#( i dunno i think it might be a weird situation where artists will grab any male characters and ship them )

[hauntsdestruction]

i don’t know why but i always thought it was very strange people ship simon and david since //SPOILERS UNDER CUT

david literally hits him with his car and that’s what triggers the entire game. you see david LEAVE the crime scene that permanently disabled simon for life. i understand people wanting to them to have a relationship where david cares for simon and helps him be comfortable with his new disability. but i NEVER see people draw simon in his actual state and not his dream state, in which he’s in a wheelchair suffering from horrible depression with dwindling self care habits. since i guess the real version of simon isn’t as appealing to draw. 

#█ ▌ 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩. / ooc. #( ive had like a decade to think about this game and WILL use this account to talk about it ) #( i care deeply for simon and he deserves to be with someone who could genuinely HELP him ) #( and personally i don't think he'd want help from the man who injured him ) #( i dunno i think it might be a weird situation where artists will grab any male characters and ship them ) #( but not the girl simon loved!!! not the girl who actually helped him through his depression!!! )

[kosmosguk]

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.  

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation,  mentions of suicide, gore 

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.  

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

#yandere namjoon #namjoon x reader #yandere #yandere bts #bts smut #yandere lemon #yandere smut #bts fic #bts x reader #namjoon smut #yandere writing #yandere x reader #bts namjoon #yandere fic #bts thriller au #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #kim namjoon #yandere male #bts scenarios

[agerestorybits]

I’m not little I swear!

  Roman was laying on his stomach on the floor coloring as disney music played in the background. His door left open in case anyone needed him. He looked up when he heard a knock on the door frame. Virgil stood there more, awkward than normal. 

 Roman smiled, “What brings you to my domain dark night?” Roman asked, shifting so he was sitting up. 

 Virgil stepped in hands in his hoodie pockets. “I...noticed that you...Well.” Virgil gestured to the coloring book on the floor. 

 “And? Would you like to join me?” Roman asked, already summoning a second coloring book for Virgil. Nightmare before Christmas themed. 

Virgil relaxed a little, “Yeah. I would. Thanks.” He sat down on the floor and pulled out a crayon from the pile on the floor.

Roman went back to coloring. They both worked in silence for a while before Virgil spoke up. “Just so you know..Um..I am too.”

Roman looked up at him. Virgil glanced at the coloring book again. What? An artist? Why didn’t he just say that? Was he embarrassed? Scared Roman would be mad at him. Roman smiles reassuringly, “Trust me when I say there is no problem with that. If anyone gives you any grief about it they’ll have me to mess with.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say as Virgil smiled a bit. “Thanks.” They went back to coloring. After a half hour Virgil finished his picture and stood. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Indeed!” Roman agreed. “The sooner the better!”

Virgil shifted on his feet, “So...you don’t mind if I tell Logan and Patton about..this? Do you? I mean if you want to tell them yourself-”

“I would never tell them something if you wanted me to keep it secret.” Roman promised. Why Virgil was making such a big deal about coloring he had no idea. He didn’t really understand Virgil that much but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to support him. “Tell they if you want. Do I need to be there for you?”

Virgil smiled again, “nah. It’s cool. I’ve got it….thanks.”

“Well good luck!” Roman said.

“I might need it.” Virgil muttered as he left. Roman rolled his eyes, Virgil could be so over dramatic. And that was coming from him!

Roman went back to coloring.

---

Virgil took a breath before blurting it out. “I age regress.” Patton and Logan looked at him. “So does Roman!” He added before they could say anything.

“Oooookay?” Patton said. “What’s that?”

Logan gave a brief explanation. “In all honesty I’m not surprised about Roman.”

“It does make sense.” Patton agreed.

“Yeah.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, “So um..Alright. I was wondering if you weren’t too weird out by this-”

“Not at all.” Logan said.

“Full support kiddo!” Patton added.

“Thanks...Would one or both. I’m not going to pick..And if you don’t want to I won’t hold it against you or anything! I just..”

“Virgil.” Logan said, “Breath.”

“Will you be my caregiver….ers?” He asked in a small voice.

“Of course!” Patton said. He turned to Logan. “What is that?”

“Patton don’t agree to things you don’t know about.” Logan said before giving an explanation.

Patton frowned, “I thought I was already taking care of you.”

“I mean. While I’m little.” Virgil clarified.

“Well duh! I’m not going to stop just because you need a LITTLE extra help!” Patton said brightly.

“I agree to help.” Logan said.

 Virgil smiled. This was going better than he expected.

---

Roman was...confused. He wasn’t going to say anything in case he insulted Virgil but...He didn find it weird that he was wandering around in the middle of the day in a onesie with a..was that a pacifier????

Even stranger was Logan and Patton took it in stride and even seemed to think that Roman wanted to do that too.

Was this a prank? A joke he didn’t get? Was he supposed to comment on it?

“Are you sure you don’t want to try a paci?” Patton asked.

“Err...no thanks pat.” Roman said holding up a hand.

“Patton, he might not be little right now.” Logan said.

 Little??? What?? “Alright what is going on? Am I missing something? I feel like I’m missing something.” Roman said.

“You don’t have to hide it. Virgil told us!” Patton said.

“It wasn’t like you were trying that hard to hide it.” Logan said.

“Hide what?” Roman asked. Was this about the art thing? What did that have to do with dressing in a onesie?

“About your age regression.” Patton said.

“My...what?” Logan and Patton glanced at each other.

“You really don’t need to hide it.” Logan assured him. “As you can see we have already accepted Virgil for it. We aren’t going to judge you.”

“We can even take care of you too if you want!” Patton said excitedly. “Oh! You two could have playdates!”

“Back up. What is age regression? And Virgil said I did that?” Roman said. He wasn’t going to argue with Virgil….Yet.

Logan gave him an in depth description of age regression which raised more questions than it answered.

 Why did Virgil think he age regressed? Did he age regress and not know? No he was very sure that he didn’t age regress. He just liked to do kid activities. That wasn’t the same thing!

Roman shook his head, “I don’t age regress.”

Patton crossed his arms, “Now Roman lying isn’t a good habit.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “I’m not lying??”

“Do you need to go in time out?”

Roman froze. WHAT?

“Alright. Call me when you aren’t acting crazy.” He said leaving.

“Roman!”

He kept walking. He wasn’t watching where he was going; he was just getting out of a situation that was crazier than he liked.

Speaking of crazy.

Remus looked up as Roman entered the Dark side common rooms. He was hanging upside down over the back of the couch eating a confetti. “Oh. What are you doing here?” He’s mouth is full of colorful paper.

Roman groaned and collapsed on the couch next to his brother. “I just had the strangest conversation.” He threw himself into the story of what just happened as Remus half listened but paid more attention the more Roman talked about…

“Little space! I mean what even is that??”

Remus was silent for a solid minute. “I mean...I do that.”

“You do?” Roman asked.

“Yeah! I mean.” Remus flipped off the couch onto the floor then jumped to his feet, spilling the confetti in the process. “It’s great! No filter! No worries about anything!”

“Isn’t that you normally?” Roman asked.

“Well… I mean I’m a bit more...PG when it happens but other than that….yeah.” Remus said before offering Roman some of the small amount of confetti that remained in the bag. “Want some.”

“No thanks. So if you regress….Do you have someone who watches you? Like..a caregiver?”

Remus’ face dropped. “I asked Janus but...turns out I’m a ‘bit much’ for him. So...no.”

“Oh.” Roman frowned. Thinking through his offer. “Well Logan and Patton seem to want someone else to take care of.”

Remus snorted and threw himself down on the couch again. “You’re kidding right? There’s no way they would watch me. No one would.”

“I would.” WHY DID HE SAY THAT? He almost took it back but, The way Remus’ face lit up… He had to try.

“Really?” Remus said almost bouncing.

“I mean. I’ll try.” Roman said.

