying to somehow emphasize her words, but you’re too drunk and too angry to see clearly. 

You chuckle. “I’d like to see him try.” 

“I don’t want to lose you, why don’t you get that?”

“Oh, I get it. Why do you think I’m doing this? It’s not because I find some perverted enjoyment in reliving all of this shit, I do it because I love you. I’m doing this for you.”

“Please,” she calls out for you, “Think this through! Don’t do it. There has to be another way.”

As you put the bottle of tequila down, your eyes focused on the empty wall before you, and you sigh. “Take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon,” and with that, you hang up on her. 

You turn back to the files on the floor. The message with ‘I just threw up, can’t come to work tomorrow’ is quickly sent to Ava, and then you toss your phone aside. What’s left are you, your liquor, and the papers, and as you stare at the picture of the happy child and her little sister as they’re sitting in the garden together, your fist tightens around the neck of the bottle.

He might think he won, but you’re determined to cut his lucky streak short. He made you suffer twenty years, and you’re going to make sure he gets much more than that. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

[b33srcoolff]

Mornings with you are my favorite mornings| spencer reid

a/n: so i always lose the motivation to write if you guys cant tell but im back and i really just wanted to write a little blurb so here ya go!

My eyes fluttered open and i that nerdy boy , I loved these morning when i woke up and saw his face, that same face that i had been crushing on since middle school before he moved and went to high school, ya know at first i hated it because out of all people they had to move my spencer the dorkie cute one that was always getting picked on, but then i realized i should be glad for him, glad that he's getting away from the horrible people at this awful school. When I finally made it out of my long train of thoughts, I realized he was awake. He spoke with his morning voice, the voice that I lived for “ whatcha thinking about '' . God, he sounded so adorable, “ nothing, nothing at all.” I knew he knew that that was a lie. “Well hate to break it to you but the female brain actually makes it impossible to not think, even when you are sleeping so that is one big fat lie” he smiled at the end of his sentence. He was so cute my swoon was all ruined when i realized that we both had work “ugh i don't wanna work i want to stay here all day and do absolutely nothing” i said while giving him a kiss and pulling me closer “sadly we have to or else we would not have a home”  i rolled my eyes “ugh whatever genius boy” as I rolled out of bed and l let out one big sigh as i made it to our closet and picked out a regular outfit because although spencer had finished school early i was still in college getting my MLIS degree and had to work after my classes.  After a while of being in my own thoughts i felt a kiss on my cheek “can you hand me my button up sweetheart” I reached for his button up and handed it to him “ thank you love” i replied in a small “welcome” once i had finished getting ready i realized i was gonna be late to my first class “i rushed to the door and went for my keys when i had seen that spencer already had them and was waiting for me. “Almost gave me a heart attack babe” I said, getting rid of the horror that i had on my face, “well that wouldn't be good, now come on we got places to baby”. God I wish we could spend all day together but we have lifes to attend to sadly. I said goodbye to Spencer and hopped out of the car. 

Ugh that was such a rushed ending but my computer is literally broken so we just have to deal with it. But should I do a part two and have one of them set up like a little date? Maybe even some angst???? Also you guys  are prob gonna get a double post so yippie!!!

[zhongrin]

Where do I sign up for the cult- Alas, I've busied myself with *glances at my notebook* the uhm, the Yashiro commissioner so thou shan't betray thou's beloved I already joined my beloved Ayato's cult so I can't but once again, where do I sign up- it's for a friend okay- Violence.... hmm... I would like to join on those days >:DD Funny thing, I have a whole scenario of how Zhongli picked the glaze lilies. So it starts out as a normal day at work, Childe suddenly barges in and greets him a happy valentines day. He remembers and then right after work at the funeral parlor, he rushes to like the teleport waypoint in Mt. Tianheng (the north one) and there's a spot with a glaze lily or two. He grabs them and ties a golden bow with silver lining its edges and gives it to you at the end of the day. "Happy valentine's day my love." He says, gazing at your expression as he holds out the slightly messy yet lovely bouquet of glaze lillies. And lastly, my valentines was filled with crying (cause I was rejected) and mostly singing to heartbroken songs. But it was the best cause I finally have friends and people to talk to <33 (you're one of them hehe) Holy crap this reply is messy I apologize again !

