#would love to hear the behind the scenes on that entry

[mercury-sulfide]

just shaking thinking about how long that 80-page Dracula Daily entry is going to be in Re: Dracula. But I also can’t remember exactly what day it happens so one of these mornings I’m going to open the podcast for the new entry and get hit with like a two hour update

[luveline]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list 

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb. 

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up. 

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular. 

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare. 

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?” 

“The most reliable. Please.” 

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.” 

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?” 

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.” 

“I’m not a child.” 

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself. 

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine. 

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave. 

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.” 

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds. 

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st. 

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there. 

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right. 

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach. 

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.” 

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.” 

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

He noticeably bites his tongue. 

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say. 

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.” 

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.” 

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.” 

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out. 

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.” 

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.” 

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest. 

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness. 

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.” 

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.” 

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door. 

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines. 

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing. 

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel. 

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin. 

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?” 

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?” 

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.” 

“Aw, good.” 

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move. 

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat. 

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners. 

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work? 

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud. 

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?” 

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” 

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door. 

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds. 

“I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes. 

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.” 

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.” 

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.” 

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.  

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?” 

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.” 

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.” 

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.” 

“At all.” 

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.” 

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag. 

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.” 

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.” 

“Right.” 

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?” 

“The shop?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.” 

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.” 

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks. 

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.” 

“Kay. Down now.” 

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.” 

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?” 

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.” 

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.” 

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two. 

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.” 

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside. 

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there. 

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you in any active danger?” 

You shake your head slowly. “None.” 

“Is someone close to you hurting you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?” 

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.” 

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.” 

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Remus frowns again. “Right.” 

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light. 

“I don’t really know what to do.” 

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.” 

“It’s… something else, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…” 

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much. 

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?” 

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?” 

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?” 

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?” 

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously. 

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something. 

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly. 

“You were assaulted.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.” 

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.” 

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?” 

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.” 

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.” 

“I’m sorry for telling you.” 

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down. 

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed. 

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?” 

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.” 

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth. 

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.” 

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too. 

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else. 

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support. 

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.” 

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened. 

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.” 

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors. 

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open. 

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?” 

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?” 

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says. 

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask. 

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“Decaf?” 

“Can I have water?” 

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to! 

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks. 

“Not really.” 

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.” 

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly. 

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?” 

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?” 

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.” 

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars. 

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you. 

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in. 

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men. 

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside. 

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?” 

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.” 

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.” 

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his. 

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself. 

“You’re James?” you ask. 

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.” 

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket. 

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.” 

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?” 

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.” 

“That’s good.” 

A tepid silence pervades for a moment. 

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.” 

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him. 

“It’s nice to have options.” 

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions. 

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back. 

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?” 

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.” 

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says. 

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise. 

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?” 

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.” 

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask. 

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.” 

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly. 

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.” 

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.” 

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.” 

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip. 

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever. 

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. 

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wondered how you were doing.” 

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.” 

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply. 

“It was rude of me.” 

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?” 

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago. 

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.” 

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.” 

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.” 

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?” 

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.” 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t really know what it is.” 

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks. 

“Decaf?” 

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.” 

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.” 

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.” 

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.” 

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks. 

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him. 

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?” 

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?” 

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?” 

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.” 

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” 

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.” 

“But they’ll ask questions.” 

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.” 

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath. 

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself. 

“We can go now, if you want to.” 

“To the clinic?” you ask. 

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.” 

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost. 

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.” 

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?” 

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.” 

“And she’ll go now?” 

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.” 

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She’d be happy to take you to the clinic. 

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known. 

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again. 

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock. 

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it. 

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze. 

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you. 

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you. 

“Hello.” 

“How can I…” 

“Remus asked me to check in on you.” 

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?” 

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.” 

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

Just weird, then. 

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.” 

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door. 

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs. 

 —

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?” 

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask. 

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.” 

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say. 

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?” 

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.” 

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say. 

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” 

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.” 

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble. 

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?” 

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind. 

“What kind do you have?” 

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks. 

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask. 

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.” 

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses. 

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?” 

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.” 

“You like my soup.” 

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.” 

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.” 

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.” 

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.” 

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?” 

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.” 

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?” 

Sirius waves him away. 

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork. 

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.” 

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.” 

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. ��That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.” 

“Neither do you,” Remus says. 

“It’s a family trait.” 

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well. 

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator. 

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye. 

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks. 

“Too long.” 

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.” 

“You live together?” you ask. 

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says. 

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.” 

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks. 

“What are you implying?” 

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.” 

“He’s showing off ‘cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.” 

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip. 

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.” 

“What’s top of the list then?” 

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult. 

“You just need a good wash, is all.” 

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still. 

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs. 

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually. 

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.” 

— 

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen. 

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy. 

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand. 

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas. 

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity. 

On Friday, James isn’t there. 

“Harry’s poorly.” 

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.” 

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.” 

“James makes a good soup.” 

“He left plenty, if you want it.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?” 

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.” 

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.” 

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly. 

“I could go turn on the radio.” 

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?” 

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.” 

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated. 

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.” 

“It’s normal to want company.” 

“Even after what happened?” 

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.” 

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands? 

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head. 

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in. 

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly. 

“Sure.” 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I doubt I could.” 

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.” 

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…” 

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.” 

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally. 

“Okay.” 

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.” 

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.” 

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away. 

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble. 

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.” 

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” 

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie. 

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well! 

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

[lurkingshan]

What are some JBLs you recommend that have good kisses AND a good romance plot

LOL I can hear the pain behind this question, anon. It’s true that a lot of JBLs with a good romance story fail to deliver on the physical intimacy side of things, though that is becoming less and less the norm. I do have some that I think do both reasonably well. I don’t know exactly what “good romance” means to you, but I’m going to assume we’re talking about well-executed romance plots, regardless of the show’s overall genre and focus, where the characters and relationship arc make sense and don’t randomly derail somewhere along the way. Here’s what I got:

I Cannot Reach You

This is a high school friends to lovers (the cream of the crop for that trope, IMO). This is a story about realizing feelings and building the courage to change your most important relationship, so you’ll have to wait a bit to get those kisses but once you do, I think you’ll be pleased.

His

The second chance romance for me. This is a bl film about two men who come back together after a bad breakup and figure out how to make it work. I love them and this story so much.

Old Fashion Cupcake

There’s only one kiss in this short and sweet show, but it’s a real doozy. A super tight workplace age gap romance that knows exactly what it’s doing.

At 25:00 in Akasaka

Two actors who went to college together meet again when they are cast opposite each other in a bl drama, and get tangled up in the blurred lines between their professional and personal relationships. Angst, baby!

The Pornographer

This series features some of the best kissing and sex scenes you will see anywhere in the bl genre, but warning that it’s a twisted and wild ride. There are five installments and you gotta watch them all to see the full picture of the character and romance arcs. It’s so rewarding if you do.

The End of the World With You

From the same mind of the previous entry and similarly hot and wild and weird. This show has more going on than the second chance romance at its core, but it themes come together beautifully.

Tokyo In April Is…

Another second chance romance, this one features a lot of sex but also deals with heavy subject matter, so mind the CWs. It’s one of my favorites of last year and the love story in this one has really stuck with me; it’s beautiful and so hard won.

Love is Better the Second Time Around

This one comes with a disclaimer that it goes off the rails in the final two episodes, but you asked for good kissing so it would feel wrong not to include it. Yet another second chance romance (are you picking up on a theme here?), this one gets two former high school lovers back together as adults to sort out their misunderstandings, lingering feelings, and buckets of sexual tension. It was so good—until it wasn’t.

[shadowkoo]

Just Dance It Off

→ Summary: You're over the moon when you land the female lead in the end-of-semester show. It feels like your hard work has finally paid off, everything is going great. Well, until you learn who your partner is…

↠ jimin x f.reader | 9.5k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, fluff, ballet dancers au, enemies to lovers, performing arts college au

→ Warnings: explicit and unprotected sex, jealousy, masturbation, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, use of fake ID, mild exhibitionism, creampie, hair pulling, angry sex, nipple play, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, heavy teasing & banter, edging, orgasm denial, light choking

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: This is a rewrite of an old 2019 fic of mine, so I hope you enjoy the newest version! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! Also a biiiiiiig thank you so Sarah @caelesjjk for beta editing this for me. Go show her some love if you aren't already following her! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“Oh, no,” you hear one of the dancers behind you whisper to another, “Look who’s walking in.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you casually stretch, your eyes betraying you by glancing over your shoulder toward the door, dying to see who they’re talking about. You recognize him almost immediately and the whispers continue to grow about the slender male who is walking across the room to set his stuff down.

Park Jimin.

Of course, he would be auditioning for this show. It’s his final semester, and you really should have seen this coming. Especially since you knew he was bound to get whatever position he was auditioning for. That’s a given.

Park Jimin always gets whatever he wants in life; whether that be a specific role in a performance, who his performance partners are both on the stage…and in the bedroom, that sort of thing. He’s the most pretentious person you’ve ever met, seeing as he acts like he is God’s gift to the dance world, and you’re already dreading any interaction you’ll have with him.

Rumor has it that his daddy, former dancer and sponsor, paid his way into Juilliard, but as much as you hate to admit it, he (unfortunately) happens to be very talented and you doubt the school didn’t already have something lined up for him, regardless of who his family is. Unlike you, who was on the waitlist for two months and had to take out a loan worth more than your life to attend this school.

Your eyes meet his and Jimin does a once-over before moving onto the people to your left. What a prick.

“Y/N!” a voice yells from the entryway. Your familiar, freckled, redheaded best friend is quickly prancing towards you.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” Catalina squeals before hugging you tightly. “What part are you auditioning for? Please tell me it’s lead. God, I miss you. It sucks that we don’t have any classes together this semester. How are you?”

You hug your petite friend back, “I miss you too! Please tell me that you’re not also auditioning for lead, I don’t want to be judged against you. Your pirouettes are perfect compared to my lousy ones.”

Her laugh echoes through the room. “Apparently you didn’t hear about my recent tumble,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder into yours. “I’ll gladly be in the background after my solo-gone-wrong.”

“Alright, everyone!” One of the male judges calls out, walking past the lineup of dancers to collect everyone’s entry form. “We’ll start with the routine you were required to memorize as a group, and then it will be individual evaluations after. Make sure your numbers are secured and let’s line up outside the door.”

After taking your place and getting into position with the rest of the packed room, you wait for the cue to begin. The routine is short and simple, and years of practice have made some of the required moves second nature.

Before you know it, the judges are escorting people out the door for the individual sessions.

You're about twentieth in line, right behind Cat. That makes you a bit nervous because, even though she’s not auditioning for the lead role, her impressive skills might land her a more prominent part than the one she’s aiming for.

Everyone else is quietly chatting in line while you do your best to relax, working through your routine in your mind. This is one of your pre-audition rituals. It always helps with easing your nerves.

By the time you finish running through a couple of full-outs in your head, you’re second in line. You wish Cat good luck as she’s ushered into the dance studio. Her five minutes go by almost too quickly, but she exits with a happy smile.

“Hey, good luck! Kill it, okay?”

You nod, quickly following after the woman who calls your name next.

“Miss Y/N, it says here that you’re auditioning for the female lead. As a sophomore?” Mr. Jenson, one of your dance professors and judge, questions. You prepared for this. It’s very uncommon for an underclassman to try out for such a prestigious role.

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” You hold your head high.

“Well, I have to say I’m quite impressed with your confidence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You wait for the familiar beginning notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz Of The Flowers to play before flying effortlessly through your well-practiced routine. You’re banking on the emotional state of your dancing along with the technical moves you’ve included to impress the judges, and based on their faces when you finish, you figure you did just that. You can’t help but grin widely as you watch the four of them scribble furiously onto the sheets of paper. That’s a really good sign.

“I have to say, I was a little thrown off in the beginning by your song choice since it’s so, hmm, how do I say this, so amateur. But I was very surprised by what you chose to express and the level at which you dance,” the first judge says.

“Yes, the lines you created with your body were very exquisite,” another praises.

You nodded, taking in their advice and criticism.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, you may exit.” Mr. Jenson says with a smile.

As soon as you step out the door and exhale, you feel a sense of relief. The excitement of your successful audition courses through you, filling you with good energy.

You find Cat stretching in the warm-up room next door.

“Oh my god, you got it. Didn’t you?” She squeals the second she sees your face.

“I don’t know…” You have a pretty good idea based on their responses and comments but aren’t positive.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “That’s your ’I just nailed my audition’ face. You totally got it.”

“I hope so. God, wouldn’t that be so insane? When was the last time an underclassman got the lead?”

Someone behind you scoffs; you look over your shoulder and see that it’s Jimin. Your eyes narrow at him, but Cat turns you back before you go off on him. “Not worth it, the rest of us seniors think it’s great that you’re trying for a top spot. How about we go get a drink from the vending machine while we wait?”

You nod before grabbing your warm-up bag and follow her out. “I can’t believe him. He’s so stuck up,” You grumble once you’re far enough away that no one but Cat can hear you.

“He’s always like that, just be thankful that you don’t share any classes with him.”

You’ve heard that Jimin is usually the center of attention in class, whether it’s his choice or not, so you can’t imagine being stuck in one with him. It sounds like it would be impossible to get good feedback if the teachers only care about him.

After you both buy the drinks that you want, you head back. The line is smaller but it will still be at least a half-hour until everyone has had their turn. You sigh impatiently and head back into the warm-up room.

Deciding to sit along the mirrored wall, you rummage through your bag to find a pair of headphones and put your favorite playlist on shuffle while you wait. Even though it feels like half the day goes by while you’re sitting there waiting, it’s really only been about an hour.

Everyone’s attention lands on Madam Jamie, one of the contemporary dance professors, when she asks everyone to re-enter the audition room.

“Okay,” she starts once everyone gets in line, “Those whose numbers I am about to call, please step forward. Dancers eleven, one fifty-three, one forty-seven, seventeen, thirty-eight, twenty-two, and one ten.”

Cat gives you a concerned look as she steps forward without you.

“Seventy-two, fifteen, sixty-eight, thirty, thirty-four, eighty-two, one twenty-one–” you step forward and sigh in relief once she spoke your number. Tuning out the rest of the numbers called, you smile at Cat as she reaches for your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everyone else, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected. Thank you for your time,” She finishes, resting her clipboard against her chest.

Those who didn’t make the cut are escorted out as Mr. Jenson stands up to make an announcement.

“I have everyone’s part listed here,” He shakes the paper in his hand. “It’ll be left on this table for you all to look over. However, I want to first congratulate you all. We are excited to have this much talent for the semester’s exhibition show. We have some great things planned and cannot wait to get started with you all. Please take note of our rehearsal schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Eight to noon. Most of you should not have conflicting schedules as all dance classes are held in the afternoon anyway, although if you do have a problem just stay after and we can work it out. Madam Jamie and I will see you back here Monday morning. Dismissed.”

You and Cat both wait until more people clear out of the room before you have the guts to read the paper.

Catalina Wilde - Corps de ballet

Your eyes wander across the page as you search for your name.

Y/N - Lead Female Soloist

Turning towards each other, you squeal “Oh my god,” at the same time.

“I can’t believe it. We both got what we wanted,” you excitedly rush out.

“I know, this never happens. Oh, I’m so excited!” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it again, picking up the paper with her other hand.

“Oh, no.” She turns the paper towards you, “Look who your partner is.”

Park Jimin - Lead Male Soloist

You huff, “Of course, I’m not surprised.” You turn your head and search the mostly-empty room for him. You have a feeling he’s still here, it’s like you can sense his presence.

“Cat! You coming?” the group of dancers near the door asks.

“Shoot, I’ve got to head to my next session. I’ll see you later, okay?” Cat says, giving you a quick hug as she runs out the door.

Leaving just you and Jimin.

Deciding to let go of your prejudice against Jimin, you figure the best move would be to congratulate him on getting the part he auditioned for.

He watches blankly from the mirrored wall as you walk towards him.

Once in front of him, you stick your hand out. “Hey congrats, I’m looking forward to–” you begin before he rudely cuts you off by holding up his hand.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sneers, “We need to take this extremely seriously so I expect you to be at our rehearsals an hour early so we can get in extra time,” he looks you over again, “From what I can tell you’re gonna need it.”