“Good enough!” Remus said. “I’ll see you in a couple hours! I gotta get in my head space!” He said running off.

Roman watched him go, a sinking feeling that he got himself in something he had no idea how to handle sinking in.

---

 Remus showed up at Roman’s door not wearing a onesie like Roman thought he might, but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that he clearly made himself that was a mix of tye-dye and gory images with stains that looked like real blood. He had a stuffed octopus that was looking worse for the wear and a paci on a clip.

“Hihi!” He said moving past Roman into the room. Roman closed the door.

“Hi? So what do I do?”

“You watch me.” Remus said. “Duh.” His voice was higher...more kid like. Which made sense.

“Alright. So you want to do something?” Roman asked.

“Mmmmm I dunno.” Remus said putting the octopus on Roman’s bed.

“Does he have a name?” Roman asked.

“Yeah! Cephy!” Remus said bouncing. “He collects skulls!”

“Really?” Roman asked, playing along.

Remus nodded clearly having fun that someone was so interested in his stuffed friend. “He eats all the bones cept the skulls! Those he pol-....pol..”

“Polishes?”

“Yeah! Shiny and stuff.” Remus said waving his hands as he talked.

Roman looked over Cephy. “Mmm. He’s looking a little rough. Do you want me to patch him up?”

“Yes! We can make a octopus hospitel!” Remus said grabbing Cephy and shoving him into Roman’s hands. “I’ll be the mad doctor and you can be the real doctor who does the...surge- a- ge!”

“Surgery.” Roman said.

“Yeah! Dat!” Remus said beaming.

Roman had to smile too. Remus was just..lacking a better word...cute like this. Janus was missing out thinking that Remus was ‘too much’ to handle.

Roman sewed up Cephy and put a little magic in him to make him softer again. Remus was thrilled he watched the whole time asking questions about what Roman was doing and talking about other things that Cephy liked to do.

 “-and then bam! Dead!” Remus fell over onto Roman’s bed.

“Oh dear.” Roman said half listening to the story half focusing on the stuffie in his hands. He needed to put the finishing touch on. A spell that made it so Cephy didn’t get torn up again.

“There! All done!” Remus jumped up and grabbed his stuffed friend.

“Cephy! You’re alright! You lived Surge-a-ge!” Remus said hugging him. Roman didn’t bother correcting him. He was going to keep messing words up. As long as Roman got the gist of it he didn’t mind.

Remus looked at Roman suddenly, “I’m hunge.”

“Oh. Well it is getting late isn’t it? We should both get some dinner.” Roman said stand and without thinking about it took Remus’ hand and led them to the kitchen. By late it was LATE. Almost midnight.

Roman was kind of glad no one else was awake. He didn’t want to face Patton and Logan yet. Nor confront Virgil about saying he was little when he wasn’t.

He made eggs which was the first thing that Remus suggested that was edible. And toast. With jam….and juice.

Ok so he made breakfast at midnight. Remus didn’t have a problem with it. He even tried to feed Cephy some.

“Done!” Remus said, pushing his plate away. “Now we play something else?”

“I don’t think so you little gremlin, It’s bedtime.” Roman said.

Wait...did he just call remus a gremlin? Shit! He looked at Remus closely but the only thing he was upset about was having to go to bed.

“Ugh! But I wanna stay… stay…’yawn’ up!” Remus said before yawning a second time.

“Nope. Bedtime. Gremlin.” Roman said running with the nickname. Remus grumbled but agreed.

“Carry me?” He muttered. Roman picked him up and made sure he still had Cephy before taking him and tucking them both in bed.

“Goodnight gremlin.” Roman said, flipping off the lights.

“Night night.” Remus muttered half asleep.

 Roman turned around and jumped as he was met with Janus. “Gah!”

“You did good today.” Janus said. “Watching him.”

“I don’t get why you think he’s too much to be honest.” Roman said a little tense.

Janus laughed, “You haven’t seen his temper tantrum yet….besides I’m not very partenal….Not like you it seems.”

“Thank you?”

“Good luck Roman.” Janus said, turning, “You’re going to need it.”

---

Roman sat reading from a storybook as Remus played on the floor half listening. He noticed Janus out of the corner of his eye reading his own book. Only Janus hadn’t turned any pages in almost twenty minutes giving Roman the sneaking suspicion that he was listening. He read just slightly louder and kept an eye out for any movement from Janus.

Sure enough Janus closed his book after a few minutes and set it aside but didn’t get up and leave. Instead he just closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair farther. Roman’s smile widened as he continued reading.

“It’s lunch time.” Remus reminded him. Roman closed the book and saw Janus open his eyes and caught Roman watching him. Janus wordlessly got up and left.

“Yeah. Let’s get you some food.” Roman said, taking Remus’ hand and taking him to the kitchen.

 Janus had been hanging around Remus and Roman when a lot. More than Roman expected of him. He had never really thought of Janus as being sociable but it was clear that he was.

Roman couldn’t stop thinking about Janus’...warning? It felt like a warning. Like something was going to happen that he would NEED luck for. But he had no idea what. Were Patton and Logan going to become even more intolerable?

They were trying to get him to regress around Virgil and didn’t believe him when he said that he didn’t regress. They firmly believed he was just being shy about it? Why would he be? It didn’t make sense to him but it seemed to make some kind of sense to them since they would not drop it!

He sighed. Remus looked up at him from his lunch. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about gremlin.” Roman said, brushing Remus’ hair out of his face.

Remus hummed, Roman could tell by the look in his eyes that he was snapping out of his younger headspace. “Roman.”

 “It’s nothing!...Really! Just...you know. Them.” Roman said, waving his hand. At least for the most part Virgil seemed to believe that he didn’t regress. But Patton and Logan just would not let it go.

“Do I need to bust some heads?” Remus asked.

“No.” Roman rolled his eyes. He sat down and crossed his arms. He looked towards the hallway that Janus had disappeared down before leaning forward on the table. “Do you now what’s up with Janus?”

“Did he say something to you?” Remus asked confused.

“Well...no. I just thought it was weird that he was hanging out so much when you’re regressed when he thought you were ‘too much to handle’.” Roman said using finger quotations.

“Well he’s not handling me is he? That’s you!” Remus said. “Who is doing a good job by the way.” He muttered the second half before taking a quick bite.

Roman blinked at the praise. Remus was begrudging to give him any compliments when he was bigger due to their dumb slibing ravalry they had going on.

“Still…”

“If he didn’t say anything he’s fine! He’ll say something if he has a problem!” Remus said.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Really? The master of lies and secrets is going to be completely open about his problems?”

“Yeah...why not?” Remus asked. “I mean you’re part of the group now.”

“The group?”

“One of us! You spend more down here than with the others at this point!” Remus said a bit happy about it.

Roman froze. He….he did. Didn’t he? He just wanted to avoid them from trying to baby him and he liked taking care of Remus and talking with Janus and-

He stood up so fast he made Remus jump at the sudden action. “I need to go talk to them!”

Remus waved him off. “Good luck.”

Roman paused. Why did they both think he needed luck so much?

----

  He ran into Virgil first. Who for the most part was regretful that he jumped to a conclusion and got Roman into this mess.

“Are you ok? You looked stressed out.” Virgil said.

“Fine.” Roman said.

“Right. Because you’re known for your one word answers.” Virgil crossed his arms.

“Alright so I’m not feeling my best at the moment.” Roman said, throwing a hand in the air.

 “Any way I can help?” Virgil asked.

“Oh I think you’ve done enough!” Roman snapped. Virgil flinched. Roman’s anger died down. “Sorry. You didn’t know this would happen.”

“Still...I should made sure I knew for sure what was going on first before-”

“Breath. It’s fine. I’m sure they’ll give up on me ‘regressing’ any day now.” Roman said, patting Virgil’s upper arm. “Hopefully.” He muttered as he moved past Virgil.