sorry to say this but by interacting with me you've been appointed as a member of the cult :-) /j it's ok we understand if you belong to more than one cults- /j

feel free to hop in the angst train when the day comes <3

THATS SO CUTE HELP now i'm just brainrotting about how gentle his smile is when he hands me those flowers.... oufkdkdjfldjdlsjf

and ah, i'm sorry to hear that sweetie, but you'll be okay!! just take your time to move on forward, heartbreak is a saddening experience but i believe you'll find someone you love even more in the future!! true love finds a way <3 (can you tell that i'm a hopeless romantic lol) sending you hugs and a cup of fresh warm tea <3

[adultish-momma]

Yuu vs. Overblots

This ended up being so much longer than I thought or intended for it to be, so I stuck it under the read more so you casually scrollers can peacefully go about your business without this absurdly long ramble being in the way.

But man I just need to vent and get some ideas down on metaphorical paper.

So I've been trying to map out and solidify scenes I want to rewrite from cannon and how they would go realistically and how they would affect and shape relationships between my Yuu and the other cast characters.

And my biggest snag so far was trying to figure out how I wanted Yuu to participate in the Overblot showdowns.

I like there to be as much realism as can be applied to a fictional magic-based fantasy world, and realistically Yuu can't really do much during Overblots. Unless they have essentially a professional background in fighting (which my Yuu definitely does not), they really can't even hope to make a dent in the physical aspect of the fight. And they just don't have the emotional background with these villains to try and make a difference by talking them out of it. If the Overblotted student's friends and fellow dorm members can't just talk them out of an Overblot, there's no realistic way Yuu can. They're basically a stranger.

The way Twisted Wonderland portrays Yuu in every battle, but especially in Overblot battles, is that Yuu is standing on the sidelines, essentially coaching the others and shouting words of encouragement, all while desperately trying to survive the chaos surrounding them. And IDK, maybe it's just me, but I feel like such a high stake, high-pressure, personal situation like the Overblot fights, that approach to "participation" would be fully ignored if not (justifiably) dismissed.

So my hiccup comes from the fact that I want Yuu to matter in these fights, I want Yuu's participation to help turn the tides. So how do I do this realistically, when the base characteristic I've been given is that Yuu is essentially removed from the fight? Not even the cut scenes acknowledge Yuu's existence once a fight has begun.

And then I remembered the Mage Stones.

I might be misremembering the lore behind them, but this is essentially a rewrite AU, so the lore I'm going with is this: Mages have essentially a well for a magic core, something that if used too much at once leads to extreme risks to their health and potentially their life. Mage stones act as a pump of sorts to their magic core, providing quick and easy access to a great amount of their magic core, but still in a controlled and measurable way. Mages can access their magic core without a Mage Stone of course, but it's much harder, like using an old-fashioned bucket on a rope method. Using magic without a mage stone is doable, but the effort exerted makes the mage much weaker.

And the first part of every Overblot transformation cut scene we are provided, is watching their Mage Stone fill with ink, and then the boys change form.

So add this all together, and you come to the same conclusion Yuu does. That when the boys Overblot, the quickest and most efficient way to cure them is to break their Mage Stone. The Mage Stone fueling the chandelier broke on impact, and it became useless as a magic conduit. Breaking an Overblot's Mage Stone would force the Overblot into a more vulnerable state, having to exert more effort to cast spells.

That is my solution. That is how my Yuu becomes an integral part of the team trying to defeat each Overblot. Because like I said, everybody, Overblot included, kinda forgets that Yuu is there. This means Yuu is the one with the best shot of sneaking up on the boy-turned-monster and stealing the Mage Stone.