“Also,” apparently he isn’t finished, “I expect that you’ll be taking care of your diet from here on out since I’m going to be lifting you and I don’t want my arms to give out, or worse, snap.”

“Well, you can always go to the gym and work on that yourself,” you say defensively. What a jerk.

“So can you, sweetheart.”

“Uh, wow. Okay…” Here you are trying to congratulate him and here he is treating you like dirt. “Guess the rumors are true,” you mutter as you shift your duffel strap further up your shoulder, turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” Well, shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. You look him in the eyes without showing any regret for your previous statement.

His eyes narrow at you, clearly not liking your RBF, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” However, you aren’t.

“You know,” he remarks, “I don’t care about what you’ve heard about me or what you think about me. I care if you’re going to be too immature for this role and if that’s the case I’ll have no trouble replacing you.” He follows you out the audition room.

Oh boy, you’re pissed now. You turn around and get right in his face.

“What the fuck? In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in charge here. Just because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore doesn’t make you any better than me,” you bark while shoving a finger in his chest.

“Secondly, I don’t need to believe the rumors because you’ve just proven them to be true. You’re an ass to all of your partners to the point that they don’t want to dance with you so you can,” you lift up your hands to finger quote this next part, “Pick who you think is good enough.”

You scoff, “Well, here’s a fun fact dickwad. I’m not going anywhere. The judges chose me and I fully intend on dancing as the female lead in the show. So get the fuck over yourself ‘cause you’re about to be seeing a lot of me in these next few months. Got it?“

"Fine,” he huffs, pushing past you.

“Fine!” you snap, turning away from him and heading towards your next class. Now that you're thoroughly annoyed and not in the mood for your next class, which happens to be a two-hour lecture on the history of interpretive dance, you sigh and get moving before you’re late.

The first two weeks of ‘rehearsals’ are spent training, just at a higher level than you’re used to. However, you hide it well. You’ve been making sure to keep up with the upperclassmen because you know that you are, unfortunately, replaceable if Madam Jamie or Mr. Jenson deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter that your thighs feel like they are on fire, or that your calves might be ripping at every bend and arch you make. You’re going to complete the one hundred pliés just like everyone else without a single complaint.

Jimin must have taken your last conversation to heart, or he’s exceptionally good at masking his feelings if your words bothered him, because he’s been an excellent partner all week. Although, you know you aren’t going to grow a typical relationship with him as you did with all of the other partners you have had over the years. You’ve been friends, good friends, even, with your previous partners, something you know is never going to happen with Jimin.

He doesn’t do small talk. He really doesn’t have much to say at all other than pointing out when you are making a mistake. No good comments, nor praise–not that you’re expecting any–but it would have been nice to hear him say that he is impressed with how well you’re keeping up with him.

It’s Friday of the second week, which means that it’s the last day of the training period aka hell week, thankfully. You’re dying to get started on learning the actual program. You aren’t looking forward to Jimin’s request of showing up an hour earlier than everyone else this next week, but even though you hate to admit it, the extra time will end up benefiting you.

Today also happens to be the day the choreographer is coming in. You’ve heard the whispers throughout the school this week, everyone trying to guess who it’s going to be.

And after seeing who Madam Jamie walks into the studio with, you’re so happy to see that they were all wrong.

“O-oh my–ohmygod,” you bumble and did a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it?

The brown curls hung gorgeously on the tall man’s head and you internally drool at how much better looking he is in person. He’s so tan, so fit, so delicious–

“Can you concentrate?” Jimin grumbles in annoyance, pulling you out of your slightly inappropriate thoughts. You’re doing partner stretches, which does require some level of focus, but not enough that you have to look away from the literal Italian God who stood a mere six feet away. “What’s your deal anyway? We’re supposed to be preparing our muscles for the toughest training session yet and you’re over there stuttering like a fool.”

You scoff at him and lower your voice, “Don’t you know who that is?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care?” He mutters, pushing the backside of your thigh towards your torso.

“You can’t be serious,” you exasperate. “That’s Luca Black! You know, one of the most famous choreographers in the dance world right now. I can’t believe you don’t see how big of a deal this is.”

“The only thing I care about right now is making sure your hamstrings are loose so you don’t kick me in the face when we’re dancing.”

Now there’s an idea…

“Alright, everyone! Front and center please,” Mr. Jenson announces as he walks in the door, right on time as usual.

“Dancers, I would like you to meet Mr. Black, your choreographer. I expect you all to treat him with the same level of respect that you give me and Madam Jamie.”

“Oh please,” Mr. Black says, stepping forward, “You can all call me Luca.” His smile hits the heart of every girl in the class, and even a few of the guys. “I am looking forward to working with you all to make this performance one to remember. Can we get into a lineup to start?”

Everyone moves into the typical sequence based on each person’s position of where they belong. Which meant that you and Jimin were dead center with Luca’s eyes right on you.

You swallow slowly when he walks towards the two of you. “You must be Y/N. Mr. Jenson has told me quite a lot about you. I have to say, I am most excited to work with a dancer like you.”

Jimin is perplexed that Luca went straight to you. If anything, he’s the better dancer here and he doesn’t quite understand why a sophomore is getting so much attention. He’s nearly sick to his stomach listening to the nauseating conversation that you two are having.

“It’s an honor to have you working with us Mr. Black,” you say in awe as you shake his hand.

“Luca,” he corrects before lifting your hand to kiss it, “And the pleasure is most definitely all mine.”

“Sorry,” you pant, rushing through the door. “I know I’m a couple of minutes late. I couldn’t find parking. Why is it so freaking busy? It’s barely seven.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimin says ignoring your question. You bite your tongue and get straight into your morning stretches.

“What do you want to work on today?” you ask, knowing what he is going to say after you’re warmed up. For the past three weeks, you and Jimin have been dedicating extra time to perfecting scene two's Pas De Deux.

It’s the only section of this scene where you’re both completely alone on stage and Jimin is dead-set on making it nothing less than perfect. He reasons that just because you are the only two people on stage doesn’t mean that the audience’s attention is a given, you need to earn it.

Which is a very on-brand thing for Jimin to say.

“Do you really need to ask?” He snickers with a playful smile plastered to his face.

“Nevermind then,” you banter back, joining him as he finishes stretching.

You’ve surprisingly gotten pretty comfortable with Jimin after spending more time with him. Dancing with him is mostly fun, besides when he calls you out on your mistakes…repeatedly. But even then, you know he tries to mean well. You both have to be the best or the other will end up looking like a fool–which (you assume) neither of you want to happen.

Knowing that you’re almost halfway through the semester is a little terrifying. All the dancers have been making great progress and everything is coming together seamlessly, but you can’t help but feel the nervousness set in.

You take a deep breath and clear your thoughts, getting nervous right now will do you no good. Thankfully, when you start dancing your mind settles and you’re able to concentrate on your performance. 

Well, that is, until Jimin drops you during the lift. You might have understood the mistake if he hadn’t done it three times prior.

“Get up.” He holds his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet. “We need to get this number down, you know how important it is.”

“I’m aware of that,” you hiss. “But it would be nice if you weren’t letting me fall every two seconds.” You rub your aching side and stretch to see if that helps ease the pain.

“Just dance it off, you’ll be fine.” Jimin walks over to his stuff along the wall, before bending down to grab his water bottle.

You scowl. “Stop being ridiculous and hold me properly. I don’t have teeth anywhere down there,” you say motioning to the space between your legs. “You can put your hand where it belongs without worry, you know.”

Jimin blushes as soon as he hears your words, he turns away quickly before you notice. Yes, it’s technically his fault that you keep falling. It isn’t intentional, but he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel the warmth of your center from where his hand is resting when he goes in for the lift.

The thought of other parts of him being this close to your heat is driving him crazy and yeah, he may have faltered, which yeah, may have caused you to crash down once…twice. Okay, maybe three times. Or four?

It doesn’t matter. He’s so hyper-focused on why he’s thinking about you like this at all. You’re attractive, he already knew that. But this new-found thought of wanting to take you hard and fast, right here in the studio is something else. It comes from deep within, and he can’t decide if he wants to squash the idea completely or let it lead to something wild.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts just long enough for you to both get through these next ten minutes before the rest of the crew arrives for rehearsal. “Alright, let’s go again.”

You get into position, Jimin falling behind you. You try to hold still but his breath tickles your neck while you wait for the music cue.

The motions are practically natural to you at this point, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself in case you fall again.

You rapidly suck in air when you feel Jimin’s fingers press deep into your inner thigh this time as he lifts you. They are incredibly close, much closer than they were last time.

You won’t ever admit to it, but your mind is overflowing with dirty thoughts of Jimin’s fingers somewhere else. Particularly somewhere that would have you writhing within seconds.

Those thoughts are distracting, and you’re late for your cue to jump down. And somehow instead of jumping, your body twists around in a weird way as your head dives down toward the ground below you. Tensing, you brace for the impact that doesn’t come.

Unexpectedly, Jimin manages to catch you before any damage happens, and he quickly pulls you up, as if you were never upside down to begin with. His arms are wrapped right below your butt, causing your head to be directly above his. How on earth it got there, you have no idea.

But you aren’t questioning it. Adrenaline runs wild through your body, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, scared that you still might fall somehow.

Your faces are only a few inches apart in this position, which allows you to see how soft and smooth Jimin’s lips look. You slowly lick yours as he lowers you down to the ground, keeping the same amount of distance, or lack thereof, between you two. The realization that it would be so easy to kiss him right now has set in and you swear Jimin has the same mad thoughts; especially when he’s gripping your hips this tightly.

What you both don’t realize is that outside of the main doors, the rest of the dancers are watching with wide eyes and shocked faces. If it weren't for the unmistakable red hair you see in the mirror's reflection, who knows what might have happened? You don’t think about it, instead, you pull away and play it off before heading toward your bag to grab a drink.

“Morning everyone! What are we all waiting for?” Luca says from behind the dancers, “Let’s go in and get warmed up.”

He opens the door and sees you and Jimin at opposite ends of the room, each taking big gulps from your water bottles. Interesting…

Cat walks in and sets her stuff down next to Jimin’s and silently watches him. His face is flushed but she can’t tell if it was because of the intense moment you two just shared, or from the strain of the lifting sequence. She was the first to notice the look you two shared before the crowd outside the door, and she has a weird feeling about it.

Last she knew you were still fighting with Jimin during your pre-practices, although she’s very aware of the saying ’there’s a fine line between love and hate’. Cat makes a mental note to ask you about this morning’s situation later.

The first half of practice is weird, to say the least. Jimin is treating you like nothing happened. And while technically nothing happened, something almost did and you don’t know how you felt about the something.

Needless to say, you aren’t on top of your dance game today. It’s hard to concentrate with your head filled with empty-answered questions and even more confusion.

“Okay, everyone,” Luca echoes, stealing every dancer’s attention, “Let’s take five. When we reconvene we’ll do a recap of Scenes One through Three with no breaks. If we can get it down we’ll move onto the beginning of Scene Four today.”

You and Jimin happily turn in opposite directions, grateful for some space.

“Y/N, can you stay back? There’s something I want to go over with you,” Luca calls out, stopping you from heading in the direction of Cat and some of the other girls.

Oh no. That’s never a good sign.

“Don’t worry, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he says after seeing your smile falter. “I just see a little room for improvement with the last sequence before the song changes in scene three.”

He gestures for you to get into position in front of him, which you do without hesitation.

Luca moves closer to you and rests a hand on your lower back, “Tighten here and stretch.” He shows you how to position your body to make it look more elegant and elongated. “See how much longer you look now?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Hold yourself like this through the rest of the dance. Trust me when I say you’ll notice a difference. So will everyone else.”

A blush creeps up your neck when his hand slides across your hip before he steps away from you, “Thank you for the tip.”

His eyes burn into yours, and you feel the heat growing in your lower stomach. “Anytime, Y/N.” His lips turned into a small smile, which you returned.

Jimin stalks silently as Luca touches you, his anger bubbling deep down inside him. Fuck, he doesn’t exactly want you, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Luca touching you like that or giving you those looks; looks that have disguised intentions with ulterior motives behind them.

He wants to tell Luca where to go and how to get there, but he knows better. Not only would it be unprofessional as hell, but Jimin would probably be screwed out of a lot of future events if he tells one of the best choreographers to fuck off.

He forces himself to look away and takes another deep breath, calming down a little before part two of rehearsals starts.

The second half of rehearsals ends sooner than expected, and Jimin storms off before you even have the chance to talk to him about this morning. You sigh, your eyes trailing his fast exit.

“Y/N! I’m heading to the vending machine for a granola bar, want to come with me?” Cat asks. You’re sure that her question has a hidden agenda too, but you go along with it anyway since you’re starving and need to eat something small before your next class.

“Sure, just give me a second to switch out of my pointe shoes.” You don’t like to wear yours for walking since they’re new and still stiff.

“So,” Catalina begins, watching you put the money into the machine. “What was that this morning? And don’t you dare try to say it was just dancing, because I’ve seen 'just dancing’ with Jimin and that was not at all what I saw earlier.”

You groan internally, not wanting to deal with her interrogation. Cat isn’t the type to judge you if you told her that you would’ve fucked Jimin right then if it wasn’t for the fact that you noticed her (and the rest of the dancers). But you don’t want to admit it to yourself.

Saying it and thinking it are two very different things, and you aren’t sure you can come to terms with saying that you want to fuck Jimin. Hell, you have no idea if you will feel the same way in an hour. So you choose to keep it to yourself for now.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks bluntly.

“No, nothing happened between us.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?” she questions next.

“Good,” you huff, “I think…”

It’s been another busy few weeks, and things have been going great…until today. To be honest, this is probably the worst dance day you’ve had in years.

“I’m sorry guys, let’s start from the top,” you apologize again for messing up. The scene you’re going over today isn’t complicated by any means, it’s only a transition scene. But your head is elsewhere which, in turn, makes you mess up every couple of seconds.

You're not getting many approving looks from the room. Luca is a little worried, Madam Jamie has pursed lips, and the dancers are severely annoyed with you.

“No, Miss Y/N.  Stop before you hurt yourself.” Mr. Jenson lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyra, would you stand in for Y/N and show her how it’s properly done?”

You’re embarrassed that it’s gotten to this point. What is with you? You’ve done this sequence perfectly with Jimin this past week, hundreds of times at least. Now with the extra dancers on the floor, you seem to be forgetting it all.

Taking soft, shallow breaths is the only thing keeping you from crying in front of everyone. But they wouldn’t notice. All eyes are glued to Kyra, a senior who had also auditioned for the same role as you, as she dances with Jimin.

They dance beautifully, you can’t deny it, even if you want to. You can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been the better choice for the female lead.

“Thank you, Kyra. Everyone back into position now.”

Kyra walks past you and smirks. You know she’s thinking the same thing that you are. She probably also thinks that she’s capable of sweeping in and stealing your position. Like hell if you’re going to let that happen.

Even so, it’s not your decision to make and you know if you keep screwing this up it’s more than likely to happen.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s your deal?” Jimin whispers once he lines up with you again. The last thing you need is for him to make you feel worse for fucking up.

“I don’t know, it’s not a good day for me,” you whisper back as your eyes fill with tears. You’re completely exhausted, defeated, and disappointed.

“Just dance it off, we all get days like this. Follow my lead, okay? I promise I won’t let you mess up again.”

You nod, blinking back your tears. This is a different side of Jimin than you’re used to. He’s caring and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

After shaking off the earlier mishaps, you get yourself together and push through practice, making sure that the first official run-through of the program is a total success. It makes you feel a hell of a lot better than two hours earlier. You can tell that the rest of the group is just as ecstatic as you and Jimin are.

“That was great, Y/N!” he says, pulling you into a comforting hug. “See, all you needed was a little reassurance.”

You’re slightly sad when he pulls back, the warmth of his body is no longer felt. “Thank you for today. I would’ve completely fallen apart without you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, make sure you get some rest this weekend. See you Monday!” He smiles softly and waves bye. Who knew Jimin had more to him than what everyone else saw?

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head and see Madison, one of the upperclassmen who’s also in the show, walking toward you.

“What are you doing tonight? Some of the girls and I are planning on going out to celebrate our first successful run-through of the show. We’re wondering if you’d like to come?” She leans in a little closer, “We have a fake you can use to get into our favorite club, Wander. We’d love for you to let loose with us.”