He found Patton and Logan in the common room. “Oh hey! You’re back!”

“Yep!”

“Are you feeling alright?” Logan frowned.

Roman took a breath. “I need you two to drop this whole me regressing thing.”

Patton and Logan glanced at each other. “Are..are you sure?”

“Very.” Roman said flatly.

Patton nodded to himself. Logan stood up, “Alright. It’s your choice.”

Roman was feeling hopeful that he had gotten through to them. Then Patton spoke, “If you ever change your mind about doing it alone we’ll be here.” Roman groaned.

Well...It was better than nothing.

---

While they did drop trying to get him to regress around them. They were checking to make sure he was regressing on his own and suggested he go regress to get rid of some stress when he was tense. He finally just agreed to going somewhere else, (them taking this as him going to regress) just so he didn’t have to bother with it.

He stormed into the dark commons and froze as he saw Remus regressed...with Janus. It was clear from his pacifier and childlike outfit that he was little too. Unless this was some weird joke he was missing out on.

 “Janus?!?” He accidentally yelled.

Janus and Remus both jumped. Janus looked up terrified, tears appearing in his eyes. Roman’s caregiving instincts kicked in. He dropped down next to Janus and quickly went about calming him.

 “Hey. No it’s ok. See? Everything is fine.” Roman said softly.

Janus stared at him with wide eyes. He slowly reached out and touched Roman’s face before reaching out with both arms. Roman pulled him into his lap. Janus cuddled up as close as he could to Roman’s chest.

 Remus whined, “Hey!” He crawled over and Roman hugged him to his side. Remus wasn’t that cuddly but he must have been a bit jealous of Janus at the moment.

Oh boy. Maybe this is what he needs luck for.

---

 Janus stopped regressing as Roman served them supper. He started shifting in his chair awkwardly and clearly wanted to leave.

“Hey.” Roman said gently. “We don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. I can pretend it never happened if you want.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say as Janus relaxed a bit. He sat back. “No..This needs to be addressed.”

Roman sat down. “Alright.”

Janus stared at his plate of food, across from him Remus was eating quickly. His legs kicking back and forth. Those his eyes said he was older than he was acting.

Janus was quiet for a while before speaking. “I can’t handle Remus’ regression because I regress too.”

Roman nodded. “It causes it?”

Janus nodded. He looked up at Roman. “So….”

“If you want I can watch both of you at the same time. It’s not too much.” Roman couldn’t really promise that but today had gone well so why not at least try?

 Janus stared at Roman for a solid minute before speaking. “I’d like that.”

Roman smiled. Remus cheered. “Little friend!” Roman and Janus both smiled at that. “Maybe Virgil could join us for a playdate!” Janus’ smile froze.

Roman held his breath for Janus’ reaction. After a second Janus unfroze and nodded, “Worth a shot.”

---

Setting up the playdate was more work than he thought. Patton was sure that having Remus around a regressed Virgil would be bad for him. “I just don’t want him getting hurt!”

Roman assured him that he had been watching Remus, (“Like a big brother!” Patton said completely blowing over how Roman said he was Remus’ caregiver) and that he wouldn’t hurt Virgil or Janus.

Logan was the one who agreed. “We’ll both be there. We can watch them.”

“I’m so proud of you for doing this!” Patton told him. He was almost sure that Patton thought he was finally going to regress around them.

He just smiled tightly and moved on with setting everything up. Virgil was genuinely excited about it. While Remus and Janus had playdates together before, Virgil never had. So while he was nervous about it, he was also ready to play.

Roman held Janus and Remus’ hands as he took them to light side common room where there was a pillow fort set up, snacks were being made fresh in the kitchen and the t.v was set up for movies. Of course there were toys in a chest in the back of the pillow fort due to the fact that the t.v was most likely just going to be background noise.

 Virgil was waiting in the pillow fort. They had decided before to have them all small before getting them together in case an argument broke out and they couldn’t regress.

Janus surprised all of them by running over as soon as he saw Virgil and hugging him. Remus beamed and ran over to join the hug. Roman smiled at them.

“Do you want to go join in kiddo?” Patton asked.

Roman shook his head, “I’ve got to finish up the snacks so-”

“Pfft! You don’t need to worry about that!” Patton said. “Logan and I have that! Just go play!”

“I’m here to watch them. Not play.” Roman said firmly.

“You don’t have to.” Logan said. “We are more than capable of watching all four of you.”

Roman grit his teeth. “I am not regressing.”

 Patton gave him that stern look that said he wanted him to stop acting and just go along with it. Roman didn’t back down. He walked over and sat on the couch so he could keep an eye on Remus and Janus.

Virgil waved to him.

Roman relaxed a little. He could get through this.

---

He could not get through this! He was holding himself back from yelling at Patton, “I do not regress.” He said as he fixed Janus’ paci clip.

“You don’t have to hide it! We know!” Patton said. “I thought we got past this!”

“You are not listening to me! Neither of you are!” Roman snapped.

Logan frowned.  Janus tugged on Roman’s sleeve. He was getting upset at all the angry faces. Roman picked him up. “It’s ok.” He said soothing him.

He took a breath. He can do this. This is fine.

Until Patton tried to take Janus from him with a quick you don’t need to do that. “Oh! I think I do!”

 Janus started crying and Roman felt even worse. This isn’t how he wanted tonight to go. He walked into the other room with Janus to calm him down.

“You two really suck ass you know that right?” Remus said clearly not regressed anymore. Neither was Virgil who was glaring at them.

“I told you that I was wrong and he doesn’t regress! Why can’t you get that?”

“Virgil.” Patton said. “Then why does he know so much about it?”

“He doesn’t regress.” Remus said firmly. “He takes care of me when I’m regressed!”

“Well maybe if he didn’t have to he could regress! Maybe he’s so busy dealing with you that he doesn’t!” Patton argued.

Logan stepped between them before Remus could punch Patton. “Patton I think they are telling the truth. We were wrong about Roman regressing.”

“What? But..You said that-”

“And I was wrong.” Logan said.

Patton deflated. “Oh….oh no.”

“We need to apologize.” Logan said.

Patton nodded.

Roman came back in with a sleeping Janus. “Remus are you ready to go?”

“In a minute. These two have something to say to you.” Remus said.

“We’re sorry.” Logan said.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “I...what?”

“We didn’t believe you...we didn’t trust you to tell us the truth. And we’re sorry. We should have listened to you.” Patton said.

Roman smiled, “Thank you. Remus?”

“Yeah yeah. Time to go.” Remus said walking over and taking Janus from Roman. “I’ll get him tucked into bed. You can handle this.”

Roman nodded. Remus smiled at his brother and winked before leaving.

 They talked for a while. Both of them were really listening to Roman about how he wasn’t a regressor he was a caregiver.

“That….makes more sense.” Logan said.

“It suits you.” Virgil said.

Roman smiled. “Thank you. I’ve found that I have quite the talent for it.”

Patton shifted, “Roman...I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright Patton. I forgive you. You saw what you wanted to see.” Roman said. Roman looked at Virgil, “Not like I haven’t done that before. The important thing is moving past it.”

“That’s….good advice.” Virgil said surprised.

Roman looked at him offended. “I do have good ideas you know!”

“And we promise we’ll listen to them.” Patton said. “To you.”

Roman nodded. Guess he didn’t need luck after all. He just needed help from people he cared about. And who cared about him.

“Oh stop it! I can almost hear you being sappy!” Virgil said.

“What are you talking about?” Roman said.

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I do not have a look! I have looks!”

“Yeah sure-”

Virgil and Roman fell into their normal banter. The awkward air that had been between them was gone. They were back to normal. Or rather a new normal.

#Little janus #little virgil #little remus #cg roman #cg logan #cg patton

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter one

[ao3]

The tattoos appear one Wednesday night. 

“What’s yours?” Michael demands, sounding beside himself with excitement. Luke frowns.