And such a dangerous move has to lead to some very delicious, angst-based ideas, but I think I'll save those for the actual fics. If/and when I get around to writing them. But sorry for the long ramble, I just needed to actually write all this... logic, lore, whatever you wanna call it somewhere down where other people could hold me accountable to my own cannon.

If you made it this far, thanks! I have notes and scenes and dialogues written out for all the Book 1-4 dorm members (plus Malleus because we have actual chapter interactions with him) of at least one cannon scene I wanted to rewrite. I want to get those, and possibly the Pomefiore ones now that Book 5 is fully released, out before I do any Overblot-related things.

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

ASG - Part Three: You Did This

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: Yes! - anon(s)

Prompt: Bird is expecting Elvis over for a date, but his plans are different. He wants to break up, but not because he doesn’t like her. Because he loves her too much. [ Fem!OC ]

TW: Cursing, a really minor moment of assault, self-hate, ANGST

Rating: Pg-13    ||     Word Count: 3111

A/N: this was physically painful to write. i'm so sad now, but i'm not that evil. there will be a part 4, and i got so excited for birdie + elvis to get back together i literally already started writing it OOP

This is Part 3 of ASG. Find the rest of the series here!

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

She smiles to herself as she steps back to look at the positioning of the pillows. She's cleaning up around the house before Elvis arrives. They've been hanging out a lot recently and officially started dating about a month ago. Since he's opened her eyes to the possibilities in life, Bird has felt so much happier to be alive. Although, she still isn't ready to tell her father about her relationship yet, knowing that he'll probably murder her. She figures, worst case scenario, she can marry Elvis and then tell her daddy. What'll he do at that point?

As a result, she's been scheduling their dates and time together whenever she could do it secretly, usually in private places or at times when her father isn't at home. Like right now. She knows that her father will be at the Church for a few hours on Saturday night, so she's told Elvis to meet her at her house.

She's been in the living room, rearranging the furniture for the last twenty minutes. He wants everything to be perfect, even though Elvis has already been to her house more than once. Just as she reaches to move the pillow again, there's a knock on the door. She hops over to answer it and greets Elvis on the other side.

“Hi, handsome. I was wonderin when you’d get 'ere,” she says, smiling sweetly.

Her happy expression fades quickly when she realizes that Elvis isn’t sharing it. His face is stern and expressionless. He stands in the doorway, not moving, completely stationary. He looks especially handsome in a blue short-sleeve top with the buttons half undone and the sleeves rolled up onto his biceps.

“Can I come in?” he asks dryly. She nods, feeling the anxiety starting to rise in her chest.

“Is…somethin wrong, Elvis?” she asks, starting to ring out her fingers.

He says nothing, so she sits down next to him on the couch. His elbows are splayed on top of his knees and his eyes are trained on the ground as if they’re stuck in a trance. He looks pale, almost like a statue in a museum. She feels guilty and somehow wrong when she reaches out to touch his back.

“You know ya can tell me anythin, right? If somethin is wrong?” she says, gently rubbing small circles on his back.

He drags his hand over his face, tugging at the skin with his fingers. The less he speaks, the more anxious she grows.

“We…well, I…I…”

“Please spit it out, Elvis. You’re scarin me,” she says quietly.

“Lil Birdie...I don’t think we should be…together no more.”

She had a sneaking suspicion something like this was coming when he walked in the door with his fallen face. Even though she might have been aware of the possibility, nothing could have prepared her for the pain that comes with his words. She releases a breath and slowly removes her hand from his back.

“What do ya mean, exactly?” she asks, giving him the chance to change his mind.

She feels like her entire body is functioning in slow motion, unable to catch up with the meaning of his words. The panic and desperation she might be feeling are currently buried under a thick layer of doomed hope and disbelief.

“I mean we should break up.”

“Should,” she clocks the word immediately, still lingering in that state of disbelief but teetering dangerously on the edge of panic. “How bout you explain to me why exactly we should break up, Elvis?”

“I jus think that we…well, I-”

“Maybe you should actually come up with a reason or two before ya break off a relationship with another adult,” she says sharply. “Now, what I’m hearin is that you don’t actually want to break up with me but feel like you should.”