Usually, you would turn down any interaction that involves alcohol, especially since you’re underage, but you don’t want to disappoint your potential new friends. Plus it does sound like a lot of fun, and after the practice you just had, you deserve to let loose and relax.

“Yeah, totally! I’d love to come.” Madison smiles and you both trade numbers.

“Okay cool, I’ll text you my address later. We’re gonna get ready at mine before we head out. See you later!” She gives you a quick hug before heading out the door.

You’re secretly excited to hang out with the older girls since you don’t have many other friends in your year. Especially not now with all your free time taken up by rehearsals.

Jimin stands outside the dance studio’s side door, slyly eavesdropping. He makes a mental note to accidentally run into you later. He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to go without seeing you for two days.

You intrigue him, and after your almost-kiss, Jimin wants to know what your lips feel like for real this time, not just what he has been imagining.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks over the pounding music. You have no idea what to ask for; you obviously don’t drink and ordering something from the bar is a little out of your comfort zone since you don’t know what you’re doing.

Madison catches on and takes over. “Five shots of tequila for our group!” she yells while leaning over the bartop so he can hear her.

Oh boy, you don’t know much but you know enough to feel safe assuming tonight will be wild if you’re starting with shots, of all things.

With about a month left until the show, deciding to let loose with the girls is exactly the kind of break you need. Dancing, drinks, and good friends. Looking around, you’re happy to see that you have all three. It’s all a part of tonight’s plan.

What you don’t plan for, however, is seeing Jimin in the middle of the dance floor with Kyra all over him. After practice today, this is a total slap in the face.

You aren’t sure if the progress you’ve been making with Jimin is just one-sided, or if you had been imagining it this whole time. It feels like you’re both taking two steps forward in the right direction and then something like this will happen, sending you ten steps back.

Your eyes are glued to Kyra’s body as she dances with him, her hips moving at the perfect speed. You can’t help but be jealous of her. Not only is she gorgeous and a great dancer, but she also has a way of demanding everyone’s attention in any room she graces. Although, there’s only one person’s attention you want right now, and from what it looks like, you doubt you’ll be getting his anytime soon.

“Oh my god, is that Luca?” Catalina asks with a surprised tone, pointing towards the opposite end of the bar, “No way, it can’t be.”

“It is,” you laugh nervously before looking away. You’re a little worried that he might remember that you’re under the legal drinking age, only by a year, but still. How embarrassing would it be for him to get you kicked out…

“That’ll be $42,” the bartender drones, pushing the over-spilling shot glasses toward your group and happily taking whichever girls’ fifty-dollar bill in return.

You lift your glass along with the others, “Here’s to letting go and having fun!”

The tequila burns the back of your throat but that doesn’t stop you from hollering, “Let’s go dance!”

You pull Madison and Catalina onto the dance floor, coming to an abrupt stop when your back collides with someone., “Oh my gosh, I am so sor–” You pause and stare at the dark-haired man, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi ladies, I hope you’re not getting into too much trouble tonight,” Luca jokes with a wide smile displayed across his face. He looks gorgeous dressed in all black, the leather jacket tops off his outfit.

“Oh of course not, Mr. Black,” Catalina giggles playfully, “We’re all good girls here.”

He raises his eyebrow which makes each of you giggle, “I’m not so sure about that. Can I buy you all a drink? Or is that a little weird?”

You look around at the girls; they do the same.

“Uh, sure? Madison finally says, breaking up the awkward silence.

Cat and one of her friends entertain Luca’s conversation while they wait at the bar. You slyly peek over your shoulder while dancing, looking for you-know-who. You can’t find him, but you’re happy to see that Kyra has moved on to her next man of the night.

"Hey,” Luca says, walking towards you with an extra drink in hand. “Here you go. Shhh, it’s our little secret,” he says humorously.

You thank him for the drink, nervously swirling the ice with the slim black straw in your cup.

“I’m happy I ran into you,” he begins, “Can I talk to you for a second, alone?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” You nod to Cat, silently saying that you’ll catch up with her later. He smiles and pulls you aside from your friends.

“What’s up?” You ask tensely while Luca grins, running a hand through his hair.

“I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your progress so far, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you at rehearsals.”

Oh my god.

“Really?” You gape.

“Absolutely,” he reaches for your hand, bringing you closer to him before bending down to plant his lips on yours. You freeze as he kisses you gently, entirely unsure of what to do in that situation.

He quickly pulls back after reading your body language, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Luca,” you say curtly, taking a step back, “I appreciate your tips in class and kind comments, but I think we should keep things professional here. You’re the choreographer and I’m a student...”

“Of course, I apologize again. How about I walk you back to your friends and we forget this happened?”

“That would be perfect.” You’re thankful that things don’t seem too awkward, and you only hope things will stay that way when you see each other Monday morning.

Jimin’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms as he clenches his fists. Fucking Luca Black. He was heading your way to say hi, but Luca led you in a different direction than the one your friends are heading to. He should have known better, but he follows behind slowly. And what he sees when he finally turns the corner doesn’t sit right with him.

Luca’s hand on your cheek as the two of you kiss. Jimin isn’t exactly sure who initiated it. And even though it’s eating him alive, he doesn’t want to know because it pains him either way.

He watches as Luca pulls away, and takes note of your stunned face. Jimin wants to believe that was because you didn’t enjoy it. He can’t hear what you’re talking about, and he truly wants to believe that Luca is making you uncomfortable based on your reaction to the kiss. But that hopeful thought is squashed as soon as you smile and take Luca’s hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Jimin is still trying to process what he just witnessed even though you’re both long gone. He steps out of the shadows and throws his drink at the wall, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking behind him. Grumbling under his breath, Jimin takes the closest exit and slams the club door behind him.

He heads home with the hopes that a cold shower will ease his rage, but the cool water running down his back isn’t doing much for his boiling blood, nor is it getting rid of the image of Luca’s lips on yours. And inevitably, he can’t get you out of his head either which in turn results in him masturbating to those thoughts of you … which is anything but calming.

Jimin closes his eyes and imagines that it’s him kissing you, not Luca, and that he’s the one who has you pushed up against the wall. He can practically hear your soft whimpers, the ones you make when you’re doing partner stretches that always have him close to losing it right there in front of everyone at rehearsals.

But it isn’t him who’s stretching with you. His length quivers in his hand as he speeds up, trying to change his thoughts to you aroused in the club bathroom, his hand sliding underneath your dress and slipping into your panties. Jimin throws his head back at the image of you getting all worked up, but once again, it isn’t him that’s driving you wild. It’s Luca.

After the fifth attempt and still failing to picture himself with you, Jimin gives up. He groans, looking down at his length’s angry red tip that’s aching for release. And there’s only one thing that will give him that. You.

But not an imaginary you. The real you. The real you wanting him just as much as he wants you. He doubts that you ever will, not when you can have Luca instead.

Meaning that Jimin is basically screwed.

Monday is a killer. Jimin has been hateful to you all morning, and you genuinely have no idea why. He seems to be fuming now at the end of rehearsals, compared to the quiet angry vibe he was giving off earlier this morning.

“Hey, great job today Y/n. You’re doing phenomenal. I can’t wait to see this all come to life next week. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks! Yes, see you tomorrow Luca.” You wave bye while he rushes out of the room, leaving just you and Jimin behind.

Jimin waits until Luca is out of earshot before saying anything. He’s been annoyed all day by your and Luca’s behavior after witnessing the two of you making out in the hallway of Wander.

He’s disgusted, even more so by the afterthoughts of Luca bringing you back to his place and taking advantage of you. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much this weekend.

“God, you’re such a suck-up,” he criticizes, failing to hold back his evil words. “How special do you think you’re going to feel when the paid help you’re boning doesn’t remember your name the second he moves on to the next school and finds a new student to seduce?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can pretend all you want but I saw you Friday night. With him.”

Oh god…

You shake your head, “Jimin, I can explain–”

“Whatever, waitlist. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turns around and internally grimaces, upsetting you isn’t what he was going for. He’s pissed and unfortunately, you’re the only person he can take it out on. It’s a dick move to say things like that, especially since you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else.

Jimin knows he should just let it go, but he can’t help it. It’s been eating him alive all day. He’s pissed that you’re acting like a damn fool because of Luca’s attention. Luca’s eyes hadn’t left your body the entire day.

Fucking perv.

Jimin is more pissed that it’s bothering him so much. He shouldn’t care, he doesn’t–or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Jimin’s words stung, and you’re shaking out of pure anger. “What the fuck is your problem? I can handle the normal stick-up-your-ass behavior but it’s on a whole new level today. Chill out, okay? It isn’t what you think. Nothing happened after he kissed me. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but it actually made me, like, super uncomfortable and he apologized directly after. We both agreed it wasn’t professional, so piss off Jimin. And even if I did decide to take it further with Luca, it wouldn’t concern you. So stay out of it.” You’re near him when you finish, with crossed arms and eyes glaring.

It’s unbelievable Jimin would make such a comment; the last thing you need is for him to start telling people what he saw.

You know you would be harshly reprimanded for using a fake ID to get into a club, but also for accepting a drink from someone who is a teacher, and especially for kissing that same teacher.

Jimin is just as heated as you are. So his intuition was right that night. His anger only grows, wanting to punch Luca over and over again for making you uncomfortable like that. How could Luca not tell that you weren’t actually into him, but rather idolized him for his contributions to the dance world? How dare he use that against you to pull a move like that?

“Fine,” he growls in your face, totally furious at the situation, and furious with himself for caring this much about it–about you. You’re driving him crazy, even now when you’re pissed with him. It turns him on how strong and defensive you always are, and fuck, he wants to do something about it.

“Fine,” you snap back, taking another step forward as your eyes subconsciously lower to his parted mouth.

In a matter of milliseconds, your lips collide and your hands are all over each other’s bodies. He lifts you into his arms and slams your back into the mirrors. It’s a miracle that they don’t shatter from his force.

You gasp at the contact and Jimin takes the opportunity to shove his tongue further into your mouth. Your legs lock around his waist while you continue to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously.

Jimin pulls away and tugs your leotard down your arms, freeing your breasts from the tight compression.

“You’re so fucking annoying, do you know that?” He snarls before leaving a line of rough kisses along your neck and down your chest. You whimper at the sensation and run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking loud, do you always have to say so much?” You moan in response.

Jimin is starved for your taste and can’t wait any longer. His hands travel down your side while his lips close over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

You mewl, crashing your head back against the glass from the sheer amount of pleasure.

Jimin abruptly pulls away and brings his face back in front of yours. “What? Do you have something to say?” he asks with fire in his eyes. But with his lips replaced by his fingers, twisting and tugging, you’re helplessly tongue-tied.

He moves one hand lower and another soft moan escapes your lips, his middle finger dancing dangerously above your panties before dipping into your slickened folds.

Jimin knows exactly where and how to touch you, causing your head to spin. He feels himself hardening watching your face contort in pleasure, and nearly coming in his pants when you slowly lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth and letting out a long moan in the process.

“Mmm, Jimin,” you cry, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Jimin notices this and instantly pulls away. You don’t get to come that easily. Even though it makes him super fucking excited to see what his touch does to you. God, this is so much better than what he imagined.

You whimper at the loss of his touch, “What the fuck?”

“Turn around,” he demands, his eyes flooding with lust and a dash of something dark. He undresses you rather quickly, leaving your tights and leotard wrapped around your legs.

You decide you aren’t going to let him have all the fun, sneaking a hand back behind you. Jimin grits his teeth in pleasure as your hand slips into his pants. His length twitches in anticipation of feeling you wrapped around him. You pull his member out and lead him between your damp folds, moaning deliciously at the contact.

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room and Jimin can’t hold back any longer. He wants to fulfill his fantasy of taking you hard and fast, right here in front of the mirror. Without a warning he slams himself into you, causing you to lose your breath.

Your back is against him as he relentlessly pounds you from behind. The force of his thrusts are hard and you use your hands as leverage against the mirror to avoid being crushed by him, even though it would certainly be worth it.

Jimin brings a hand up around your neck and holds your head straight so he can watch when you come. You’re close and he knows just what to do.

“Say my name,” he demands, using his other hand to pinch your clit. “Look at me and say the name of the man who’s making you come like you never have before.”

“Jimin, oh my-” The waves of pleasure wash over your entire body, every inch of your skin tingles. You pulsate around him, but he’s not done with you yet.

“That’s damn right.” Jimin twists you around again, lifting you against the reflective glass. He keeps his fast pace, with a fistful of your hair held between his tightening fingers.

“You’re such a fucking slut. Look at you losing it over my cock,” he snarls with a clenched jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you like this until the rest of the class comes in.”

Jimin rams into you with twice the amount of force as before. “I’d make that fucking Italian bastard watch as I take you hard and make you feel this good.” He brings his lips up to your ear and whispers, “He could never,” before harshly biting your ear, sending you completely over the edge for a second time. 

Jimin watches you unfold, your beauty completely mesmerizes him. Your entire body is on fire from oversensitivity while Jimin’s fingers rub your throbbing nub. You watch, completely hypnotized, as he brings his soaked fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Oh, don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet,” he smirks devilishly, moving his thumb back to your clit and rubbing in crude circles. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s too much.

Jimin hisses when your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight right now.” It isn’t long after those words leave his lips that he’s shuddering inside of you, his release shooting into the depths of your heat.

Your insides coil as you reach the peak of your third and final orgasm. Jimin holds your legs steady as you come hard over his cock, and swallows your moans with his mouth.

He slowly retreats out of you and presses his flushed cheek against yours. You can feel his heartbeat thumping out of control while you both catch your breath.

After a moment, he draws back and lowers you to the ground. You both chuckle at the state of your appearance. “I think I have a towel in my bag, one sec.” He says while tucking himself back into his pants as you readjust your hair, trying to make the whole ’i just had sex’ look a little less obvious.

You’re still breathing heavily when he returns to wipe you clean.

“Mmm,” you hum in total satisfaction, and still a little out of it - if you had to be honest. “I should piss you off more often.”

He gives you a look, “Hurry up and get dressed before anyone sees you.”

You’re the one to smirk this time, “I thought you wanted people to see me?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Hurry up, you’re taking too long,” you whine while Jimin attempts to undo his stage pants as fast as he can.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, silently praying when his zipper finally works, “There we go.”

He lines himself up to you and pushes into your center.

You bite your lip to avoid making any noises as he stretches you out. The two of you are in the small storage closet behind the stage; there’s only about an hour or two until the opening night show starts.

Jimin thought you had to be joking at first when you whispered how badly you needed him after you both were dressed and ready to warm up with the rest of the dancers. But much to his delight, you weren’t kidding.

Hopefully, they won’t notice your absence. Who are you kidding, they probably know that you two are fucking. Plus, it’s kind of obvious when both lead roles go 'missing’ at the same time.

At first, he was torn between following you into the tight space–wanting to be in another tight space–and doing what he normally would call the right thing, which was preparing for tonight. But after seeing the look on your face, Jimin was quick to follow you into the closet.

“Shhh, you need to stay quiet,” Jimin grunts quietly with a hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

You grip his shoulders as he quickens his pace, bringing you both over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” he quietly whines, the sensation of your inner walls clenching his length is addicting. It isn’t long after your sweet release that he’s quivering. He pulls out, knowing you can’t dance with his release filling you. He shudders one last time, his come shoots out and onto the wooden floor below.

You giggle, “Good thing we’re in a place that can clean that up.” you say referencing his load.

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leans in to give you a quick kiss, “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, typically.”

You flatten out your costume and zip each other up, leaving the closet one at a time. You first of course, since you needed to touch up your makeup now. Leaving Jimin behind to clean up his mess.

About fifteen minutes later you meet Jimin backstage to practice, stretch, and chat along with everyone else. The jitters are bouncing off of everyone and you can’t stand still from excitement, a little nervousness too. But mostly excitement.

“Jimin, are you feeling okay? You look a little stiff and tired if I must say…” Madam Jamie mentions after watching him practice a few scenes.

“Nothing to worry about Madam, had a tiring warm-up is all. Not to worry though, I am more than ready for tonight.”

Madam Jamie reminds him how important rest and lots of water are when practicing hard before moving along to the next student.

“Hmmm, what is it that you usually tell me?” You begin, giving him a coy look, “Oh right. 'Just dance it off.’ That should fix your issue, correct?” You look down at his crotch, and back up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, daring you to go on.

“After our vigorous warmup, I’m sure you do. But we’re going on stage soon. So suck it up, sweetie.”