“What’s my what?”

“Your tattoo.”

-

another soulmate au...but this time its ANGSTY (but dont worry it will end happy because i am me)

The tattoos appear one Wednesday night. 

Almost everyone wakes up for a few minutes at around three-thirty a.m., feeling a strange burning sensation in some square inch of their body. Almost everyone rubs sleepily at the patch of skin - wrist, bicep, shoulder, hip - rolls over, and goes back to sleep. 

Some people, of course, are already awake when it happens, and some people wake up and don’t go back to sleep. Those are the ones who start shooting off confused questions on social media, comparing tattoos, trying to figure out what they mean. A few people start theorising - mine reminds me of my wife, they say, or, mine reminds me of my first love, and by the time the rest of Australia wakes up, the theories have ballooned from maybe they’re to do with someone you need to reconnect with to this is a clear sign from the government that they’ve placed chips in our minds and know what we’re thinking about. 

Australia is the first major country to get them. As Tuesday rolls into Wednesday across the globe, more and more people’s thighs, forearms and ankles start to burn, until, by the time it gets to LA, people are buzzing with anticipation, almost the entire country awake at three-thirty in the morning, waiting for their tattoos. 

Luke doesn’t notice his immediately. He sleeps like the fucking dead, so he hadn’t even woken up in the middle of the night like most people, and he wakes up late for work so doesn’t have time to check his phone for the fifty billion messages he’s received overnight until he’s made it onto the train, panting as he flops into an empty seat opposite an elderly lady. She gives him a warm smile, which Luke thinks is a little strange, but he returns it slightly tentatively, pulling his phone out to avoid any further eye contact. 

His phone lights up before he even touches it, and Luke frowns as he sees new messages appearing every few minutes. On top of the messages, he’s got seventeen missed calls from Michael, twenty-five from his mum, three from his dad, and even some from Jack and Ben. 

He unlocks his phone and heads for the messages app, barely managing to open the group chat with Michael and Calum before his phone is lighting up with Michael ringing him again. 

“What?” he hisses, as quietly as he can, throwing an apologetic look at the lady opposite him. “I’m on the train.” 

“What’s yours?” Michael demands, sounding beside himself with excitement. Luke frowns. 

“What’s my what?” 

“Your tattoo.” Luke blinks. 

“Are you alright, Mike?” he says. “You know I don’t have any tattoos.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Michael says, now sounding incredulous over the staticky phone line. “Have you not, like, looked at your phone? Seen the news? Spoken to a single person?” 

“I woke up late,” Luke says, a little defensively, even though he doesn’t really think he needs to defend not looking at his phone for an hour while he showered, dressed, made breakfast, sprinted to the station.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael says, and Luke can just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Trust you to sleep through something like this.” 

“Through what?”

“Everyone got a tattoo last night,” Michael says. Luke hesitates for a moment, and then rolls his eyes.

“Mike, I’m not that gullible,” he says. “I think even I’d wake up if a tattoo artist broke into my house overnight.” 

“I’m not joking,” Michael says impatiently. 

“Where are they, then?” Luke says, slightly amused. 

“Mine’s on my elbow,” Michael says. “But everyone has them in different places.” 

“Right,” Luke says. “That’s convenient. Is this just a ploy to try and get me to strip naked on public transport and embarrass myself?” 

“Why do you never believe anything I say?” Michael says indignantly. 

“You’ve never given me much reason to,” Luke says. There’s a beat, and then-

“Yeah, that’s fair enough,” Michael says. 

“What’s yours, then?” Luke asks, because he might as well humour Michael. 

“It’s, uh,” Michael says, cagily. There’s a moment’s pause, and when it becomes obvious Luke’s waiting for an answer, he says quietly: “Duke?” 

“Duke?” Luke says, because he cannot have heard that properly. “Like, Calum’s dog Duke?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, sounding a little nervous. Luke rolls his eyes. Obviously Michael’s just picked the first fucking thing that came to mind.

“Right,” Luke says. “Not really doing yourself any favours on convincing me this isn’t just a massive joke, Mike.” Michael makes a small noise somewhere between outrage and embarrassment. 

“Check the fucking news, then, arsehole,” he says, and then there’s a beep and he’s hung up. Luke removes the phone from his ear, screen back on the group chat where Calum’s still sending messages, and clicks out and onto his news app. 

He’s immediately confronted with approximately thirty-seven articles about tattoos. Blurry pictures of people’s tattoos, clips of news anchors showing their tattoos to the camera, interviews with people who claim they know what the tattoos mean, interviews with medical officials who are telling people to stay calm, the tattoos don’t appear to be dangerous. Luke’s first reaction is to bring down his notification bar and check the date - okay, May the seventh, so this isn’t an April Fool’s. It might be a late April Fool’s, though, he thinks.  

“He’s not lying to you,” someone says suddenly, and Luke’s head jolts up to see the old lady opposite him smiling at him benignly. 

“Uh, sorry,” he says, “what d’you mean?” 

“Your friend,” she says, “Mike? He’s not lying. Everybody got a tattoo last night.” She rolls her sleeve up to expose a frail, wrinkled arm, and right there, in the middle of her forearm, is a tattoo of a policeman’s hat. 

“That was my late husband’s identification number,” she says, pointing to the number underneath the hat. 

“Oh,” Luke says, because he has absolutely no idea what the appropriate response to everybody got a tattoo last night, by the way, here’s mine of my late husband’s police hat and identification number is. The lady smiles at him again, and rolls her sleeve back down. 

“You should look for yours,” she says knowingly, like she understands this whole tattoo situation. Luke opens his mouth, although he’s not really sure what he’s about to say - thank you? Piss off? What sort of a fucking alternate universe am I living in? - but then the train doors open and he looks outside and realises this is his stop. 

“This is my stop,” he says, thankful that this incredibly uncomfortable conversation is over. “Have a nice day?” He’s not really sure why he phrases it as a question, but he doesn’t have time to think about it, grabbing his bag and coat and just about making it off the train without getting decapitated by the closing doors. 

What a weird fucking start to the day, he thinks, as he starts towards the ticket barriers, but upon realising he’s left his season ticket at home all thoughts of a tattoo leave his mind. 

 ------- 

 The first person Luke sees when he gets into the office is Calum. He’s wearing a scarf indoors, which strikes Luke as a little strange, but he doesn’t have time to ask because as soon as Luke walks into the room, Calum rounds on him.  

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?” he demands immediately. 

“Jesus Christ,” Luke groans as he throws himself into his chair. “Not you too.” 

“What?” 

“Mike rang me trying to convince me to get naked on the train because apparently someone tattooed me in my sleep last night,” Luke says, powering up his desktop. Calum gapes at him. 

“Are you telling me you haven’t seen yours yet?” he asks in disbelief. 

“What? Cal, are you fucking serious?” Luke says, annoyed. He might be gullible, but he’s not that gullible. “I’m not falling for this shit.” 

“Have you checked the news?” 

“Yeah,” Luke says, swivelling in his chair to face Calum as he waits for his computer to turn on. “It’s got to be some kind of joke. A late April Fool’s, I dunno.” Calum stares at him as though he’s just said the sky is green, or All Time Low are a bad band, or something. 

“Are you insane?” he asks incredulously. 

“Alright, show me your fucking tattoo, then,” Luke says sarcastically. Calum hesitates. 

“I don’t want to,” he says shiftily, after a moment.  

“Right,” Luke says smugly. “See?” 

“See what?”

“Mike came up with some bullshit too,” Luke says. “Said his was fucking Duke.” Calum stares at him for a moment. 

“Wait,” he says, and he sounds a little strangled. “Duke? Like, my dog?” 

“Yeah,” Luke says pointedly, in what he hopes is a I’m not that stupid kind of tone. 

“Oh,” Calum says, and now he sounds somewhere between frightened and elated. Luke cocks his head, frowning. 