He says nothing, but his silence only confirms her theory. A moment of tense quiet passes as she tries to stay calm and figure out why he might be saying these things. Her brain starts to run through all of the things that have changed since they began seeing each other. No matter how hard she tries to think of something else, only one singular image comes to her mind: a fat, balding man with an unplaceable accent.

“Did Colonel Parker put ya up to this?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.

“No, no, no,” Elvis responds, too quickly and too passionately for her liking. “No, he didn’t have nothin to do with this. I-”

“Okay, then,” she interrupts him again, feeling angry now. “Gimme a reason.”

“What?!” he asks incredulously, throwing his hands up

“Gimme a reason,” she says in a voice that is aggressive, hard, and sharp. It's a tone that demands answers and it's gonna get them. “Gimme one real reason why we should break up.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and she can see his eyes frantically moving back and forth as he tries to come up with an answer that she'll buy. She can tell that he doesn’t have one.

“Our interests are different.”

“Lie. Next,” she cuts him off before he can even say anything else. He knows that isn’t the truth. Her anger continues to grow and her patience continues to thin.

“I’m gonna be very busy wi-”

“Not good enough. Next.”

“God dang it, Bird!” he shouts, standing up. He towers over her now, finally looking at her. She suddenly feels very small, but no less powerful with the anger coursing through her veins.

“We’re breakin up because I said so,” he says loudly.

“You ain't the boss of me. You don’t tell me what to do,” she retorts impishly, folding her arms over her chest and flopping back into the couch. She is taking a chance, her anger and desperation for the truth controlling her. They are stronger than any fear she might feel when looking at Elvis.

He clenches his jaw, scratching his fingers up through the roots of his hair and pulling on it. She blinks hard as images flash in her mind of the time they spent together at the lake when she had been the one pulling on those gorgeous black curls. She sees him hovering above her, sweating and moaning her name. But she banishes the images from her mind, trying not to let them draw her out of her anger.

“You’re startin to piss me off, Lil Birdie,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Why can’t you just accept this and move on?”

“Because I want ya to be happy!” she finally shouts. “And I like to think that I make ya happy. And because I don’t want ya to do nothin you don’t wanna to do. If you're gonna break up with me, it better be cause you want to, not cause ya think you should or because somebody else told you to.”

“What the hell difference does it make?”

“It makes all the damn difference in the world, Elvis! Don’t even gimme that!” she's yelling at the top of her lungs now. She's also used a curse word and cursing isn't something Bird does often. “Why won’t you just admit that the Colonel is the one who wants this?”

“Because he ain’t telling me what to do! This is my career, my life, my decision. But I can’t do everythin on my own. I gotta have help, and the Colonel is the only damn person on the planet who cares nuff about me to help me.”

She buries the quick pang of pain in her chest as his words hit her ears. As silence falls, she considers not hitting back, but the anger in her chest turns to wrath and she can’t stop it.

“How dare you!” she yells. “How dare you act like you’re alone! Like nobody cares bout you, when you know damn well just how many people do. Let’s forget about how much you jus insulted me, but what about everyone else in your life, Elvis. Your friends? People who continue to support you. Your bandmates? Who’ve given up their own chances at fame to sit behind ya as you get big. Your parents? Who have literally sacrificed everythin for you. Your own mother, Elvis! Who has devoted every second of her wakin bein to give you a better life. How dare you disrespect all uh those people!”

A second of silence passes, and she can see him straining to control his anger. His fingers curl back into fists, and his nostrils flare as he heaves out angry breaths. She's only a few inches from his face, her fists now clenched, too. She should stop speaking, but the words that have been floating around in her head for the past two months are coming out, whether she wants them to or not.

“Ya know I was keepin my mouth shut, but I can’t do it no more. The Colonel is bad news. He’s a con man and a manipulator. And all he’ll do is ruin ya!”

Not a second passes before his hands fly up to wrap around her wrists. She struggles for a moment, but it’s no use. He pulls her against him, his fingers digging painfully into the skin around her bones.