He can’t wait to make you regret that statement when he teases you later tonight. He had big plans to celebrate. And knowing you, you would love them.

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[yumeaoka-chan]

Hunger Pains

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Reader/ Ghoul! Hobie x Human! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Tokyo Ghoul au, Blood, Ghoulified Hobie, no physical description of reader, can be read as gender neutral reader, scared reader, badass Hobie (I'm really not good at writing fight scenes, ugh), cursing, death (not as bad as you think), lovesick reader, lovesick Hobie, hungry boi Hobie, "The lion falls in love with the lamb" basically

Summary: You go to visit Hobie after not hearing from him for weeks.

A/N: Credit for the lovely banners goes to @the-shroom-garden !!! Late entry for week 3 of Octobie, I'm sorry @the-kr8tor 😭🤚 I got sick outta nowhere, so I'm currently laying in bed as I post this😔 I was going to write a Baldur's Gate 3 au but, the angst potential of Tokyo Ghoul kept screaming at me😭🤚

Taking a deep breath, you knock softly on the door, the houseboat calmly rocking on the water.

“Hobie? Are you in there?” You call out, a frown forming on your lips as you notice no lights are on inside. It's eerily quiet, especially at this time of night. You knew you should've waited until the morning. Tears sting your eyes and you inhale shakily, trying to will the feeling away. Hobie has been distant lately, almost as if he was avoiding you. If you call, he doesn't pick up. When you went to his band practice, his bandmates claimed he wasn't there. And when you went to his favorite hiding spot, the rooftop of a small local music shop that overlooks the city, he was nowhere to be seen.

Just when things were going so well, you thought to yourself as you slowly made your way off of his boat. You and Hobie had been friends for what felt like forever, being together through most of Primary school and all throughout Secondary. Even now, while you are enrolled in college, you two are thick as thieves. Throughout the years, your fondness and admiration of him had slowly formed into adoration and, dare you say it, love. You were in love with him, had been in love with him for quite a while. And just when you had worked up the courage to tell him how you feel, he practically ghosts you.

Walking through the shortcut through the alleyway to get to your dorm, you don't notice the set of eyes watching you from the rooftops, too busy lamenting over Hobie and what you could have done to push him away. The late night streets are silent, not a single soul out due to the frigid cold of the winter breeze. Shivering, you pull your jacket tighter around your body, sniffling from the cold or tears, perhaps. As you trudge on, you suddenly hear something behind you. The faintest of footsteps, the most quiet of chuckles. The very sound makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, goosebumps raising on your arms. Taking a steadying breath, you keep walking, albeit quicker than before. No good would come of acknowledging the sound, that much you knew.

The footsteps draw nearer still, making your heart begin to pound in your chest. Your pulse quickens, your breath hitches, and you suddenly forget to remain calm. Zipping and darting through the deserted streets of London, you try to lose your pursuer through the series of backstreets. Fear grips your chest as you hear the footsteps grow even closer, the chuckles now turned into cackles. How could you be so stupid? Walking around this late, knowing full well that they lurked in the shadows. You want to cry when you slam into a tall metal gate, hurriedly looking over your shoulder. That's when you see him. Tall and broad and practically frothing at the mouth, the long blue appendage coiled around his arm gleaming under the light of the moon. His grin is unhinged, eyes glowing red with pulsing veins surrounding them. When they meet your gaze, you can see the eagerness in them. It makes you let out a fearful cry as you scramble to climb over the gate.

A hand suddenly grips your foot, making you slip and cut your palm open on the sharp metal. You let out a hiss and you struggle to free your foot, fear clawing its way into your chest. The ghoul behind you inhales deeply, salivating at the scent of your blood oozing down your arm.

“Been so long since I had such a good looking meal. I'll savor you, little lambchop.” He cackles as he wrenches you away from the gate with one strong tug. You yelp as you fall down harshly onto the ground, your nose the first to collide onto the asphalt. Head swimming from the impact, you hardly register the crimson dripping from your nose, eyes blearily looking up at your captor with horror. And as he pried open his dripping maw, you could see your life flashing before your eyes. Every joyous moment, every harsh disappointment. And yet, no memory shined brighter than those that involved Hobie. You were going to die before ever getting to reveal your feelings to him. Lips wobbling and tears falling, you gazed at the face of your demise and whispered the one you wanted to see most.

“Hobie…” Just as quick as those words left your lips, the ghoul in front of you was viciously ripped away. Eyes wide with shock and disbelief at the sudden rescue, you blink up at the figure suddenly standing above you. His back was turned to you and sprouting from it were eight long, sharp, spider leg like tendrils. They were as red as the darkest of wines and glowed brightly, illuminating the alleyway. Squinting your eyes, you could see the faint outline of his head, the hair on his head making you gasp. Not just the hair, the clothes too. The leather jacket on his back and the boots that adorned him were all too familiar. Sitting up a bit, your lips tremble as you utter his name.

“I-Is that you… Hobie…?” Hearing his name on your lips is like a godsend everytime, but not this time. Not when you're shaking like a leaf from fear. Hobie grits his teeth as he turns to look down at you, hearing the sharp intake of breath you make when you see his eyes. One brown and one a glowing red, angry red veins surrounding it. He gives you a placating smile before turning his head back to glare at the ghoul that's now standing across from him. The taller man snarls, spit flying from his lips as his coiled appendage glows brighter.

“You filthy One-Eyed! That's my dinner! I called dibs!” Crouching low and spider-like appendages curling around his form, Hobie glares harshly at the other.

“Touch a hair on this one's head and I'll fuckin’ kill you”, he utters lowly, voice on the edge of a growl. The taller ghoul cackles and points his finger at Hobie, eyes wild and sharp with mania.

“That right? I'll just devour you before I feast on the lambchop's flesh then!” With a roaring shout, the crazed ghoul rushes at Hobie, his sharp coiled appendage aimed straight for his chest. Fury rumbles in his chest as Hobie dashes forward to meet him, his deadly appendages shooting forward to harshly stab the ghoul's shoulder. The broad man howls with pain before twisting his body free of them, arm moving to swipe at the other's chest. Wincing as he feels it slice through his shirt and graze his skin, Hobie uses his appendages to propel himself into the air, before viciously bringing them down onto the man's head.

The fight goes on for several minutes, your eyes darting to and fro as you try to spot Hobie in all the madness. They're both quick and every blow you see him take makes you grip your chest, scared that he'll die in this violent whirlwind. Your heart hammers in your ears and it feels like the bloody battle drones on for nearly an hour. There's dust as they kick up and crack the asphalt beneath their feet, making it impossible to see through. Stumbling on your feet, your ears pick up the sudden wail of pain that rings in the air. It's silent then, the dust slowly clearing.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly walk forward, stepping closer to where you can hear the sounds of harsh panting. Just as you step into the circle of dust, you see a glowing red eye staring back at you.

“Don't!” Hobie's booming command rings in your ear and your body seizes up almost automatically. As the dust finally starts to settle, you can see how he grips his right side, blood flowing through his fingers. His other hand is held out in your direction, palm facing you in a clear indication for you not to come any closer. Hobie's face is scrunched up in a painful grimace as he watches concern flit across your features. He adamantly shakes his head, feet slowly backing away from you.

“Don't”, he says, softer this time, like he can't mask the agony that colors his voice. “P-Please just… don't…” He can't take it, can't take how good you smell. How good your blood smells. Skin that he knows would be so soft beneath his fingers, so giving as his nails dig into your arm, leaving marks that would never fade as his lips descend onto your neck. Hobie closes his eyes as the very image seers inside of his brain. It's so vivid that he can almost taste it, taste the way your skin gives beneath his teeth as he gorges himself on the divine banquet that is your flesh.

“No, no, fuck, no…”, he mumbles to himself, hand that was held out to you now gripping his hair. He tugs on the coarse hair, biting his lip so hard that he breaks the skin. “Not Star… Not my Star…” Because how could he ever think to harm you, his Star, his light in this oppressed world? Just the fact that he even imagined tainting you, defiling your body with his disgusting, atrocious hunger… Tears slip down his cheeks as he feels the gaping blackhole in his stomach nag at him, begging him to feast on you, the one he loved most. Because what is love if not to consume and be consumed in return?

You weren't blind to his internal conflict, seeing the way he leered at you before stumbling back, farther away from you. Taking a step forward, you're careful to avoid stepping on the body of the dead ghoul in front of him. Hobie's head shoots up and it makes your heart ache, seeing the waterfall of tears cascading down his cheeks. He's shaking his head furiously as he stumbles back slowly and you steel your resolve, even as he yells and curses at you. Shouts of “No, stay back” and “I'll hurt you, please stay back” ring in your ears and with a heavy heart, you press on. Hobie's back is pressed against a brick wall by the time you come face to face with him, his lips trembling and long legs shaking slightly.

“Hobie”, you breathe out softly as you press a shaky hand against his cheek, making him shudder. “Hobes… Is this why you've been avoiding me…?” His face twists into a visibly pained scowl as he clenches his eyes shut. Taking a careful breath, he slowly nods his head. Fear releases its icy claws from your heart, leaving only tenderness and concern for the man before you. You wait patiently as he calms his frantic breathing, the appendages surrounding him slowly retreating into his back. When he looks at you again, you see his brown eyes glistening, the hunger still lurking beneath the depths of his lipid pools. You give him a small smile, acceptance shining in your soft gaze.

“Tell me everything. From the beginning, okay?” Is what you whisper to him. Hobie can't help but bask in the bright light, the shining beacon that is you. It's then and there that he's determined to find a way to put that sickening hunger to sleep for good, his love for you stronger than his beast.

“It's… a long story, love…”

[cain-e-brookman]

Hey y'all, @creatingblackcharacters has created a challenge for Black History Month and I thought I'd share my entry. I'd like to tag @topazadine @illarian-rambling @mx-ryder and @spideronthesun for the challenge as well!

Uthyr is the main character of my current WIP: The Name, Witch. His is a story of healing, of putting down shame, and of being true to the spirit of what created you, no matter how the world wants you to bend. This is a scene that takes place about 10 years before we meet him in this same garden. Uthyr's greatest victory is always against despair. Uthyr's strength is in his conviction to himself, the culture and virtues that were passed onto him, and his love for the world around him. In my writing, I want my Black audience to see their own resilience in Uthyr. I want to highlight Black men in roles that are softer, but no less strong.

I also sincerely hope that this book can be a long shout out to my Black autistic sibs who are also obsessed with bugs, amphibians, and/or reptiles. I gave my hyperfixation to Uthyr, and I hope you feel seen with it as well. As I said in the comments to a very needed check, joy is just as important as resiliency, and I hope you find as much happiness as Uthyr does in with cold little buddies!

---

perhaps on the crest of each stiff blade of grass hangs the eternal name of someone who was once loved but is now vanished and just another name in an endless field of names that is newly remembered with each return trip of the eager nose...

-Hanif Abdurraqib from "The Crown Ain't Worth Much

The hydrangea bush to the north of his house was the first thing Uthyr put into the soil in his soon-to-be garden. An old witch tradition. The color of the flowers changed with the humors of the soil. Uthyr didn’t know which color he hoped for, just that it grew to be strong. He hoped the plant would grant him the same blessing.

The last thirty-some years of Uthyr’s life had left behind the cooled pyres of his family, and the last two since the death of his mother had left him adrift. The first, a long year where he’d traveled to nowhere in particular, stayed where he found place to stay, and searched desperately for a purpose. At the end of that long year, he realized, exuberantly, there was none. No end to rush to, no greater deed to be done. He would not be rewarded for suffering, would not reach some peak where it became all worth it. He would not find a purpose, nor would he make his own. He would, instead, simply live. Live brightly, now. Live fearlessly, now. He didn't know where he would go, but he knew where he would start.

He practiced his healing for the first time since his father died. A young girl had taken a fall in the small town in which he was staying. He'd gone to her without a thought, placed his hands around the break, and reached out where he knew the magic still laid. The feel of bone knitting beneath his fingers nearly had him in tears. He could hear his father’s warm, heavy voice as he worked:

Bone remembers its home, just not the way back. Remind it gently, and its journey will be painless.

The little girl hadn’t even cried. He’d pulled a dandelion seed that had stuck itself on his cloak and grew it into a miniature sun before placing it behind her ear for bravery. The Sun Goddess rarely answered his beckons for fire, and his stubbornness never won out over the Stone’s, but neither skill brought about the smiles of gratitude he’d seen in all his time healing. He wished it hadn’t taken him so long to appreciate that part of himself, that part of his father’s influence.

Then, after a long while of fighting with his own head, he finally chose himself. Two weeks in a temple to the God of the Golden Moon saw him leaving behind the word “daughter,” to be replaced with a name that held responsibility to no one but himself. Uthyr of the Asphodels, First of His Name. His mother’s now held nothing a burden of failure on his shoulders. He could have been better for her. Should have been better. But he could not make the dead proud, so he cast off the guilt. It no longer served either of them. 

He changed his hair. Spent a long day removing neat rows of braids from his head, combing and washing then rolling his hair like he’d seen his uncle do so many times. At the end of it all, he had sore arms and a deep satisfaction. The start of those locs still stuck oddly from his head in their awkward stage.

“Ugly stage,” his mother used to tease Uncle Callum when they recounted stories of their youth. His uncle would always raise an eyebrow and inform her in no uncertain terms that he’d never been ugly a day in his life. Uthyr planted snapdragons by his window for them both; their favorites. Yellow for his mom. Purple for his uncle. The seeds had been expensive for the paltry savings he’d kept from his brief stint of odd-job healing around the surrounding towns, but the memory of the two exchanging plants on their shared birthday had Uthyr lightening his coin purse without a second thought.

He continued with a few more plots around his house. A smattering of pansies for color, some herbs for healing, then some more for cooking… 

A single row of daffodils by his doorway. For his father. His birthday would be soon. Uthyr would cut one and light a candle. Pray the Death God pass on his love.

I’m alright, he’d tell his father. It’s hard and I’m tired, but it’s alright. I’ve got good soil under my feet and good hands to dig.

The anemones he planted on the shaded side of his house were for himself, though. They were delicate things, but right now so was his heart and that needed just as much care. He’d stay strong for them and they’d do the same for him. Water and sunlight. The start, his uncle would say, to any life worth living. 

And hope, Uthyr thought. Half of it was always hope.

When Uthyr finished for the day the sun was drawing long shadows across the forest floor. All but his pansies would not see color or flower for a long while, but as Uthyr dusted soil off the dark skin of his hands and forearms, he could already see the future it held. He would get some roses. Maybe not this year. He needed to plant his vegetable garden first. Maybe splurge on a fruit sapling. Tonight he would sit in his mostly empty home, cook a small pot of soup with ingredients from a garden that wasn’t his, and plan recipes for when his own produce grew. But as for now, he felt the waking breath of spring on his face, the softness of the grass under his legs as he dug his toes into the cool earth below him. 

A tentative peace was forming in his chest, walking haltingly like a newly born fawn. He’d found a creek not far from where he sat. He wondered if the tadpoles had yet grown legs.

---

And now, my excited rambling: the title of the poem before the cut is Notes On Waiting for the Dog to Find the Perfect Place to Take a Shit While Morning Cuts Through the Sky, Fresh From Another Darkness, which is quite possibly one of Abdurraqib's best titles and also a wonderful poem. I saw When I Say Loving Me Is Like Being a Chicago Bulls Fan posted on facebook at one point and I've been in love with his poetry since. The way he weaves pain and hope with his anger and his love in a way that criticizes a society that doesn't value himself or people like him, while celebrating his identity is both masterful and cutting. Listen to the man and buy his books! His essay collection, A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance is going to be my read for my essay collection square for the 2025 book bingo, and I'm really excited to finally get to it!

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

tgr live journal - ch 1-2

My reactions to The Golden Raven, live and unhinged.

I've read all of tgr now (twice) and I wanted to do something different. So here you go - all my hot takes, all in the one place.

Some of my early comments and guesses are hilariously embarrassing in hindsight but i've preserved them as I wrote them...