“What?” he asks. 

“It’s just…” Calum trails off, and shrugs. 

“What?” Calum bites his lip, and then tugs the scarf down. 

There, inked on the side of Calum’s neck, is a Gibson guitar with six numbers on it: 201195. It takes Luke a minute to put two and two together, but after realising it doesn’t say 2011-95 but 20-11-95, it suddenly makes sense. That’s Michael’s guitar, and that’s Michael’s birthday. 

“Oh,” he says, and now he’s just confused. “Why the fuck did you get Michael’s guitar tattooed on your neck?” Calum lets go of the scarf and it snaps back up, covering the tattoo again. 

“I didn’t,” he says. “It appeared last night.” 

“Well, where’s mine, then?” Luke asks sceptically, looking down at his hands and turning them over and over, like a tattoo is suddenly going to appear. 

“I don’t know,” Calum says. “Andy’s was on his arse.” Luke stares at him. 

“I’m not getting my arse out in the office,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Go to the fucking toilet,” he says. Luke stands up, because it seems like until he plays into this elaborate prank it’s not going to end, and then stops. 

“Wait,” he says. “What if it is on my arse?” 

“Then it’s on your arse,” Calum says, sounding a little nonplussed. It’s Luke’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“I won’t be able to see it,” he says, hoping Calum will get the hint. Calum stares at him for a moment, then shrugs, and stands up. 

“I hope it’s on your dick,” he says, with a grin. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, as they walk to the toilet opposite their office. Luke pushes open the door to the first cubicle, and then pauses. “Wait, is it going to look weird if we’re in a cubicle together?”

“Probably,” Calum says, but he follows Luke into the cubicle anyway, closing the door behind him. 

It’s cramped with Calum in there too, and they shuffle around each other for a moment before Calum hops onto the toilet and gets out of Luke’s way, leaving him to take his jacket off and then fiddle with his shirt buttons. 

“This is the world’s worst strip-tease,” Calum comments after a moment, and Luke scowls at him. 

“Dickhead,” he says, and then, having finally removed his shirt, he turns around to hang it on the hook on the back of the door. That’s when Calum gasps. 

“It’s, uh. It’s on your back,” he says, and he sounds a little worried. Luke twists, trying to see. 

“What?” he says, because he’s not that flexible. “Where?”

“On your shoulderblade,” Calum says, pointing, as if it’ll help. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke can see a crease of concern between Calum’s brows. 

“I can’t see,” Luke says grumpily. 

“Hang on, I’ll take a picture,” Calum says, standing up and fishing his phone out of his pocket. Luke stands still for a moment, until he reckons Calum must have taken the picture, then turns around. Calum hesitates for a moment, then thrusts the phone at Luke. 

Luke sees his skin, pale and freckled, broken up by dark black ink. It’s a strangely beautiful tattoo, a bird carrying what looks like some kind of stick in front of a waning moon. It reminds him a bit of two of his ex’s tattoos, actually - he had some kind of bird on his neck, and a bunch of moons on his forearms.

It’s that thought that’s on his mind as he looks over the picture again, and his eyes fall on the stick. 

It’s a drumstick. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and he suddenly feels sick. No fucking way has he woken up with his first ever tattoo, and it’s something to do with Ashton. “Fuck. Calum, tell me this isn’t real. Tell me this is a fucking prank.” Calum looks at him like he wishes he could tell Luke it was a prank, and shakes his head slowly. 

Luke feels his knees give out, falling to the cold tile floor hard. 

“It comes off, right?” he says, an edge of panic in his voice. Calum looks at him again, and then shakes his head again. “Cal, please. I- I can’t have a tattoo to do with Ashton.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Calum says, eyes sincere and sad. 

“What does it mean?” Luke asks. Calum shrugs helplessly. 

“No one knows,” he says. 

“But you have Michael,” Luke says desperately, “and Michael’s got you.” Calum hesitates, and then shrugs again. 

“I don’t know, Luke,” he says gently. 

“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” Luke says, like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything. 

“Maybe,” Calum echoes, but he doesn’t sound sure at all. 

 -------

 It takes three months before it’s decided what they are. 

A huge number of studies are done in that time. Calum and Michael themselves volunteer for one, because apparently not everybody knows what - or who - theirs refers to. Some people turn out to have no tattoo, and it seems like people are only getting their tattoos on their eighteenth birthdays. It’s the only topic in the news for that entire time - the only topic of conversation, the only topic Luke encounters fucking anywhere.

He’s grateful his tattoo is on his shoulderblade, so it’s mostly hidden, because he sees everybody sneaking furtive glances at people’s necks, hands, forearms, collarbones, anywhere with visible tattoos. He dodges questions about what his tattoo is from everybody but Calum, Michael, and his family, because the words rise like bile in his throat - it’s Ashton. 

(“Oh, Luke,” Michael says sadly, when Luke tells him, and pulls him into the tightest hug Luke thinks he’s ever had.)

(“Oh, Luke,” his mum says sadly, when Luke tells her, sigh broken up by the static of the phone line.) 

(“Oh, Luke,” Jack and Ben say simultaneously on their group call, a moment of tense, awkward, sad silence hanging between them for a moment afterwards.) 

After three months, though, there’s a huge press conference. They’ve worked out what they are, the authorities say, and they’re going to do a televised conference announcing it and explaining how they reached that conclusion. 

Of course, the whole world is on tenterhooks. They do it in Europe, because it’s deemed the easiest timezone for everybody to work around, so Luke finds himself wedged between Michael and Calum on Calum’s sofa at eleven p.m., biting his nails almost obsessively. 

Michael and Calum aren’t speaking much, either. Luke’s not really sure it was the best move for them to be together while finding out what their tattoos about each other mean, but frankly, he’s too focused on finding out what his tattoo means to worry about them. 

At two minutes past eleven, researchers begin to file into the panel in front of the audience of journalists, world leaders standing behind them. It looks almost comical, Luke thinks a little hysterically, a row of men and women in lab coats to highlight their authority on the matter, the world’s most powerful people standing solemnly behind them. Some of their tattoos are visible too, but Luke’s too caught up willing time to move faster so he can finally fucking find out what having a tattoo about Ashton on his shoulderblade means. 

At four minutes past eleven, they start speaking. There’s about five minutes of preamble that Luke can’t follow, lots of words like hypothesis and methodology washing over him, and then the researcher sitting in the middle of the panel clears his throat, pushes his glasses up his nose, and takes a deep breath. 

“From these international, rigorously conducted studies of large portions of different populations, we have concluded,” he says, and nobody breathes. This is the moment. Luke’s heart seems to be trying to get his daily quota’s worth of heartbeats into a single second. “We have concluded that these tattoos appear to be soulmate markings.” 

Luke hears nothing that he says after that. 

Soulmate markings. The words echo in his mind, bouncing off every cell in his brain. 

It can’t be right, Luke thinks desperately, as he watches the panellists take questions from journalists but doesn’t hear the words they say. Ashton’s not his soulmate. There’s no such thing as soulmates, and if there were, Luke’s wouldn’t be the first man who had ever truly broken his heart, who had left him almost incapable of carrying on, who had brought him so fucking close to the precipice. 

He’d thought Ashton had been it, back then. He’d thought that he’d been so lucky to find the guy he wanted to marry so young in life. And then, three years later, Ashton had turned around one day, ashen-faced, and told him he didn’t love him anymore. 

That had been it. Luke’s world, Luke’s mind, Luke’s heart, had broken. 

So there’s no fucking way, no fucking way, that Ashton can be Luke’s soulmate. Luke’s soulmate wouldn’t have fallen out of love with him. Luke’s soulmate would never have pushed him so close to never seeing another birthday again. Luke’s soulmate wouldn’t leave him. 

Luke’s so caught up in the sickness that’s washed over him, hands trembling, freezing and sweaty, that he doesn’t realise what this means for Michael and Calum until a noise pulls him back to reality harshly. It’s Calum, clearing his throat. 