“Listen here, lil one,” he growls, his accent thicker than normal,“the Colonel’s supported me so far and done nothin but help me navigate this crazy business. He’s like a second father to me. And he ain’t fuckin tellin me what to do. I’m breakin up with ya cause I want to. Cause I want to.”

She looks into his eyes. Even though his tone and mannerisms are fueled by anger, it hasn’t reached his eyes yet. They are still soft, a bright beautiful blue. He softens for a moment, his grip becoming more comfortable on her wrists.

“I’m tryin to do what’s best for my career, here, Birdie,” he continued. “You can understand that, can’t ya?”

“I understand. But I still don’t see why I can’t be a part of it. I can help ya, Elvis. I know people. I’m organized. I-”

“You just don’t fuckin get it, do ya? I am breakin up with you! It’s over!”

“Why?” she yells back immediately, angrier than ever. She hopes that her quick response will catch him off guard and make him answer honestly.

“Cause I love you, goddamnit!”

As he shouts, his grip returns stronger than ever, and she winces at the sudden discomfort. She goes silent and pale. She doesn’t know what to say or do. She'd been right. He’s answered honestly, but it isn’t the answer she has been expecting. At first, her stomach lurches with butterflies, but a horrible and overwhelming sense of dread follows it. She's suddenly very attuned to every morsel of pain coursing through her body. The one that burns her heart and the one that stings her wrists.

“People don’t break the hearts uh the ones they love,” she says softly, tears gathering in her eyes. They burn, but she refuses to let them fall. “And they don’t hurt em, neither.”

Her eyes briefly look at his white-knuckled grip on her wrists with wide eyes. His gaze follows hers and he immediately softens, the angry expression gone from his face as his fingers carefully release her wrists. She pulls them back into herself, running her fingers over the sore muscles. She also takes a step away from him, partly because of fear but mostly to make him feel guilty for hurting her. He sinks onto the couch and drops his head into his hands. A few moments of awkward silence pass, neither of them knowing how to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so quietly she barely even hears him. When you don’t move, he looks up at you. “I’m so sorry, Lil Birdie.”

She approaches, sitting down next to him on the couch. Her fingers gingerly take his hands in hers, and she brushes some hair off his forehead. He looks up at her, and his eyes are glistening with tears. The blue irises are more gray than usual. He gulps.

“I can’t put ya through this.”

“Through what, baby? Talk to me.”

“Through who I’m about to become. What, I’m about to become.”

“Elvis, honey, I don’t care bout that none,” she says, turning to place her hands on the sides of his face. “I wanna be with ya no matter who you are. Cause at the end of the day, in your heart, you will always be my Elvis.”

He shakes his head.

“Ya too naive, Lil Birdie. I know myself and I won’t be able to stop. I’ll be on stage every day, all day. As often and as much as I can. There’ll be women, so many women. And I don’t know…I can’t promise ya that I’ll always be able to…”

“Resist,” she finishes his sentence in a whisper. She retracts her hands back into her lap. Silence settles again.

“You never said it back,” he says quietly.

“What?” she asks dumbly.

“I said I loved ya and you didn’t say nothin back,” you watch his body straighten as he prepares to ask the question. “Do you…love me, at all?”

The desperation in his voice breaks her. She can’t meet his eyes and feel tears welling up in her chest again. She wants to answer, but…

Suddenly, everything everyone had told her about Elvis floods her head. She hears her father’s disciplined, harsh voice telling her — no ordering her —to find a good Christian boy and to stay away from men like Elvis. She sees all of her Church friends, laughing and using words like ‘dangerous, player, greaser’ when she tells them about Elvis. She sees her mother’s face, pale and sweat-sheened, telling her to go easy on her father. It’s just the two of you now…

By the time her crisis has passed, Elvis is standing. He's avoiding her eyes but she can still see him wipe a tear away. Everything in her body is screaming to move. To jump up, grab him, pull him to her, hug him tight, hang onto him, say something. Anything as long as it will prevent him from leaving her.