(tgr live journal index)

tgr live - ch 1-2

hello Jean's attitude has NOT improved lol

i like that he's starting this book very much on his own terms

ah yes this is the 'court is in session and waiting to hear Lucas' testimony' scene

which Lucas could have avoided, as the room arrangements make clear

ah - Lucas in the seat behind him - didn't see that coming - echoes of Neil waking up incredibly vulnerable with Nicky behind him (i still get so mad about that)

it changes the dynamic considerably - hello Ms Nora

Lucas' face all smashed up - Jean is turning the Trojans into Ravens, isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Jean wants to send that no-touch jersey to the guillotine more than any enemy a Frenchman has ever faced

so what was coach's hard-to-define feeling? was it just knowing Jean didn't want to be benched?

zane zane zane zane zane

why does everything that sheds light on Riko do so in a million splinters that make it even harder to see him

brutal start... trying to slam apart all the rosy fanfics we've comforted ourselves with over the last few months? it's working

my lovely Jean hiding Xavier's ibuprofen so he won't get him into trouble xoxo

that sound you're hearing is an entire fandom writing 'Sheldon' on a napkin and passing it to Neil

pop! and i am dancing around the kitchen in glee

Neil has adopted Andrew's love language: depositing a mangled creature at your feet as a present. They are basically cats

wait... is Jean admitting he actually likes N... no, ok, I was just checking

lol the whole whole Moreau family takedown narrative hinges on Jean being besties with Neil and he can't keep it up for five seconds

and Neil is already vice-captain! (lording over Kevin... I hope)

is anyone updating Grayson's entry in wikipedia or have we lost interest in him entirely and now lust after Sheldon's blood

Seriously i haven't got the stamina for complicated intrigue can someone just tap him like that second guy Arya Stark named who walked in the door and went 'urgh' and keeled over

considering they're the most stable and grounding character in this book, Cody exists in a nebulous, almost theoretical state - nonbinary, not officially head of backliners, not exactly in a poly relationship... homie are you a person or a radioactive actinide?

the comment they made in tsc always impressed me, about how you can use good nature offensively. I could feel that got through to Jean - bridging the gap between the Raven way and the Trojan way

maybe that's Cody's role - to be always used as a bridge. maybe that's part of why i'm still sus about the Pat and Ananya thing, maybe i worry they'd be used. So far i'm not seeing how Pat and Ananya are worthy of such a cool character. I'm with Jean on this: those two pushing and Cody not responding = an orange flag if not a red one. Cat's rationale of 'it's just fear' doesn't convince me either, Cody doesn't seem the fearful type. (maybe they just share my view that they can do better?)

then again that's kind of the theme of tsc isn't it - your loved ones pushing you gently towards love even though you aren't at first able to respond. it can be a good thing. it can be something else entirely.

Hmmm death by motorboat (!) sounds highly specific... does Grayson get his comeuppance on water to generate suspicion that Ms Moreau is up to her old tricks? Is Stuart smooth enough to kill two birds with one stone? And would those older murders even be on record? Maybe here's Jean's chance to get them on

uh oh... the 'pop' comment is actually going to sound very suspect if it was actually a gun that took Grayson out...

maybe Mr Knox is homophobic but I get more of a ptsd vibe... or maybe I'm just being generous, for the sake of another fictitious airman

I need Jeremy to tell his dad he loves him and misses him

has he seen the other dads in this series

last minute theory based on all those acts of charity at the start of tsc - what if Jeremy converted to Islam?

the banquet scandal was him refusing pork and saying why...

did Joshua text him to call him a terrorist?

but no - because then Jeremy would have been praying along with Nabil wouldn't he

ok scratch that theory

Ok THAT sound is an entire fandom violently dissociating and convincing themselves they cannot read... because there is no way that sentence said what i think it said

I've read it ten times now and it hasn't changed

i don't want to turn the page

i shouldn't have turned the page

Jean no, you can't say that about Kevin...

ah why have i only just realised the Zane / Grayson thing would have been a nightly occurrence if Riko hadn't stepped in to stop it... (and how the hell did he end up the hero of this piece?)

for an English major you do not seem to know what 'unsettling' means. I think 'permanent psychological mutilation' were the words you had in mind

also can you guys start giving Jean cooking tasks that DON'T involve sharp knives

ok Cat can officially fuck up for the rest of her life and I will forever worship her

Jean I know you've been through the shredder but news flash, your crush is in pain and still finding a way to care about you, do you really want Sheldon the walking corpse snaking your wave here?? do something supportive you French twat

Thank you Nora for ending chapter 2 with a minim rest so i can breathe

--

(next >)

[wandafiction]

In Every Universe - Part 1

Warnings: description of death, blood and injury.

“Y/n answer your comms.” You hear the faint sound of Natasha calling out to you but it hardly registers with the sound of the building creaking above you ready to collapse and take you with it at any moment. “Please, honey, please I can’t lose you too.”

“FRIDAY, status report of Y/n’s position and Vitals.” Now it’s Tony’s voice followed by the robotic one of Friday telling him all the information she can gather from what your suit is telling them. 

“Come on Lady Y/n get out of there.” You cough groaning as you feel something wet land on your face, probably blood that you’ve just coughed everywhere but your arms are too weak to wipe it off and check. 

“Bitch you better get out of there because if you die I’m going to bring you back to life just to kill you again.” Your ears are ringing but Wanda’s voice makes it through loud and clear and a small chuckle escapes you but quickly replaced with a wince as pain shoots around your body. 

“Figure something out Tony, we have to go in and get her!” You barely register the words but you can hear the panic in Steve’s voice as the building creaks more, not sure whether the smoke is creating an illusion of the building swaying above you or if it's about to finally drag you down with it.

“I’m trying. FRIDAY are there any points of entry into the building that are safe for me to get to.”

“Guys.” You hope they can hear you, your logic is if you can hear them then your mic is still working and they can hear you.

“Y/n, oh thank god.” You hear Natasha’s voice trembling but the small amount of hope behind it.

“Mom.” Your voice is weak as you cough again groaning as pain shoots through your entire body as you feel more blood drip from your mouth.

“No, don’t say it like that. Don’t say it like that.” The panic sets in within Natasha again as she hears the way your voice is drained of its normal lightness. 

“Mom please.” Your hand shifts to your ribcage as you feel your shirt sticking to your skin, groaning and wincing as you feel your shirt is soaked and you don’t have to wonder this time as you know it's your blood. “I just want to say thank you for being the mom I always wanted.”

“Y/n do not talk like that, we are working on getting you out of there. You just gotta hold on a few more minutes. Can you do that for me?”

“Mom.”

“No, don't mom me. Promise me you will hold on until we get to you?” You can hear the break in her voice, a lump building in your throat. “Promise me. Please promise me.”

“I…” You clear your throat, closing your eyes as tears build up. “I promise to do my best.” 

“Honey.” You let the tears roll down your cheeks as you wet your lips preparing to say what you need to say.

“Thank you for stepping up and being my mom. Ever since I joined the avengers 10 years ago, I was just a small scared 17 year old.” You chuckle, holding back a wince, as you think back to the first day you walked into the avengers compound.

/\/\/\/\

“And this is the avengers common room.” Wanda gives you a wide smile as she waves her arm in front of her showing off the room as your eyes trail around it. 

“Woah.” You smile widely as you take in the scene of the pristine common room, with an open plan kitchen and living room, a large TV surrounded by 3 5-seater couches.

“Yeah that was my reaction when I saw how big the kitchen was.” You smile, turning your head to look at Wanda who has a shy smile on her face fiddling with the end of her sleeves.

“You like to cook?” Wanda looks up to you nodding as her smile slowly grows into a toothy grin. 

“I do. I love cooking food from my home country. My mama taught me how to cook from a young age, I would help her add the herbs and spice and mix it with the wooden spoon. Then as I got older I learned more and my mama wrote down every single recipe we did and I managed to save them and keep them safe.” You smile fondly at the small story as Wanda goes quiet. “Sorry I’ve been told I have a tendency to ramble.

“It’s okay, I was listening.” A look of surprise grows on Wanda’s face before it turns into confusion.

“Really?” 

“Mhmm, so tell me where do you keep the recipes now?” 

“Oh I keep the ones my mama wrote in my room, but I wrote them out in a notebook and it's in the kitchen so anyone can make something if they want. Oh but don’t let Nat.”

“Don’t let Nat do what?” Wanda’s head whips around at the sound of the Russian’s voice, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“I, uh, nothing. I didn’t say Nat I said don’t let that deter you.” You press your lips together to hide a smile as Natasha raises a brow, her eyes darting between you and Wanda.

“Sure. Anyway, who is this?” You stand up straight making yourself look a little taller holding out your hand.

“Hi, I’m Y/n the new recruit.” Natasha looks down at your hand chuckling to herself as she walks past you, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. 

“Oh another hopeful newbie who thinks they have what it takes.” You can’t quite tell if Nat is being serious or not, her voice and features not giving anything away. “You won’t last the week.” 

/\/\/\/\

“Wanda baby.” 

“Nope don’t you dare.” You smile imagining the way she is shaking her head with pursed lips, the popping of the p making you chuckle.

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.” 

The building shifts around you and the ceiling above you starts crumbling above you, your arms shooting up to protect your head as you turn your body sideways. The instinct kicks in before you can think of the consequences and when you feel a sharp pain in your ribcage and the air escape your lung but also feel trapped at the same time you realise you just punctured your own lung with one of your many broken ribs.

“Y/n detka, speak to me what's happening.” The fear in Wanda’s voice matched with her accent makes you cry more realising it is going to be the last time you hear it. “Please Y/n. Please don’t leave me. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, please don’t be another one to add to the list of names.”

/\/\/\/\

“So this is my boyfriend Vision.” You smile widely, hoping Wanda doesn’t spot how fake it is, as you turn your attention to the red being in front of you.

“Hi, it is lovely to meet the person that makes Wanda so happy.” You hold out your hand which Vision easily takes, giving it a firm shake.

“And you must be Y/n, I’ve heard so much about you.” You scrunch your brows slightly with an awkward chuckle.

“Wish I could say the same for you.” You mumble under your breath.

“Sorry I didn’t quite catch that.” The sound of his voice grates on you but you shake your head faking a chuckle.

“Sorry I said all good things I hope.” 

“Very much so, Wanda doesn’t seem to be able to shut up about you. Y/n this, Y/n that, Y/n Y/n Y/n.” He spits your names towards the end, gritting his teeth and you have to hold the smirk that makes the corner of your mouth twitch slightly.

“That’s my name, don't wear it out.” You turn to look at Wanda keeping the fake smile on your face and trying to make it meet your eyes. “I’m happy for you Wanda, you deserve some happiness in this lifetime.” 

“Thank you Y/n, it means a lot. When he asked to be introduced to my family and friends I knew you had to be the first person to meet him. Your approval is something I value a lot and look for.” Your smile falters slightly at her words, not sure if you fall in the family or the friends category.

“You don’t need my approval to date people Wanda. As long as he makes you happy and doesn't hurt you then I don’t really get a say.” Wanda’s brows scrunch at your stern tone as you shove your hands into your pocket shrugging, your eyes dropping to watch your foot kick at the carpeted floor. 

“But I value your opinions when it comes to such important things Y/n.”

“But it is your heart Wanda not mine. I can’t tell you who you can and can’t love, I can simply be here when you feel like you need me.” Wanda leaves Vision's side, the latter not seeming interested in the conversation as his eyes burn holes into you, to stand in front of you; her hands on the sides of your arms.

“I will always need you Y/n. I just thought that you would want to be the first to know about the person that I fell in love with.” 

“But he can provide you with things I cannot, so you are always going to need him more than you need me, which is the way it will always be and I’m okay with that.”

“Y/n where is this coming from, I thought you would be happy.” You shrug her hands off your arms walking past her and making your way to Vision.

“If you hurt her I will kill you and I will mangle your body so badly they won’t be able to tell your front from your behind, not that it’s that easy to do now. Do I make myself clear?” If Vision takes the threat seriously you don’t know as he gives you a small smirk holding his hands up in surrender.

“I’ve heard these threats before, it's nothing new. But sure I promise not to hurt her.” Your eyes quickly flick left to right as you stare into his, hating the way he seems to be way to calm in this situation. 

“Good.” You don’t give him anymore of your attention turning back around to face Wanda who is looking down at her hands as she fiddles with the end of her sleeves and you push your hurt to the side to comfort her. “Wanda.”

“Hmm.” You know she is upset, not at you but your reaction, so you pull her into a hug kissing the top of your head.

“I’m happy for you Wanda. You deserve someone who makes you so so happy and if that is Vision then it's Vision.” You feel her nod as her arms wrap tightly around you. “Just don’t forget about me.”

“I could never forget about you. Don’t even say that.”

/\/\/\/\

“You know what’s funny?” You groan as you move your hands to the bottom of your shirt starting to lift it off of you so you can try and see the cut on your side.

“Not really so tell me little one what's so funny.” You don’t expect to hear your aunt's voice over the coms but it makes you smile.

“Well aunty Yel, what's funny is I made promises to the people I love that I would never leave them, not on purpose. So look what I get for making those sorts of promises, I can’t help but laugh at the fact that I’m about to be squished by a building, I have a massive hole in my side and I’m probably only ever going to hear your voices. Which, by the way, you guys need to work on sounding calm and collected because when you are the one who is dying or about to die hearing your voice waver and the sadness really doesn’t help me come to terms with it. So only smiles and happy voices from now on.”

“I really don’t see how that is funny, baby.” You laugh, coughing up more blood at the stern tone in Wanda’s voice. “And I don’t get why you are laughing.” 

“I think it's the delirium.” You nod even with no one being able to see you as Yelena makes her observation. 

“I don’t know what that is, but whatever it is sounds complicated.” 

“Baby I need you to listen to my voice.” 

“Your voice is very pretty. Oh don’t let my wife hear me say that she will go all head tilt and scary eyes on me.” Your brows scrunch when you hear a few giggles come in through the coms.

“Your wife?” The same voice asks.

“Yes, wait no. No I haven't proposed yet, I am planning to though. Yup I got the ring and everything, oh the ring is so pretty. Like super pretty, but not as pretty as my future wife. Nothing is as pretty as her.”

You smile at the thought of asking Wanda to be your wife and it's at that moment reality hits you, your voice shaky as you take everything in around you. From the way the ceiling is slowly starting to bow and the cracks grow longer and pull wider apart, to the way you feel the floor below you shifting as well. The whole building is ready to collapse. The pain from your side subsided but an uncomfortable thumping being felt around the area instead. You realise the world around you is getting darker but you can still see the sun so you know your vision is going and soon everything will be over. Either you die like this or you die when the ceiling falls on top of you but either way you know you are going to die.

“Wanda.” Your voice shakes as your bottom lip quivers.

“I’m here baby. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallow the lump in your throat, the taste of blood staining your tongue.

“I know baby, I know. It’s not your fault. Just know I’m here.”

/\/\/\/\

“Fuck you Y/n!” Your jaw locks as Wanda shouts at you in front of everyone at the party. “Fuck you for ever leaving! Fuck you for not telling me how to contact you! Fuck you for breaking all those promises about being there for me because where were you? Oh thats right, probably out screwing some fucking an agent while I was here waiting for you to come home so I could see you are safe and alive!”

“Oh that’s so rich coming from you Wanda! So rich. You are with Vision so what does it matter if I am fucking some pretty blonde agent and not hanging out with you and your human size vibrator. I go and do my job, I went on a 6 month undercover mission. A non contact mission by the way. But I went on that mission, I did my job, I stopped the bad guy and this is the fucking welcome I get. No fucking way. So get out of my fucking way so I can have shower and go to bed before I make you move.” 

“Real mature Y/n, real fucking mature. You always run when it gets hard, you run and you run and you run. You always did. I thought I was someone that you ran to, but the moment I needed you. The moment I needed the most important person in my life but you weren’t there!” 

“I was on a mission! And what is so important that the moment I get back I get an angry Sokovian shouting at me and not the person I love ready to give me a hug and have a movie night. You got your happy Wanda, you have Vision. You don’t need me anymore and I’ve come to terms with that but don’t push shit onto me just because I am doing my job.” 

“Vision left me Y/n. And sure you were doing your job, but the moment I needed you. All those times you promised me you wouldn’t leave, all those times you said you would be there for me whenever I needed you. You broke them. I feel so broken Y/n and not having you there! That broke me the most. I just feel so broken.” You look around the room at the others who all avoid your gaze looking down at their phones or the floor as Wanda breaks down in front of you.

“Wanda.” You take a step forward towards her as she angrily wipes at the tears that are streaming down her face, her foot tapping the floor quickly as she looks up to the ceiling blinking rapidly.

“You left me.”

“I didn’t know.” You cautiously wrap your arms around her pulling her close and her arms wrap around you as she breaks down.

“You love me?” Your eyes widen at her words and you think back to the conversation realising you did say that.