“Well,” he says, and he sounds weirdly high-pitched, and suddenly Luke thinks, shit. Calum and Michael are soulmates. 

“Yep,” Michael says, equally high-pitched and slightly choked. 

“Oh,” Luke puts in, because fuck, Calum and Michael are soulmates. 

“Oh,” Calum says, like he’s just remembered Luke’s there, and then there’s two sets of arms around Luke, warm and vanilla and mint and pine. 

“Oh, Luke,” Michael says, and he sounds so sad that Luke’s heart breaks all over again. 

Neither of them say anything more, because there’s so much to say that picking any one thing would be doing everything else an injustice.

 -------

 Luke does nothing about it for five weeks. 

Michael and Calum don’t say anything about it either, not wanting to push, but Luke’s getting kind of sick of the wary looks they send in his direction, of the whispered conversations that stop as soon as he walks into the room. They’ve fallen into it so easily that it chokes Luke up when he sees them, easy touches and glances that they’ve always had but have somehow taken on a new meaning. 

(“When did you know?” Luke asks Calum one night over the phone, staring up at his ceiling. 

“That I was in love with him?” Calum asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve always known,” Calum says, and Luke’s heart hurts because he’s so happy for them, he is, but he’s so fucking miserable.) 

He jumps every time he gets a text for the first few weeks, thinking it might be Ashton, and filled with both relief and a little bit of disappointment when it never is. His mum doesn’t ask, and neither does his dad, and nor do Jack and Ben, and he loves them all for it. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he hates the way it hangs, thick and solid in the air between them all every time he calls. 

Five weeks is when he breaks. 

He’s in the toilet at work, sat fully-clothed on the closed toilet seat, practically hyperventilating as he types, erases, types, erases. 

Hey. I know we haven’t spoken in years-

Hey. I know we haven’t spoken in a while-

Hi. It’s Luke. 

Hi. It’s Luke (Hemmings).

It feels fucking awful still, even after a few years have passed, to see Ashton Irwin staring at him at the top of the screen, not the stupid inside joke contact name he’d had for the entirety of their relationship. It feels fucking awful typing so formally. It feels fucking awful not knowing what to say to someone who used to know Luke better than anyone else. The whole thing feels fucking awful. 

Eventually, when he’s been sat on the toilet for so long his arse is starting to go numb, he just types two words. 

What’s yours? 

He puts his phone back in his pocket, unlocks the cubicle with shaking fingers, and goes to wash his hands, because otherwise it’ll look like he’s incredibly unhygienic. 

His phone buzzes as he’s drying his hands, and his heart lurches. He hastily wipes his hands on his trousers, fumbling with trembling fingers with his phone and nearly throwing up when he sees Ashton Irwin flashing up on his screen. 

Ashton Irwin It’s you. 

 ------- 

 Luke sits on the information for two days before telling Michael and Calum. 

They’re at Michael’s, sitting on the sofa eating pizza (or, at least, Michael and Calum are eating pizza - Luke’s half-heartedly prodding at his), and Calum and Michael are having some kind of a heated squabble about whether tuna on pizza is acceptable or not, and Luke just blurts it out. 

“I texted Ashton,” he says suddenly, and both Michael and Calum stop, dead still. 

“You- what?” Michael says, after a few (incredibly strained) seconds have passed. 

“I texted Ashton,” Luke repeats, mumbling this time. He’s gazing intently at his pizza, mostly to avoid looking at Calum or Michael. 

“Did he reply?” Calum asks. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. Both Michael and Calum inhale sharply. 

“What did he say?” Michael asks. Luke swallows. He doesn’t think he can say it out loud. 

“I-” he starts, but cuts himself off, the words too heavy for his tongue to handle. He shakes his head instead, fishing for his phone in his pocket, and chucks it over to Calum, who catches it deftly. Michael leans over as Calum types in Luke’s passcode - his birthday, because he’s too stupid to remember any other date - and there’s a moment of tension, of bated breath, as they wait for the message to load. 

Luke knows when they’ve seen it because both of their faces contort into the same expression, somewhere between worry, confusion, fear, concern and sympathy. 

“Fuck,” Michael says, staring at Luke almost hesitantly, like he’s about to implode. 

“Are you okay?” Calum asks quietly. Luke shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, because he doesn’t. He’s over Ashton, he is, but he’s never going to forgive or forget the way Ashton left him, the way he broke him and swept away, not even glancing at the pieces of Luke he left in his wake. Ashton can’t be his soulmate. 

“That’s okay,” Calum says, calm and reassuring. “It’s okay to not know.” 

“It’s just a tattoo,” Michael says. “Tattoos can’t tell you who to love.” 

It makes Luke feel a little better. 

 -------

 He doesn’t text Ashton again. 

In fact, he’s almost succeeded in pushing Ashton into a corner of his mind again, shoving him back into the Do Not Open box that this tattoo business had let him out of, when his phone buzzes in the middle of the night a week later. 

He reaches over groggily, aiming to turn off whatever it is that’s lighting up his screen and sending vibrations resonating through his bedside table, but wakes up with a shot of adrenaline when he sees the name lighting up his screen. 

Ashton Irwin We should probably talk about this. 

Luke sits bolt upright in bed, palms suddenly sweating. The only thing he can think to do is unlock his phone and dial Michael, knowing he’ll be up, even though it’s two a.m. 

“What?” Michael asks, sounding slightly irked. Luke can hear clicking in the background, so it’s probably a safe bet that he’s playing a game. 

“Ashton texted me,” he says, and the clicking stops. 

“What did he say?” 

“Uh,” Luke says, holding the phone away from his ear and squinting as the bright screen blinds him in the darkness of the room. He fumbles for his light switch with one hand while exiting back into the messages app with the other. “‘We should probably talk about this.’” 

“Yeah, we should,” Michael says, “that’s why I’m asking what he texted you.” 

“No, that’s what he said,” Luke says. 

“He said you should talk about it?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause.

“That bastard,” Michael says calmly. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, yet,” Luke says. “I called you first.” 

“Tell him ‘nah, you’re good’,” Michael says, and Luke knows he’s only, like, ten percent joking. 

“Michael,” he says, tone admonishing, but his stomach feels a little lighter. Knowing he’s got Michael and Calum on his side - fiercely on his side - makes it feel a lot less scary, a lot easier to handle. 

“Well, what do you want to say?” Michael asks. 

“I don’t know,” Luke says. He’s fantasised about this so many times since they broke up - about Ashton texting him, about Luke having the power to say no, or say yes - but he’s never decided on a resolute response in his daydreams. 

“You don’t have to reply,” Michael says. “You don’t owe him shit.” 

“I know,” Luke says, and it comforts him, somehow. “Maybe I won’t.” 

“I’ll reply for you,” Michael says, and then there’s more clicking. “Just give me a few minutes to look up how to say ‘go fuck yourself’ in at least forty different languages.” Luke laughs at that, the knot in his stomach loosening considerably.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he says, because now that he’s talking about it, now that it’s not just in his own head and his own heart, it feels a lot less frightening. “What a fucking joke. We get soulmates, and mine’s Ashton?” 

“That’s what you get for saying my fringe was ugly in Year Seven,” Michael says. 

“It was ugly.”

“Well, now something else terrible is going to happen to you,” Michael says cheerfully. 

“What’s worse than waking up with a giant tattoo about Ashton on my back?” Luke says. 

“Having to speak to him again,” Michael says. Luke doesn’t really think he can argue with that. 

“I’m going to turn my phone off,” he says, stifling a yawn, because now that the adrenaline’s subsided, the exhaustion is kicking in again. 

“You should just block him,” Michael suggests. Luke is sorely tempted for a moment, but then sighs.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, because it’s too late, and he’s not thinking straight, and he doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret. “Thanks for listening to me, Mikey.” 