But for some inexplicable reason, she can’t bring herself to move. She's frozen.

“Well,” he says gruffly, in the same tone that her father always used to express his disappointment in her. “I guess that solves that problem. It was a pleasure knowin ya, Bird. I’m sorry for everythin.”

He starts to leave and her body finally jumpstarts. She desperately grabs onto his arm, tearing on his sleeve.

“Wait, I…” she's decided to say it, until he turns around.

When his eyes lock onto hers, and she can see the need in them, her words grow dry and evaporate. He pulls her close slowly and wraps his arms around her. One of his hands gently strokes the hair on the top of her head while the other holds firmly onto her waist. She inhales his smell, and it makes her dizzy. She shuts her eyes tightly, squeezing the tears out.

“I’ll miss you, Lil Birdie,” he whispers into her hair before he presses a kiss to her head. “So much.”

He gives her one last squeeze and then pulls away. She holds on, suddenly panicked at the thought of losing him. He grasps onto his clothes, trying to pull him back to her, but he’s too strong. He leans away from her.

“No! No, no, no, no wait!”

“I gotta leave baby,” he responds. His eyes are glistening again with tears, and his voice is cracking through the sadness. “I can’t stay.”

He gives himself one last yank and the force pulls her onto the ground. He glances back at her one last time and she sees him wince from the emotional pain before slamming the door.

The sound of the door slamming echoes throughout the house. Her eyes fall to the ground below her, tracing every thread in the carpet. She's on her hands and knees, her breath uneven and shaky. Her whole body begins to shake. Her breath quickens and she feels the pain of tears rising in her chest again. Curling her fingers into the carpet slows them but nothing is powerful enough to stop the flood that breaks through the dams of her eyes.

She makes no sound at first, the sobs wracking her body back and forth. She shakes silently on the floor, and the tears burn her dry eyes. Finally, her shaking builds up to be too much and a pained whine escapes her lips.

Again, her mind starts to flash through images. This time of Elvis. She sees him shaking and wiggling around on stage, giving her butterflies and making her laugh. Then, she sees his face light up with a smile when he realizes who she is. She sees the dark lust and the insatiable passion shining in his eyes at the lake. She sees his beautiful smile and hears his laugh. The peaceful and happy expression on his face whenever he sings. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s really, genuinely happy.

All the small things that only someone in love could notice. Each new image is like another blow to her gut. And each brings on a more violent and painful wave of sobs as she replays the last moments over and over again in her head. Somehow, she manages to get herself up the stairs and into her bedroom. Closing the door to deter her father, she climbs into bed. She doesn't bother to change her clothes and pulls the covers over her face. She's hot and her clothes are too tight and uncomfortable for sleeping in. Snot is dripping down her nose, making her lips slimy. But she doesn't do anything to stop it or clean herself up. She doesn't fight it.

She deserves it. All of the pain, the hideousness, the discomfort. She deserves to be uncomfortable, to be blubbering her eyes out. The whole ordeal is her fault. Elvis may have suggested the idea, but she had plenty of chances to change the outcome. He gave her a chance to tell him the truth and get him back. The chance to show him, to tell him that she wants him. That she loves him.

But she didn’t. She just sat there like a stupid idiot, incapable of functioning like a human person. She grips her shoulders in anger at herself and screams into her pillow. She's the only reason she's lost him.

It is your fault, she says to herself. You did this.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[jiuwi]

PROLOGUE ; THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING

SYNOPSIS (of chapter): The clock is ticking, your heartbeat is raising. The race to find a suitable husband is extremely urgent and you must marry before the next full moon arises.

GENRE : romance, historical au, contract marriage au

WORD COUNT : 891

WARNINGS : mentions of arranged marriages, slight angst (w/ comfort)

NOTE : aaaaaah first series !! i decided to post this early so that i can focus on the next chapters >:))

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SERIES M.LIST | GENERAL NAVI.

prev. — chapter one

God, you never should have come to the breakfast table and hear all that nonsense they’ve been speaking about. The thing you’ve always avoided and dreaded to experience, the very own concept of marriage.