“I always have.” Wanda goes silent, her shoulders still shaking as she cries a little more. 

/\/\/\/\

“I don’t think I ever actually apologised for that big fight we had two years ago.”

“All was forgiven when you told me you loved me.”

“Love. I still love you, and I will continue to love you in this world and the next.”

“I love you too but we are not doing goodbyes. We are going to get you out and we are going to live our lives. You are going to propose, then we can get married and buy a house. Have children running around the backyard and live until our final days together.”

“And a dog.”

“Hmm?”

“We will have children and a dog running around the back yard.” You smile at the sound of Wanda’s giggle.

“Okay and a dog. So you stay alive and we will get to live that dream.” You feel your eyes start to roll to the back of your head using the last of your energy to keep them open and spend your last moments speaking to Wanda. “We have only had 2 years together.”

“And they have been the best two years of my life.”

“They have been the happiest two years of my life.” You feel your eyes start to close, your body shivering from the lack of blood and you know what's coming next.

“My love.” You swallow your throat drying as you speak.

“Yes baby.” 

“I really do love you.”

“I really do love you too.”

“Well I love you in every universe.” You feel the darkness consume you. The last thing you hear is Wanda repeating the words back to you and it's all you need to be at peace as you allow the darkness to engulf you as the room around you collapses in on you. 

/\/\/\/\

“I love you in every universe.” You look at Wanda as you both lay on a blanket under the stairs, the night clear from clouds as the moon and stars are bright above you.

“That's a lot of love baby.” You giggle as Wanda grins at you, the light from the stars dancing in her eyes. 

“Well I gotta lot of love to share with you.” Rolling onto your side you lean down to kiss Wanda softly, your eyes closing at the feeling as a small hum leaves her lips.

“I love you in every universe too, baby.” She whispers against your lips pecking them a few more times. “I’m so happy we finally have one another in our lives like this. I’m sorry for ever putting you through the hurt of seeing me with Vision.”

“We are here now my love and that is all that matters.” You brush some hair out of her face as her eyes search your features. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“In every universe.”

“In every universe.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

[ceslatoil]

WIP

A snippet of my Fic about Ford becoming a life drawing class model; everyone is being so normal about the whole thing 🤥

Stan, wearing a mask of grim determination, stood guard outside Fairuza’s studio. It was fifteen minutes before the first life drawing class, and already an absurd line had queued up at the door. Stan had been given the job of signing people into class and kicking out anyone who was underage or prohibited.

“Wait, this class has a blacklist,” Stan asked Fairuza.

“It’s not so much a list as it is a… specific individual,” the lady sighed. “I like to make my class a welcoming space for all, but some people just wear that welcome right out. I believe you know of a ‘Bodacious T?’”

“Toby?!”

“Yes. One of my other models has requested he not be allowed entrance to the class for their own safety and comfort. Please make sure he respects the boundaries we’ve set.”

Stan did not spy the odd little reporter anywhere in the hallway, but he did tense up when he saw Soos and his Abuelita move towards the door.

“Soos,” Stan cried, “don’t tell me you’re here for this… exhibitionist crap?!”

“Oh no Mr. Pines,” assured Soos, “I’m just dropping off Abuelita; she saw the ad in the paper and got so stoked! She loves the art scene–”

“I was once Andy Warhol’s muse,” bragged Abuelita.

“--and she thinks it’s great Ford’s putting himself out there,” said Soos, smiling.

“Yeah I bet you do, you sicko,” grumbled Stan under his breath. Abuelita must have heard him: with a smirk, she stuck out her tongue and entered the classroom, waggling her fingers at Stan mischievously as she closed the door behind her. Stan left out a beleaguered sigh.

“I just can’t believe it, Soos,” said Stan, “all these pervs with the hots for my brother, that is! Has everyone gone nuts? Our whole lives, nobody’s ever found my brother attractive– he had to make a robot to practice kissing with when we were in high school! What gives?”

“Oh dood,” laughed Soos, “you should hear the gossip Abuelita digs up: it seems like every mom and queer person in town has got a thing for Dr. Pines!”

One only needed to give the line a quick glance to see this was true: Ford’s admirers included Priscilla Northwest, Gideon Gleeful’s mother, Mayor Tyler, both Mr. and Mrs. Valentino, and even a few mystical creatures and anomalies were anxiously waiting to enter the classroom.

“Yeah,” Soos continued, “folks think he’s like, you know, what if a sexy weatherman and a hot dentist had a baby and he grew up into a silver fox college professor?”

“Soos, if you call my brother hot again,” said Stan through gritted teeth, “I’m going to make you sleep out on the lawn!”

In spite of this threat, Soos kept Stan company as the line grew shorter and shorter with each approved entry. Soos would cheerfully greet the next person while Stan glowered with disgust, jabbing his thumb at the door once he’d given them the pass.

“Oh hey, is that McGucket,” asked Soos, pointing down the hall.

“Noooooo,” whined Stan, “don’t call him over here!”

“Huh? Why not?”

“He’s got some kind of thing with Ford,” Stan shuddered. “The last thing I wanna hear about is their nerdy sex life–”

“HOWDY FELLAS,” shouted McGucket from across the room. He waved happily at his friends and scampered over to them like an excitable puppy.

“Great, just great!” Stan threw up his hands to the heavens.

“Mr. McGucket, are you joining the life drawing class tonight,” Soos asked politely.

“Aw no!” McGucket shook his head vigorously, whipping Stan in the arm with his beard. “I’m headin’ to a baking class; the mean British feller with the scary blue eyes reckons if I work hard, my food’ll be fit for other people to eat in a few years! Anyhow, I already reckon I can draw Stanferd nekkid pretty good!” He began to dig through his pockets and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket.

“No, no, no, NO!!!” Stan grabbed the nearest object, a wastepaper bucket full of tissues and pencil shavings, and shoved it over his head, blocking out the sight of the drawing.

Soos squinted as he examined McGucket’s handiwork. “Oh dood, this is just a stick figure with spiky hair and a butt!”

“DON’T DESCRIBE THAT TO ME!!!”

“I better head out, see ya fellas!” As quickly as he arrived, McGucket skittered down the hall and out of sight once again.

Once Stan was sure the hillbilly was gone, he emerged from the trash and checked on the last person in line, a lanky figure in sunglasses and a black trenchcoat.

Stan quirked his eyebrow at this new arrival. “Hey, wait a minute… aren’t you one of Wendy’s friends?”

“Uh… no,” said the teenager. After saying that, he suddenly became transfixed by his own shoes, refusing to meet Stan’s gaze.

“Cause if you are,” Stan continued, “you’re too young to take this class!”

“I’m not Robbie,” said Robbie, “you’re Robbie!”

“I… didn’t say you were? Look,” sighed Stan, “just show me your ID, no one under 18 is allowed.”

“Ugh,” groaned the teenager, “this is so stupid!” He fished a battered driver’s license out of his pocket and handed it to the old man.

“... It says your name is ‘Bobby Balentino,’” said an exhausted Stan, “and you put down for your height, weight, birthdate and eye color ‘69.’”

Robbie stood there grinning like a dork.

“Heh heh… nice.”

“Robbie. Go home,” said Stan flatly.

“And take a flyer for the GSA,” added Soos helpfully, “in case you have any questions about new or confusing feelings!”

“No I don’t; feelings are dumb!” Robbie sprinted down the hall, tripped over his own feet, and flew head first into the exit door into the street.

“This town is such a freak show, I tell ya,” grumbled Stan.

[andersonsgf]

Natasha's reaction to reader who wants to learn everything about guns as they want to enter shooting competitions or increase their chances of survival?

Fluffy Pyjamas | Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Firearm mentions

Thank you for the request! I'm so sorry that it took so long, I got so busy with university and other things that I took a brief hiatus from doing my requests and was very limited with writing in general, but I'm now getting back around to getting through my requests so this is the perfect time if anyone wants to send any more in <3

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Natasha’s fingers drummed against the keyboard of her laptop as she typed report after report, stressed from being swarmed with work. It seemed as though recently it was all that she had been doing. From the moment she woke up until the moment she went to sleep she was either training, strategising, or writing reports. It was exhausting.

She was most certainly burnt out, coffees no longer helping to keep her energised. She needed to see you - you were one of the main things on her mind, other than the copious amounts of deadlines. You lived in a small apartment about half an hour from the compound, and she had not been able to visit you for weeks. Her jaw clenched as her typing paused when thinking about you. She was sick of having half an hour of phone calls each night. It wasn’t enough for her.

With her lifestyle, Natasha was always worried about joining the dating scene. Many enemies had accumulated over the years, and she never wanted to put anyone who she would grow to love at risk. But then you popped up.

Literally.

At the time she met you, you worked in a pet store as a cashier and consultant. She was waiting by the counter, cat treats in hand for her cat, Liho. For a moment no one was behind the counter, she assumed that whoever was working it had perhaps gone out back to get some more supplies. Turns out it was you working, and you were crouched behind the counter to try and find something that you needed, and when hearing Nat put the treats on the counter, you stood up swiftly with an enthusiastic “Hi there!”, causing Nat to absolutely crap herself.

Things developed from there, and a year later you were going strong. Natasha absolutely doted on you. You were her person, you were the first person that she had ever gotten to call hers. And so, not being able to see you was killing her. A few times during some sleepy late-night calls you suggested visiting the compound, but she always refused. The compound was a mysterious place to you. Nat had never let you visit, claiming it wasn’t safe for you. With her logic, if you were seen entering the Avengers compound then any enemies that might be monitoring the team would see that you were a trusted person to them—trusted enough to be allowed entry into the compound.

She didn’t want them to use you against her. She wanted to keep you safe.

The idea of you being introduced to her world sent chills up her spine. So the answer always remained - ‘no’ - and she planned to keep it that way. Her fingers continued tapping the keys at a high speed, wanting to be done with the reports in as little time as possible. It was Friday night… so if she finished the reports by at least 8pm, she could go to yours and spend the night she planned in her head, shooting you a quick message to make sure you’d be in tonight before continuing with work.

When you replied stating that you’d be in and that because of her message, you were expecting Nat to come and visit her tonight, she chuckled and tried to work even faster than she had ever done before.

Hours later, she was in the car to your complex and pulling into the guest spot for your apartment. With a pep in her step, she practically sprinted up the stairs and tries to just walk through your front door, twisting the handle and then walking into the door, bouncing back slightly. She winced and nursed her head, before knocking on the door, cursing herself for letting the excitement make her forget the simple fact that your door is always locked.

When she hears shuffling noises through the door she becomes ecstatic. Within moments the door creaks open, thanks to the old building that you live in, and she’s seeing your face in person for the first time in weeks. Without thinking she rushed forward and engulfed you in a hug, pressing her face into the crook of your neck. Her lips twitched upward at hearing your giggles, feeling your arms wrap around her torso.

She was home.

“Come on, come on. It’s fluffy pyjama time”, you grinned, and ushered her in, snorting when she rolled her eyes. Natasha had a “reputation to uphold”, and so pretended not to be interested in soft things like cuddling in fluffy pyjamas. She secretly loved it though, but pretended to just participate for your benefit.

So, with a groan that did not match her internal dialogue, she complied and changed into a pair of fluffy pyjamas you kept for her, and immediately jumped into bed, grabbing you by the hips and pulling your back into her front.

A contented sigh escaped her lips as she was reminded just how well you slotted against her front, and she pressed her forehead against the nape of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there occasionally as the two of you soaked up all of the time together you had missed recently.

A while passed when she just held you and had honestly thought that you’d gone to sleep as you had been so still, so she was ever so slightly startled when you gently spoke her name. “Hmm?”, she pretended that her heart rate wasn’t slightly elevated from the little spook you gave her.

She thought that you were just going to give her some weird late-night thought as you normally did. Natasha loved those late-night thoughts, they always made her chuckle. However, when you turned around to face her in her arms, a small frown was etched onto her forehead, “You okay?”.

“Um… I’ve been thinking and it’s just with your job getting more dangerous recently, I’ve been getting more paranoid about people in public. I might be going crazy but I always feel like there’s someone watching me or something…”.

You didn’t even get to finish your statement before you saw Nat’s jaw clench as she looked at you with indifferent eyes. Before speaking again you gulped, knowing that she wasn’t annoyed at you, but she had always been insecure about how the job affected you. “I don’t think I’m in danger or anything, it’s just that, you know trying to go about as normal is hard when feeling so… exposed, I guess?”.

Her eyes softened slightly. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed.

“What do you suggest we do?”, she hugged you tighter before and tucked some stray hairs behind your ear.

“I was thinking that maybe you could teach me some self-defence… and perhaps how to use a firearm? I don’t want to be one of those people who carry them around because you know, contributing to societal dangers and shit, but I’d feel a bit better if I just knew how to use one, I don’t know, can’t explain it”.

Natasha’s entire body tensed.

Her eyes closed as she released a breath through her nose and looked at you again, her eyes searching you, absorbing you. This conversation was a harsh reminder that she couldn’t always protect you. That you weren’t 100% safe.

It reminded her that someone loving her came at a price.

“Sure”, she croaked out, failing at acting nonchalant. There was no way she wanted you to be handling firearms even if it was only in a training room. There was also no way that she wanted you to be seen stepping foot into the compound.

But… there was also no way that she wanted you to feel unsafe when leaving your home, and so even with all these doubts, she wholeheartedly agreed to it, wanting you to feel safe.

A grin appeared on your face as you pressed a short yet deep kiss to her lips, pulling away to rest your head against her chest, “Thank you”. Natasha couldn’t help the blush that appeared on her cheeks as she rested her head against yours.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, she was thinking about the conversation. You were the only thing that didn’t remind her of her upbringing, of her career. You were the breath of fresh air she had always craved, but she knew that this didn’t change anything, not really.

Yes, the little bubble that she thought she had placed you in was broken, but to her surprise, she didn’t want to run away. She didn’t want to self-sabotage the whole thing to “keep you safe”. You had reassured her again and again that you were safest when with her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that.

She wasn’t a burden to love, she could be someone’s safe space.

And with that… she let herself drift off to sleep, a small smile on her face as she realised how comfy she was. All thanks to you… and the fluffy pyjamas. 

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Comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3

Taglist:@fxckmiup @itsdoni @rob1nbuckl3ys

Natasha Romanoff Taglist:@diaryoflife @unlady-like-12-25-36 @doveromanoff

[writingsbychlo]

idk I had ten mins before I had to get up for work and I was bored and missed writing so here’s this. I am tired and wrote this on my phone so take it for what it is lol

“Just don’t let him kiss your lips, see what happens. It’s hilarious, Cass had a strop!” Nesta grinned, shrugging and finishing off the last of her toast as you cleared away the plates.

“But… why? What’s the purpose?”

“There is no purpose! I just thought it’d be funny, and it was. I made Feyre do it and Rhys did a big theatrical scene, went down to one knee like he’d been stabbed.” She shrugged, pushing her own plate away from herself towards the growing pile of messy ones, and grinning conspiratorially. “Now I have to see what Az would do. I have to complete the trio.”

“What Az would do about what?”

He strode into the room, smirking at the way Nesta jumped in shock, her eyes widening a fraction. She recovered easily, smooth as always; “We were debating. Butter under jam on toast, or not?”

His nose scrunched up, coming to stand at your side. “Of course.”

“Heathen.” She hissed, eyes sparkling despite the scowl, and he only rolled his eyes at her good-natured before turning to where you stood.

“I’m going out, small bit of recon, but I’ll be gone all day.”

“You’ll be back in time for dinner, though?” His gaze only softened more, a smile forming on his lips as he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll be back for dinner. I love you.” He leaned in, lips puckering softly, and before you could think any better of it, your head twisted to the side and his lips met your cheek. He froze, his body stiffening, and he pulled back.

“I love you too, Az. Have a good mission.”

“I will.” His eyes narrowed, leaning in again, and just before his mouth could meet your own, your head twisted again to receive a kiss to the cheek. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry!” Your giggle almost hid your words, a frown on his lips, and you could practically feel Nesta holding in her laughter. “For real this time.”

And you meant it, his small nod of assurance showing he believed it too, until Nesta cleared her throat, your head whipping to the side, and his lips colliding with your cheek again.

Azriel growled, nipping your jaw softly before gripping your chin in one, large hand. Backing you up into the counter behind yourself, his lips crashed down against your own as he towered over you, fingers tight on your jaw and tongue swiping along your lower lip. You were shocked, and he took this shock to his advantage, tour muffled gasp leaving entry to your mouth.