“Always,” Michael says, with a sincerity Luke didn’t know he had in him. “But you’re going to have to pay me for my services in food.” 

“I’ll cook for you,” Luke says. 

“I said food, not chargrilled remnants of what used to be pasta,” Michael says. 

“I can cook pasta,” Luke protests. 

“‘Cook’ is a bit of a strong word to describe what you can do with pasta,” Michael says. 

“Arsehole,” Luke says, but he’s smiling. 

“Love you too,” Michael says, and Luke can hear the grin in his voice. “Go to bed.” 

“Alright, mum,” Luke grumbles. “Night.”

“Night,” Michael says, and then he hangs up, and Luke’s suddenly all too aware of the silence and darkness and sheer loneliness of his room. 

He switches his phone off, rolls over, and lets the warm feeling of knowing Michael’s there for him envelop him, eventually drifting off to sleep.

 -------

 “So,” Calum says, when Luke walks into work the next morning, exhausted and late. He’s swivelled around in his chair to face Luke, fingers steepled against his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Did you text him back?” Luke scowls. 

“I wish Michael would let me tell you things myself,” he says, slamming his bag onto his desk with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

“Did you?” Calum asks again. Luke shakes his head, throwing himself down in his chair, taking his phone out of his bag and putting it on the table before chucking his bag under his desk. 

“I don’t know if I want to,” he says. 

“Fair enough,” Calum says, with a shrug. Luke bites his lip. 

“Do you think I should?” Calum shrugs again. 

“I think you should do what feels right,” he says. 

“I don’t know what feels right,” Luke moans, putting his head in his hands. “He’s my fucking ex. He fell out of love with me. How is he my soulmate?” 

“Maybe he’s, like, a platonic soulmate?” Calum offers, and then recoils in the heat of the glare Luke sends his way. 

“Ashton’s not really high up on the list of people I’m looking to be friends with,” Luke says. Calum looks like he’s about to say something, but then Luke’s phone buzzes. He looks over, half-expecting it to be Michael, but-

Ashton Irwin Don’t ignore me, Luke. This is important. 

Anger suddenly flares hot in Luke’s stomach. 

“Is it him?” Calum asks. Luke nods, and holds the phone up over his desk for Calum to see. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“He texted me at two a.m.,” Luke says. 

“He’s so fucking entitled,” Calum says, sounding almost as irate as Luke feels. Luke’s so angry that he types out a response without even thinking about it. 

Me Are you fucking serious? You texted me at two in the morning. 

“What did you say?” Calum wants to know, and Luke dutifully reads it out to him. Calum nods approvingly. “Call him a bastard next time.” Luke laughs, both bitter and amused, and then his phone buzzes again. 

Ashton Irwin I know you’re at work. 

Ashton Irwin Call me on your lunch break? 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Luke mutters, thrusting his phone at Calum. 

“At least he put a question mark this time,” Calum says. “Fucking arsehole.” 

Luke’s fingers are shaking as he types.

Me Fuck you. You left me like it was nothing, like I meant nothing after I gave all of myself to you for three years. You never checked in on me, never asked about me, never bothered seeing if I was okay. You just told me you fell out of love with me, and then up and left. You don’t get to demand shit from me now. 

Luke erases it all. 

Me I don’t have anything to say to you.

The typing bubble pops up as soon as Luke’s sent the message, and he watches the words form in front of his eyes. 

Ashton Irwin I do, though. 

 ------- 

 Luke’s not really sure how he finds himself standing outside in the biting early-October wind on his lunch break, finger hovering over the dial button on Ashton’s contact name. 

He’s been standing there for five minutes, almost pressing it but never quite getting there (except one time his finger had slipped and he’d pressed it and then stabbed the ‘end call’ button about fifty times straight in a blind panic). 

On the one hand, he really, really doesn’t want to talk to Ashton. He’s moved on from Ashton, with a lot of expensive therapy, a lot of leaning on his friends more than he should have and a lot of eating his body weight in processed food, and he wants Ashton to stay a part of his past. He’s worked hard to get to where he is today, and he doesn’t need to be flung back to where he had been. 

On the other hand, this is kind of a big deal. They’re soulmates. Ashton was right, although Luke doesn’t want to admit it - this is something they should talk about. Plus, it can’t hurt to hear what Ashton has to say, right?

With ten minutes left of his lunch break and approximately the same amount of time before he has to start sacrificing fingers to frostbite, Luke takes a deep breath and presses the dial button. 

It rings twice, and then there’s a click as Ashton picks up. 

“Hello?” Ashton says, and Luke suddenly feels incredibly sick. He hasn’t heard Ashton’s voice in two years, not since he was telling Luke he didn’t love him anymore, and it throws Luke back to that place, making him feel small and vulnerable and pathetic. 

“Hi,” he says, and he’s proud of how steady his voice comes out given the circumstances. “I have ten minutes.” 

“Okay,” Ashton says. “You’re still living in Sydney, then?” 

“What?” Luke says, slightly taken aback by the question. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Cool,” Ashton says. There’s a moment of awkward silence, and Luke contemplates Googling the quickest way to end his own life before Ashton speaks again. 

“How are you?” he asks, and Luke can’t help but laugh at that. 

“Are you fucking serious?” he asks, and he suddenly feels a little better, a little more in control. Ashton’s asking how he is, and he’s the one laughing. He’s the one with the power. Ashton wants to talk to Luke - Luke doesn’t want to talk to Ashton. 

“What?” Ashton sounds a bit defensive. 

“Get to the point,” Luke says, feeling braver and bigger with every passing second. “I didn’t call for a fucking catch up.” 

“Jesus,” Ashton mutters. “What the fuck happened to you?” You happened, Luke thinks bitterly, but he won’t give Ashton that satisfaction. 

“I grew a fucking spine,” he says instead. “Just tell me what you wanted to talk about.” 

“Well,” Ashton says. “I just- I feel like we should talk about the fact that we’re...y’know. Soulmates.” 

“I don’t have anything to say about it,” Luke says. 

“Are you serious, Luke?” Ashton says, sounding slightly pissed off, and Luke’s caught off-guard for a moment, hearing his name in Ashton’s familiar yet strange voice again. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, and he can’t help the bitterness that tinges his tone. “You fucking left, Ashton, and it’s been two years. What the fuck am I supposed to have to say to you?” 

“We’re soulmates,” Ashton says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Luke. 

“Oh, what, so you wouldn’t have fallen out of love with me if you got a fucking tattoo a few years earlier?” Luke says, fury swirling in his chest. “You needed a bit of ink to tell you who to love?” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Ashton says, even though to Luke it sounds like it’s exactly what he means. 

“Right,” Luke says sarcastically. “What’s the point in this call?” 

“To fucking talk, Luke, not have you bite my head off,” Ashton says. The fury grows hotter in Luke’s chest, seeping into his veins and heating up his muscles. 

“Talk about what?” he spits. 

“You’re my fucking soulmate!” Ashton says, voice rising. “Don’t you want to fucking talk about it?” 

“No!” Luke shouts, and two passers-by give him an odd look. He lowers his voice, and tries again. “No. I don’t have anything to say about it.” 

“I think we should meet up,” Ashton says. 

“I think you’re fucking insane,” Luke tells him. “I’m going back to work. Don’t contact me again.” 

“Wait,” Ashton nearly yells, and Luke, out of instinct, hesitates. “Uh. What’s your-  what’s it of?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Luke growls, and hangs up. 

He lets out a shaky exhale as he tips his head back against the cold brick wall behind him, anger pounding through his veins, ringing in his ears. 