“Y/N, the Second Prince of Fontaine has sent a marriage proposal.” Your father, the king, spoke once you sat down on your chair. “Pardon?” You queried with wide eyes. Did you hear that right? Like a quick flash, you get the gist of what this whole conversation is all about. “He eagerly wishes for your hand in marriage.” You almost drop your fork when you hear your father’s jolly tone. Marriage? To the second prince? No way.

“Surely you must jest, father! I can’t possibly be... oh.” The atmosphere around you suddenly gets chilly and you shrink back down to your chair. Your mother interrupts with a cough and speaks in a calm manner. “Y/N, please, we have done enough for you for the past years. Refused the ideas for early engagements, allowed you to choose your partner as you pleased, and even gave you freedom!” She states the several excuses that they have made just for you to be a happy, young teenager. “Now you’re no longer a child, the least you could do is to accept this proposal, please.” She lowers her head slightly as if begging you to think rationally about your decision.

Unlike the other kingdoms where parents decide and arrange a childhood engagement for their sons and daughters, yours is different. You grew up in a free household. You still needed to attend to your duties as a royal princess, but when it comes to other matters that involved marriage, your parents gave you the freedom to marry out of love and not through a kingdom strife or agreement. They, too, got married that way. That’s why they’ve wholeheartedly supported you whenever you’ve made a decision, only this time you’ve went too far.

Being a lady of marriageable age, you’re obliged to marry sooner or later. But absolutely not to Fontaine’s second prince! You’d absolutely die if you marry him. He is very infamous for his insatiable lust for women and his insane personality, he’s a lecherous jerk who hops from one bed to another; being that man’s wife is an absolute disgrace for you.

You sucked in a breath, looked at your father and pleaded with tightly shut eyes. “One month, father. Please give me a month to think about it.” He lowers his glass and wipes the corners of his lips with a napkin. “Very well.”

Ugh, now what? Make a man magically appear in front of you? If only it works that way, then you would’ve been happily marching off to your father to greet him with exciting news. While you were stuck in pondering about what to do, suddenly, a warm flick touches your cheek and you yelp in surprise. “Earth to Y/N, come on, what’s troubling you?” Koen, your elder brother and heir apparent, comes up from in front of you after finishing his swordsmanship training. Oh right, you were watching him practice.

“Don’t tell me, was it because of earlier?—”

“Yes, brother, thank you for reminding me.” You interrupt him before he can go around saying anything else. You slump against the sturdy trunk of the tree and your brother sighs apologetically, then he takes a seat beside you. “You know, you can always confide in me whenever something is troubling you. I won’t tell mother or father.” He assures you. He could tell by a glance that you’re not so happy by the news. You rarely share anything with him and just keep it to yourself, masking away your sadness by putting up a front. Sometimes he, himself, hates that side of you.

You drag a finger across the mat where you are sitting and speak in a low, quiet tone. “It does bother me. A lot.” The last part sounded like a whisper but it was loud enough for him to hear. He says nothing and instead, he listens to your worries with a calm state of mind. He admits, it hurts to see you this way. You bottled up all these emotions at a young age and seeing you shed a tear as you continue to speak is enough for him to take you in his arms and soothe the aching feeling inside your heart.

Safe to say that when you both got back to the palace, your eyes were puffy and red. The servants’ faces were indescribable really. When you finally finished taking a bath, you saw a pile of letters gathering atop the table. With a turn of your head you ask Jia, your personal maid, why these letters are stacking up like bricks. “Oh? Your Highness, those are letters from prominent families.”

“Really? What for? I don’t recall any special occasion that I have to attend this month.” You reply with a curious hum. “Your Highness, if I may be so bold to add, they are asking for you to be their partner during the upcoming ball.”

An idea flashed through your head and you thank Jia for her incredible wisdom — so you speak. That’s right, you do have a chance in finding your prince charming by attending the royal ball. Let’s hope that things can go fairly well.

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