Entry he eagerly took.

Your hands found his waist, grilling as tightly as his hold on your jaw still was, your head spinning at the kiss until he finally pulled back, panting softly.

“Now I can go.”

With a final soft peck, he left, winking at your shocked face and strolling back past the table, where an equally shocked Nesta still sat. As he passed her by, he licked the remaining taste of your mouth from his lips and smirked.

“That’s what Az would do. Hope that completes your trio.”

An indignant spluttering sound left her as he chuckled his way down the halls, all the way until the doors shut. Silence enveloped you both for a second, until you were collapsing back down into your chair at the table, clutching her hands through breathless laughter.

“What the fuck? That was so hot!”

“Don’t let Cass hear you!” Your laughter was only spurred, and she scoffed. “Next time you wanna’ include me in any challenges that will get me kissed like that, I won’t argue.”

[supersizemeplz]

Loaded Teas & Introductions

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Black PlusSized Reader

A #supersizedfic mini. I heard this mashup on TikTok and fell in love. But the initial one shot is inspired by a comment I seen if hearing it and seeing the love of your life. So here’s the mashup and I hope you enjoy. Excuse any typos.

Its this one thing that caught me slippin..

It’s this one thing, I want to admit it..

It’s this one thing and I was so wit it…

The soles of the regularly worn sneakers met the pavement in rhythm to the instrumental of the mix that played. Yahya smirked at the smooth blend of the two songs. Greeting the few people he passed, he made his way to his favorite spot for loaded teas. The headphones on his head made him feel as if he stood inside the song. The words floated around him as he moved his shoulders softly whilst nodding. 

Pushing the glass door open, he was hit with a rush of cool air and the aroma of faint sweetness. Light bounced off the tiled floor to add to the brightness of the room. Soft tones danced on the walls and matched the relaxed decor of the establishment. He pushed back a headphone from his ear and softened his music. A smile graced his lips. 

“Sup, Ya. How’s it going man?” The asian barista greeted him with a smile. His dark hair was pulled into a bun atop his head as he stood behind the counter. The soft blue uniform hugged his body comfortably, showing off his toned figure. Short sleeves hid the top of the colorful artwork that adorned his left arm. “The usual or would you like to try our new flavor?” He raised an arched brow for added affect. 

“A new flavor?” Ya smirked. “You know I’m down for whatever magic you make, brother. Let’s w switch it up.” Xen smiled, clapping his hands together before getting to work. 

Ya turned to lean against the counter as he waited for his order. Catching up with his old colleague like usual. He laughed at a joke that Xen said as he looked to the door that notified the entry of another customer. His eye caught her hips hugged by the sundress she wore. But when he caught that smile..

“Whoa..” He breathed the words just loud enough for Xen to hear. “She’s beautiful.”

“Who?” The barista raised an eyebrow and followed his line of sight. A smile caught his lips and he sat the finished drink on the counter. “Ohhh, beautiful she is. Why don’t I introduce you to her?” He lifted a hand to the smiling woman that had bent down to coo at the toddler of a customer close to the door. 

Once she stood, her eyes found them both at the counter. She smiled bigger as she approached. Ya couldn’t help but return the expression. As she got closer, he noticed the light catch the glint from her septum ring. “Xen. How is the world treating you today, brother?” Her full lips were glossed and he took in every word she spoke. 

“I’m doing amazing, actually. I got a workout in before my shift, I have a date tonight, and my good friend came to see me.” Xen gave a gentle tap to Yahya’s shoulder. “Yahya, meet Yana. She’s good friend of Samaria. She was a bridesmaid at our wedding.”

Yana held out a hand, meeting his eyes for the first time. Ya felt his heart skip a beat as he accepted her soft touch, losing himself in a trance. The song he was listening to earlier was hushed and on repeat. He felt like this was a scene in a movie. Her lips moved but he didn’t hear the words leaving them. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yahya.” Her words finally broke through with a giggle. Ya snapped from his admiring with a nervous chuckle, rubbing his neck once he freed her hand. Mumbling a ‘Sorry’. 

“Uh, you can just call me Ya. If you’d like?” He grinned, standing up straight. Xen coughed to cover his laugher, getting a quick side eye from Ya. Sending him off to fix her usual order with a smirk. Yana had amusement in her eyes as he nodded, repeating the nickname. 

“Ok, Ya. I like that name. It rolls off the tongue..” She looked up at him through her lashes. “How long have you known Xen?”

“We were good friends in college. Shared an apartment together the last two years of college.” He explained. “He’s the reason I got through Calculus II.”

“He is a wizard with numbers.” She added in. Getting a theatrical bow from Xen. They all laughed as he placed her drink on the counter by Ya’s. She thanked him with an excited squeal as she paid. After declining Xen’s offer for it be on the house.  “I always look forward to my drink for the day.”

“Me too. I hate I can’t get over here more often.” Ya took a sip of his. Giving a hum of approval. “But i make sure to find time out the week to come over and visit.”

After a few minutes of conversation, the bell dinged to introduce a group of customers. Moving both Ya and Yana off to the side by themselves. She looked off for a moment and he got a glimpse of her close up. Her features were soft and he wondered if her skin felt as soft as he imagined. The scent of her perfume was soft and similar to strawberries. He loved it. 

“Sorry, if I’m being to forward but..” He cleared his throat before straightening up. Mentally encouraging himself. “Would you allow me treat you to dinner sometime? Just a night of me proving myself to you.”

[endlesstwanted]

The Price of Silence

My entry for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #286 — Anything Could Happen. Also on Ao3 here.

Fandom: Thunderbolts (Movie 2025), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Blue (Original Character), Yelena Belova, Ava Starr, John Walker, Antonia Dreykov, Alexei Shostakov

Tags: Missions Gone Wrong, Mild Blood, Uneasy Allies, Interrogation

Summary: Bucky tries to settle down the discussion with the team on how to treat their hostage, unaware that Blue has their own plans to get the information they need.

Wordcount: 941

Fill for: @halloweenhorrorbingo — That One Family Member Everyone is Afraid Of / @fandombingo, The Magnus Archives — “He was always very careful to stop before he did anything that might get the police involved.” + Wonderland — “The exact shape doesn’t matter.” + Reverse: 1999 — All-or-Nothing / @buckybarnesbingo — Image prompt: Winter Soldier bridge scene / @multifandom-flash, April Events: Honesty Day — 2 + Torture = 5 + Marvel card: Thunderbolts — Sarcastic wit

“Does anyone mind filling me in?” Bucky entered the meeting room in the base, making Yelena and John stop their heated conversation.

“We went to talk to the guy,” Alexei said, pointing to the interrogation room behind them.

Bucky’s eyes opened in surprise at the scene playing at the other side of the glass. “Why do I leave to grab a freaking burrito and when I come back this guy has more blood outside than inside?”

“He woke up fierce today,” Ava said about their now hostage.

“Actually, Blue was very careful to stop before they did anything that might get the police involved,” John added, looking at his food. Bucky handed him what was left of his burrito and stepped closer to the glass.

Antonia stood next to him while they looked into the other room, seeing Blue stitch up the other guy. “Still think it was a good idea to let them join us?” She asked the question that had been playing in Bucky’s mind since he was practically forced by Valentina to let Blue work with them.

It was that, or Blue in the Raft, so he made a logical choice. Which didn’t mean it was a good one.

“What now?” Ava asked. “We’ve lost anonymity, and we found nothing where we found this guy at. Our only chance to stop the attack is for him to speak.”

John crossed his arms. “We don’t have time to waste. We need answers now, and the fastest way to get them is to apply some pressure. Make him talk.”

“Pressure?” Bucky questioned his choice of words. “That’s what Hydra would have done, John. And breaking someone doesn’t mean you get the truth. It just means you get what they think you want to hear.”

Alexei huffed from his seat in a corner. “You all take this too seriously. Back in my day, a good scare did the trick. No need for all this philosophy and good manners —poke him a little, he talks.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Yes, because torture always works so well in the movies. You think he’s going to sing like a little bird just because you threaten him? Please.” She huffed. “I was trained to be more finesse than that.”

“Fine,” John gave up. “If you’ve got some ‘finesse,’ I’d love to hear it. Because so far, all I’m hearing is a lot of talk and no solutions.”

“Maybe if you stopped shouting, you’d see the point,” Ava muttered. “We don’t need brute force. Get inside his head, make him doubt everything he knows. It’s cleaner and more effective.”

“We’re not getting into anyone’s head!” Antonia jumped.

“She’s right,” Bucky said. “This is not about playing it nice, it’s about doing what’s right. We’re not like them, not anymore, remember?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Barnes,” Yelena crossed her arms too. “You think I’m suggesting we offer him tea and biscuits? I’m saying there are smarter ways to break someone and gather the information we need to save half of the state.”

John pointed toward the door, insisting. “Exactly. We don’t have time for second-guessing. Let me handle this!”

Ava blocked his way. “Oh, yes, because you’re so great at keeping things under control,” she argued. “Remind me again, how that worked out for you before?”

Yelena tried to hide a laugh under a cough, and then whispered. “Don’t forget the part where he pretended to be the hero of a nation. That was adorable.”

John raised his hands in surrender. “At least I’m willing to do something. What it takes, anything! You’re all too scared to get your hands dirty. What do you say, Bucky? You have the call.”

Bucky had been sitting down for a while now, thinking of their options. They could either interrogate the guy and hope he suddenly became one of the good ones, or pressure him with something. Not violent force and not mental tricks, despite how everyone in the Thunderbolts had been trained with. Most of them had been victims of those same things, and if one of them would to apply those techniques to anyone in front of him, they’d had to do it over his dead body.

“So what is it, Sarge?” Ava asked him.

He looked up to the interrogation room, seeing Blue as they picked up more bandages. Everything fell into place when their eyes met and some clicked in Bucky’s mind: that guy had ended up that way so Blue had to stitch him up and have him alone for some time while they discussed how to get the information out of him.

Blue had stopped hearing the commotion outside, so they guessed everyone was waiting for Bucky to make a decision on how to proceed. They turned back and sat next to the doctor to finish fixing the wounds they had caused: It could be ironic, because they wouldn’t need to be doing that if they hadn’t fought the guy in first place, but it was all going according to plan.

“Tomorrow morning,” Blue started talking for the first time since they exchanged some pretty bad words during the physical exchange, “when your face is on the cover of all the newspapers, what do you think little Amelia would like to read over your picture?”

Okay, yes, they knew bringing the eight-year old kid to the conversation was playing dirty, but they had to hit where it hurt the most (metaphorically, of course).

And honestly, Blue doubted that they would reach the main pages if they avoided the attack in time and covered everything like Valentina had asked them too. “‘Hero’, or ‘Terrorist’?”

[mistresslrigtar]

Flashback Friday! Is that a thing? Well, it is on my blog! This is the first long fic I wrote this year!

Summary:

A written montage of snapshot moments between Link and Zelda post-TotK, as they come to terms with the traumatic events of the Upheaval and slowly rediscover each other and their love. How many times can two people be forced to start their lives over?

Excerpt:

The front door knocks against the table in the foyer, causing the blue and white vase filled with flowers to wobble precariously before righting itself. Looking up from her nest of pillows in the corner of the main room, Zelda smiles when she sees Link standing in the open doorway wearing his simple work clothes, a loosely woven cream tunic, and worn brown trousers. He brings with him a warm breeze and the scent of late spring. Zelda notices his skin is turning golden and sandy highlights streak his dark blond hair, from hours spent in the sun, tending their garden, grooming the horses, hunting, and making short excursions.

“How I long to sit with thee and while away the hours.” He quotes a line from Carik, Zelda’s favorite Sheikah court poet. “And gaze upon a sun-kissed world in a field of fragrant flowers.”

Since their dinner a few evenings before something has shifted between them and she welcomes the change. With the approaching promise of summer, her spirit has been improving and it feels like a veil is being lifted.

“What would Carik think, hearing you quoting him?” Zelda muses, setting the book aside she’d been reading and rising to her feet. 

Carik had been a not-so-silent rival to Link before the Calamity fell. He’d spent the remainder of his days composing sonnets to aid Link when he returned. His protégé, Kass had given Zelda a book of Carik’s poems when she and Link had visited him after the Calamity’s defeat. She’d been surprised when Kass shared a beautiful song Carik had composed that was a tribute to her and Link’s love.

“Carrot? Nothing complimentary, I’m sure.” His lips curve into a mischievous smile when Zelda snorts at the nickname before he shoves his hands in his pockets and gives her a questioning look. “It’s a beautiful, clear day and I’ve let the horses out to graze. Would you consider sitting outside with me?”

Zelda glances out the wall of windows that offer an expansive view of the green pasture and azure blue sea beyond. Epona’s deep chestnut coat and Star’s golden yellow shimmer in the afternoon sunlight. Their tails flick, indicating their contentment as they graze, cutting down grass allowed to grow tall. Link is hoping they’ll breed soon and produce a stunning dappled filly.

Worry twists cold in Zelda’s belly thinking of how she’s not had her monthly cycle since she’s returned. She’s afraid the trauma of her transformation has left her infertile or worse, she didn’t return fully human. Will Link still want her if it turns out she can’t bear children?

Looking back at him, he still stands patiently in the entry waiting for her to decide. Zelda shakes off her doubt and looks back at the horses. The scene is idyllic and would make a perfect study of nature. Perhaps it’s time for her to be a little more adventurous, even if that was taking a few steps outside the front door. Collecting her Purah pad, charcoals, and sketchbook from the kitchen table, Zelda joins Link. His eyes light up when he sees the tools she’s chosen and retrieves a blanket from the basket by the door. 

Choosing a spot near the horses, Link unfolds the soft blanket and spreads it on the grassy knoll. Kicking off her shoes, Zelda stretches out her legs and lifts her chin to the sun. A sea breeze carrying the faint scent of salt and brine ruffles her hair, tickling the nape of her neck.

Link lays on his back beside her, crossing his arms behind his head, and soon he is dozing, a contented smile gracing his lips. Zelda marvels that even though he’s never regained all his memories, some things remain unchanged–like his ability to fall asleep anywhere. When asleep, the worry melts away from his face, leaving his visage youthful and unlined. She wonders what he was like before fate pulled him firmly into her embrace. There’s no one left to ask who would know.

Turning to a blank page in her sketchbook, Zelda opens her charcoals and begins outlining his profile. Capturing the way the sun casts shadows across his cheekbones and brings out the subtle highlights in his messy hair, her heart swells with love for him. She takes note of every detail–the warmth of the sun on her head, the soft whickers of the horses, and the gentle rhythm of Link’s breathing. It’s a perfect moment, forever frozen in time on the page before her, and Zelda doesn’t realize she’s weeping until teardrops splatter across the page.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 30 - The Waystation. This is what happens when you cross the streams. 

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline -  In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari

With regard to my previous journal entry, I believe I now understand the concept of irony…

Unfortunately, our “road trip” has been anything but uneventful. It feels like time is conspiring to keep me from speaking to Okatsu. And yet, that’s not exactly true. There have been moments of repose, when I could take that space and use it to tell her how I feel. But whenever those moments occur, I find the words freezing in my throat.

I don’t need a strategy for love. I need a strategy for breaking the silence.

Hiding behind the trunk wouldn’t have been my preference had there been any other options. Unless the newcomers were completely inept, they would discover me within moments. I took hold of the war fan, planning to jam it into the ribs of anyone who attacked, as the wall groaned open.

Then the woman said. “Wait. Aki usually has a lantern on his desk.”

The man, however, didn’t wait. “There’s enough light from the office. Hand me that cushion, I’ll prop the wall open.”

Wait.

The cushion already had been in the mechanism… hadn’t it?

No time to puzzle over that. I could hear the man’s footsteps coming closer, as he confidently glided around the perimeter of the room. He paused, right by the trunk I was hiding behind.

I held my breath, refusing to move, preparing to strike if he threatened me.

But instead, the man leaned over and stared into my face with an expression of surprise. “How did you get over here so fast?”

Before I could react, he took hold of my hand and helped me to my feet. The light from the entry haloed his face, a vaguely familiar profile. I had seen him before… somewhere?

Behind me… the whistle of a sword, as Mitsunari jumped to his feet. “Let go of her.”

The man reacted instantly, pushing me behind him, then said, “Ishida Mitsunari.” He looked back down at me, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of me. Then he pushed the sleeve of my kimono up and examined my arm. “And you are not my-”

“Got it!” The room turned a warm amber as the lantern light filled the space. The woman stood in the entry, looking at us all. And she was…

Me?

Mitsunari made a strangled noise, and the man let me go.

I couldn’t move  – I could only stare at the me who was not me. We were both wearing similarly cut kimonos, although hers was darker than mine. There was also – I thought for a moment to find the right word – a serenity, yes, serenity about her, despite the startled look on her face – a look that I was sure was reflected on mine. “Oh hell.” She raised the lantern a bit higher, illuminating the scene. “Are we in the wrong timeline?”

“How?” The man strolled to her side and put his arm around her waist. “We didn’t go through either wormhole.”

I finally managed to break my trance and scooted backward until I bumped up against Mitsunari. If there was any timeline jumping going on, then I was going to be doing it with him. He put his hand on my shoulder and held on tight, apparently of the same mind. Or maybe he simply wanted to reassure himself that I was real.

I sort of needed that reassurance myself.

The awkward silence was finally broken, not by any of us, but by a sound above – that of people walking across the ceiling.

We all looked up.

“That better be a Sasuke,” the me who was not me said, even as all four of us readied our weapons, just in case.

Then a trap door in the ceiling opened and two ninjas stared down at us.

One of them was definitely Sasuke, and I relaxed a bit at the familiar figure. Even so, the surreal events of the day were enough motivation for me to keep my hand on my sword. Maybe it was Sasuke’s evil twin – at this point anything was possible. Maybe the not-me was my evil twin? Or maybe I was the evil twin?

Although there was clearly a rope ladder available, both ninjas leaped gracefully into the room. Sasuke removed his mask.

He bowed to the other me, and the tall man. “Katsu, Lord Shingen. It is a pleasure to encounter you both again, though I’m aware you might not say the same.” He turned to Mitsunari and I, then bowed again. “Mitsunari, Okatsu, I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Sasuke, we just saw each other two days ag-.” I sighed, remembering what the other me had said. “That wasn’t you, was it? Two Sasukes. Two of me.”

“Three.” Mitsunari bowed to the as-yet-silent other ninja. “Three Okatsus. I told you. She has your eyes.”

“I thought you recognized me that day.” The ninja, or kunoichi, took off her balaclava. Mitsunari was right, this was another me – although unmasked, no one would confuse her with myself or ‘Katsu’ because this woman had chin length hair that was dyed purple, and I was instantly jealous because I had always wanted to do that to my hair.

“Well, at least now I know how I would look with that haircut.” I didn’t realize I had said it out loud, until Katsu murmured, “Indeed,” causing the tall man – Lord Shingen – to tangle his fingers in her long ponytail. “You’d look lovely in any style, but I confess I love the way you have it now.”

They smiled at each other, almost as if they had retreated into their own world. Mitsunari watched them with the expression he normally reserved for reading a new book, before turning to me. “I would always know you, Okatsu, no matter what color your hair – but will someone please explain why there are three of you when you don’t have any sisters.”

Before Sasuke could respond, the other Katsuko – the one with Lord Shingen, and not the cyberpunk me – raised her hand. “Wait. Whose timeline are we in – mine, that Katsu’s… or that Katsu’s… or jeez, I’m confusing myself.”

“No one’s, actually.” Cyberpunk Katsuko impatiently swiped her hair behind her ears. “And Iook, just call me Kayten. I’ve met far too many versions of myself to use ‘Katsu’ at this point.”

Feeling the urge to contribute something helpful, I said, “I’ve gotten used to answering to Okatsu.” God help Mitsunari if he had to learn another name at this point. “What did you mean we’re not in any timeline. We’re not dead, are we?”

I didn’t feel dead. Then again, having never been dead, how would I know?

“Simply put, -” Sasuke began before Kayten interrupted, “Spidey, you’ve never put things simply.”

He pushed his glasses up further along the bridge of his nose. “That… is accurate. To answer your question, Okatsu, this room exists outside of the multiverses. I surmise that the four of you separately came in search of Professor Yamaoka in your own timelines and found yourselves in this… for want of a better word… waystation.”

When no one corrected him, Sasuke continued. “Kayten and I will make sure you’re able to return to your original timelines without further incident.”

I glanced up at the door in the ceiling. “Not that way, I hope?” Ugh.

“Ditto.” Katsu rubbed her hands over her arms. “Kayten, how were you able to go through there?” Lord Shingen patted her on the back, so presumably he was aware of the claustrophobia.

“I designed a series of cognitive behavior desensitization exercises for her.” Sasuke seemed rather proud of himself although Kayten rolled her eyes and elbowed him. “Though, of course it was Kayten who put in the work.”

“Where is Aki?” I didn’t want to go anywhere without the information I was looking for.

Kayten and Sasuke looked at each other in a silent conversation. “We actually don’t know.” For the first time, Kayten dropped her above-it-all attitude and looked worried. “Okatsu, the last we saw of him, he was going to your timeline to ensure Hikosane’s safety.”

Oh. In which case, Mitsunari and I had been the last people to see him. “He and Iekane fell off a tower, but… they disappeared between there and the ground.” Did Kayten know about the paternity issue? “Right before that happened, Iekane told me that Aki is my… oh I guess, our-”

Kayten cut me off. “When we find him, I’ll make sure he comes back to discuss that with you.”

Hm. Katsu hadn’t reacted to our half conversation, except to look mystified. So, Aki hadn’t told her either? I kind of liked knowing something that she didn’t. Besides, Aki deserved to repeat what was sure to be an awkward conversation over and over.

Crrrruuuunnnnch

Now what?

The rumbling noise had come from somewhere outside the room, seeming to surround us. The four of us who weren’t ninjas again gripped our weapons, in preparation for… well… whatever had made that sound was big… I hoped it wasn’t dinosaurs.

“Please tell me that wasn’t a dinosaur.” Katsu eyed the trap door.

“No… I think the failsafes that keep the timelines from crossing are weakening. This room was only intended to be a pass through.” Sasuke pulled out a phone – at least it looked like a phone and glanced at it. “The longer we stay in here, the more likely it is to destabilize. Theoretically-”

“I hate it when you say that.” Katsu and Kayten had both spoken at once.

Sasuke continued as if he had not been interrupted. “Theoretically, we could be trapped in here indefinitely, therefore, my recommendation is that we end the discussion and return to our respective timelines.”

“Agreed.” Kayten looked us all over. “I’ll guide Okatsu and the cinnamon roll. You can deal with the flirt.”

Sasuke looked over at Katsu and Lord Shingen. “My apologies Katsu, but the simplest and fastest way back to your timeline is vertical.” He looked up at the trap door.

The rumbling from outside continued. I’d been in a couple of minor earthquakes, including one a few weeks after I arrived in this era. That’s what this sounded like. Earthquake. And I did not want to be trapped in here if that occurred. Katsu seemed to feel the same way, for she simply nodded, and reached for Lord Shingen’s hand. “If we must.”

“I’ll be right with you, Devil, if you start feeling overwhelmed.” Lord Shingen gave her shoulders a light massage.

She reached back and took hold of his hand, leaning into him as if he gave her strength. “Better a few minutes in the crawl space than an infinity in here.” She winked at me. “I already live with one voice of me in my head – I don’t need that tripled.”

“Imagine that times ten,” Kayten muttered, before shooing Mitsunari and I toward the rotating wall. “This way for your timeline, Okatsu.”

Sasuke, Lord Shingen, and Katsu were already climbing into the ceiling. As they disappeared above, I heard her say. “Sasuke, if this this room links the timelines, why couldn’t I have used this last year when I was stuck-”

Another rumbling noise made it possible to hear the rest of the conversation, and Mitsunari and I hurried after Kayten.

Aki’s office was just as deserted as before. I heard a metallic clunk and looked down – I’d nearly tripped over the lantern that Katsu had left by the wall.

Kayten let the bookshelf swing back into place. Then she opened it again and gestured us back into the waystation, even though we’d just been in there. But it was already deserted.

It seemed redundant to go back into the waystation, shut the wall, reopen the wall, and then again go back into Aki’s office. The only difference I could see from the room that it had been the moment before was that the lantern was not on the floor. Right. We had brought it into the waystation, whereas Katsu had left one by the wall.

Keeping one foot in the waystation and one foot in the office, Kayten braced the bookshelf open. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, and glanced down at it, frowned, then held the phone closer to the waystation. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. “Welcome to Timeline B. Please put your tray tables up and raise your seats to their original upright positions.”

“Is that a time travel app on your phone?” That seemed incredibly advanced tech, even for my original century. “Right before he and Aki went over the edge of the tower, Iekane had a device that looked sort of like a phone. But more-.” I tried to mime out the dimensions of the thing he’d had.

“Yeah. That’s a prototype that he stole, and it’s the only one…  Francisco is trying to make another one, but without Aki, we don’t even know enough about how it works.” Kayten stabbed at her phone with a scowl on her face.

Francisco is a time traveler too?

Before I could ponder the implications of that, she continued. “Whereas this … this is more like timeline GPS. Sasuke programmed it to help us make sure we always could figure out which when we’re in. But it only works for the timelines we’re aware of. There are others we haven’t visited – and I’m sure some we don’t want to visit.” She waved the phone at me, but I only caught a glimpse of the year 1582 before screen went dark. “Ooops. The waystation is the only place with a signal though.” She held the phone closer to the wall and it rebooted. “Anyway, it’s just time, date and timeline.”

I stepped closer to examine it. “Wait… if that’s correct, we were in there over a week?”

Mitsunari blinked a couple times. “I have occasionally lost track of time reading, but never an entire week.”

“Katsu-” Kayten inclined her head to indicate she meant the other Katsu. “Katsu got stuck in the wormhole for a year, but she didn’t realize that much time had passed.”

That sounded like a nightmare – and here I was planning to go into one in… well, if we had truly lost a week, then tonight was when I was supposed to meet Toshiie and Sasuke. Unless… “Do you use that room to go back and forth to the future?”

“No, the wormhole is the only way to go forward and backward in time. The waystation is for sideways – to skip from timeline to timeline. It must have been an unlucky coincidence that you two and Shingen and Katsu all went searching for Aki at the same time, because the waystation sticks pretty close to the same time. Or… well, that’s what it is designed to do. Hm.” She paused, and for the first time looked really concerned. “I think that Katsuko and Shingen were from 1584, though… they had to have been, because of that whole got stuck in the wormhole for a year thing.” She tapped on her phone app. “A two year slippage… That’s… not a good sign.”

“Do others use it too? I mean, is it ok to leave it unguarded?” I hated the idea of enemies from another timeline using it as a backdoor to here.

Kayten didn’t look up from her phone. “So far, we’re the only people who know of it, so. But yeah, I’m going to talk to Sasuke about this. And Aki… if he ever shows his face. Anyway, you two should be able to manage from here, right?”

“Yes.” I was getting a little tired of her – I guess my – above it all attitude. “I do know how to exit a building.”

Neither Mitsunari nor I spoke until we were a good distance down the mountain. Negotiating the tricky paths meant there was no additional mental space to think about what we had just learned – and not learned - until we were on more level turf.

Eventually, after we had completed the most treacherous part of the journey, we pulled our horses to a halt and climbed down.

“Were you as weirded out by that as I was?” We led our horses to a stream. Since it was a warm day, I took off my sandals and bathed my feet in the water. The feeling of the cool water and the smooth stones helped ground me after such a surreal afternoon (week?).

“I am unsure what you mean by ‘weirded out.’ Though seeing copies of yourself must be… unsettling?” Mitsunari took off his sandals as well, and then winced when he dropped one in the stream.

I grabbed it as it floated past and handed it back to him. “I kept thinking ‘that’s not-me. And that other one is not-me either. It was stranger with Katsu. Kayten looked different enough that I could pretend she was a cousin.” How long ago had the timelines split? If all three of us had claustrophobia, did that mean we had been one person at least up through the time Iekane had first tried to kill us? Maybe he had killed some of us and that was the moment of the split? I should have asked one of the others. “It’s giving me a headache just thinking about it.”

“It appeared to me as if you were not the same but sisters. Even were the three of you to dress identically, and wear your hair the same way, I believe I would be able to tell which one was you.” He reached out and lightly touched a lock of my hair, absently spinning it between his fingers.

That was sweet of him to say, though I didn’t believe him, given his usual difficulty with names and faces. Rather than call him on that, I changed the subject. “I guess we’re not going to be able to find Aki in this timeline. And we didn’t get a chance to learn why Iekane wants to kill Hikosane.”

“Only that he is important enough for Akihira to come and help us.” Mitsunari replaced his sandals. One of them squooshed water when he walked.

“Can you help look after him once I go back to my time? I know that Nobunaga will treat him fairly, but it will do him no harm to spend time with you too.” I wiped my feet dry on the grass and shoved them into my sandals. “I guess if we’ve truly lost a week, we should hurry in case the wormhole is early.”

He looked up into the cloudy sky. “I feel as if I’ve had a week stolen from me. I thought we would have more time before you are to leave.”

So did I.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[vickyvicarious]

Something I never noticed last year is how Dracula seems legitimately sad at the beginning of today's entry. Like, look at this:

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can look as he said:— "To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula."

Dracula is "grim" when he says his farewells to Jonathan - very, judging by the rest of that line. He's enjoyed their time together and is sad that it has come to an end. He knows that they may never meet again... but he holds out hope that might not be the case. It reads to me like he hopes that the vampire ladies will choose to turn Jonathan into a vampire after he leaves and is hinting towards that, despite on the surface just telling mocking lies here. He's prepped them ("all shall be ready for your journey") and he knows they will come for Jonathan ("my carriage shall come for you"). But the vampire ladies have proven before that they don't always listen to what Dracula wants, and since he's put it off this long it's not like he can supervise the whole process himself (assuming it takes more than one bite/blood exchange/whatever). They could very well choose to just kill him rather than turn him.

That kind of substituted meaning for those specific lines may be a stretch, but certainly I think at least the sense of Dracula being put out to have to say goodbye is firmly there. But - luckily for Dracula - Jonathan (who is on the very last scrap of his patience) chooses that moment to push back, to outright ask to leave and say he wants to go right now. And Dracula gets a fun little idea.

"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once." He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness.

Dracula gets to play one last game with his good friend Jonathan Harker! It may be the last day, but it's not all over yet! He gets to toy with him at least one last time! How delightful! No wonder he is suddenly anything but grim. Instead, he's dripping with charm:

The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real:

Dracula is fully pulled out of his funk by this opportunity to torment Jonathan in an extra-blatant way. Not only does he threaten him with the wolves he controls, but he pushes until Jonathan is forced to once again rely on him for safety. This entire bit is such a mockery:

I knew then that to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the door continued slowly to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count,

Yeah. Dracula is the only thing standing between Jonathan and the wolves, literally! But of course he will respect his guest's wishes, so he won't stop opening the door, he'll keep going, he'll make him ask to stay...

By the end of that scene at the door he is fully cheered up, he is delighted, he's kissing his hand to Jonathan and promising (to the vampire ladies, but where Jonathan can hear) that tonight is his still and tomorrow they get their turn. He's ending this lovely visit on a very high note.

It's just. Brutal.

All the more so because Jonathan is so clearly at the very last fraying thread of his restraint, so the contrast between Dracula's initial disappointment shifting to burgeoning sick delight and Jonathan's seething hatred and fear and despair (and one brief moment of possible hope despite himself getting snuffed violently out)... it's super intense. Dracula gets to push him one last time, and Jonathan just barely holds back from outright throwing away the pretense altogether. It starts with his open anger and hatred in his diary at the sight of Dracula imitating him once again, nearly comes out when he insists that he wants to leave. And yet, he feels his own powerlessness as strongly as the rage, and in the end that fear and the understanding that pushing forward will only result in his certain death stops him. But in doing so, he feels complicit yet again, worse than ever before because he can see the way out and he has to refuse to take it, and Dracula gets to enjoy his anguish. Just like every other time before.

And it nearly breaks him this time. After he's forced once again to 'willingly' continue to stay in the castle Jonathan's mask finally breaks. He says he "covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment." He started to cry. Not the first time by any means, but this time is right in front of Dracula. He held out so long but he just can't anymore.

No wonder they were both silent on the walk back to Jonathan's room. If they said anything at all, Jonathan couldn't possibly keep pretending, and then Dracula would have to kill him right away. He doesn't want that, not when he can enjoy this for a few hours more.