Fuck Ashton Irwin, he thinks, blinking up at the cloudless sky. Fuck Ashton Irwin, and fuck the soulmate tattoos. 

chapter two

#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #malum #i spent So Long trying to come up w a good title and then gave up #i can always change it on tumblr #its ao3 that fucks me

[hvlfwygod]

strangers | ben & chase

summary: Chase finds someone he can understand. Both he and Ben get a better idea of what they’re up against.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Ben said into his phone. He was sitting in a cafe with Chase, sipping a coffee and trying to manage with the spotty wifi. He listened to Hazel talk for a few more seconds, nodding even though she couldn't see him doing it. "Yeah. Thanks, Haze. I'll talk to you soon." Reluctantly, he hung up.

They'd spent the last few days exploring the town, but it'd been a lot of dead ends and the same story, over and over. Fox was saving the town, but no one could really say from what. Ben thought every seemed exhausted, too, but it was harder to bring that up in casual conversation. At least, based on the brief phone call he'd just had, he wasn't alone in thinking this whole situation was weird.

"Okay, I talked to Hazel and Rae," he told Chase. "They think this whole thing is really fishy."

Chase sipped his hot chocolate and leaned back in his seat. "I don't know. It's weird that everyone's looking at him like a new Jesus Christ." He chewed his lip. "And I don't know what we're gonna do with the guy once we're done with the hag. Like you said, he's not breaking any laws, and it's not like we can just tie him up and cart him across the border without anyone noticing."

Ben sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I don't know." He stared at the steam rising up from his cup. "I don't understand why people are so willing to believe in him, either. Now that Hazel and Rae explained it to me it just feels so, wrong? Like, he's taking all their profits for himself." He sighed again. "Maybe once the hag is gone it'll be different?"

Chase rubbed his hands together and sighed, shrugging one shoulder. "She might be using the mist to make him seem really good in their eyes?"

Ben nodded. "Or make everything look more dire?" He leaned back in his seat. "I don't really know how that stops him now, it's not like he'll just give everything back."

"Yeah." Chase sighed and ran his thumb over his lip. "Do you think we could... I dunno. We could freeze all his assets? I don't know how that works." He stood suddenly. "Do you want anything to eat? I think I'm getting a sandwich."

Ben shifted and reached for his coffee. "Um, sure. Whatever you're getting."

There was only one person ahead of Chase at the counter, a young woman gesturing towards the case of sandwiches in the midst of a conversation with the barista. 

“–don’t know what you’re saying.” The end of her sentence lifted in volume enough to be overheard and, oddly enough, understood. Each word was laced with frustration, but absent was the accent that had given them so many headaches. One finger tapped the glass. “Look, that one, okay? Please, god.” Chase walked up to the counter and tipped his head to look at the woman, giving the barista behind the counter a small, somewhat sympathetic smile. He waited until they were done with the woman's order before ordering his, and he felt as though the best way to get through might be to follow after her lead, though he didn't want to be rude. He wasn't sure if Ben ate meat, but didn't want to go back to ask. "Uh, hi. Can I just get two of the vegetable sandwiches?" He looked at the price that showed up on the register so that he wouldn't have to ask four times what it was and then paid, nodding along to the barista's chatter, and giving a small smile over to the woman as she waited as well.

She was already staring at him, though her returning smile did appear sheepish at being caught watching. "Sorry," was drawled to him in a decidedly American voice, at odds with the Newfoundland flannel-and-raincoat uniform she was wearing. Chase could guess she was his age, give or take a year on either side. "Didn't wanna creep you out, but– are you a tourist?"

Chase nodded slowly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, the accent give it away?" He sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "Where are you from?"

The girl twirled one of her twin braids around a finger, a hint of a laugh in her expression. “Um, yeah, we’re speaking the same language. Austin, where the sun still knows how to shine. You?”

Chase laughed quietly. "It is kind of a different language, huh? I think even if they had a different accent I'd have a hard time understanding what they were saying," he said softly with a shrug. "Well, right now, New York. What brings you all the way up here?" He raised his eyebrows.

"My job." She rolled her eyes and turned to grab her sandwich from the barista with a quick word of thanks. "Mind if I take a seat with you? I'd like, kill for a conversation where I know we're talking about the same thing."

Chase ran a hand through his hair and bobbed his head as he stood up a bit straighter. "Oh, yeah, sure!" He nodded his head over in Ben's direction. "I'm with my—" He paused, looking for a word and then figured it was too much to explain, especially if they were still trying to keep a cover. "Friend over there." He nodded and then took his sandwiches once they were ready. "I'm David, by the way."

"Minnie. Pleasure to meetcha."

Chase bobbed his head and walked over to Ben. He placed one plate in front of him and placed the other in front of himself. "Uh, Luca, this is Minnie. She's from Texas so she wanted to sit with us, since, y'know, she can actually understand us." He took a seat and looked to Minnie. "You said you worked here?"

Ben had been watching Chase talk to the stranger with a steadily growing interest. That interest turned into faint concern when the stranger accompanied him back to the table. Ben sat a little more upright in his chair as the new person joined them. "Oh, um, sure." He tried to make eye contact with Chase, to silently ask, what the hell? He was unsuccessful; all of Chase's attention was on Minnie. Ben followed his gaze and offered a tight smile as a greeting.

Minnie twiddled her fingers at Ben as she dragged a chair from another table over. "Hey. I'm an artist so no, not here." A note of distaste stuck out in her voice, but she didn't sound offended. She smiled at Ben. "Are you from New York too?"

Chase shook his head. "Oh, no, I meant... You said you worked here in town, right? What kind of art do you do?" He clung to the ability to speak to someone who wasn't Ben.

Laughing at her mistake, she nodded. "Oh, sorry, yeah. Half a year now or so, kinda goin' with the flow, painting, sculpting, tattooing and the like. "

Ben felt a surge of annoyance. New York was a big state, but Chase couldn't have picked anywhere else? He nodded to Minnie's question but didn't say anything else, taking a small bite of the sandwich while the other two continued to chat. When Minnie mentioned how long she'd been there, though, Ben leaned a little closer. "Um," he interjected, "that's really cool. Was it um, hard? Finding work here?"

Chase glanced at Ben when he spoke, then looked back at Minnie. "Oh. Yeah, we heard that there was some sort of, I dunno, hard times lately?"

Minnie looked between the two of them. "Um, no, it was pretty easy. Things were kinda shitty here and then a bunch of new jobs opened up, so I grabbed one."

Ben frowned. "Where? Sorry, um," Ben reached into his bag and pulled out the notebook that he'd been using. "Were they at any of these places?" He showed her the first page.

Chase glanced at Ben and then back at Minnie. "We're doing a project on the local economy. For our business class," he clarified.

A crease appeared between her eyebrows, but she took the paper anyway and scanned the list. "Yeah." She pushed it back to Ben.

He nodded once and dropped the notebook back into his backpack. "Okay. Yeah, we noticed that a bunch of places are being bought up, so I was just... curious." Ben considered the risk before he decided to ask another question. "Do you know about the guy who's doing all that?"

"Yeah," she repeated and quirked an eyebrow. "He owns my job, small town, I've met him here and there. Whatcha want to know?"

Ben faltered. "Um. We met him, too, the other day. He was saying that he's been doing a public service?" He glanced at Chase, then back to Minnie. "I guess we've been trying to get, everyone else's opinion on that, too? Do you think he's improving things?"

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder and leaned on the table, lowering her voice. "Nah."

Chase looked from Ben to Minnie and ducked his head a bit closer. "Really? What do you think?"

"Okay, it's not that bad. Some things are improving. He's fixing up a lot of shit. But things weren't that bad to begin with, he coulda just not come in the first place and let the people living here keep working on it. Now they– we, I guess– all owe him."

Ben found himself nodding along. "I noticed that, too. From what we've been reading, there was nothing really, um, that bad happening. And I don't see how him owning all the profit makes this town better off?"

"Peelin' paint does not a charity case make. Now he just controls everything." Minnie seemed to remember her sandwich for the first time and picked it up to start eating.

Chase hummed in response and looked at Ben, quirking an eyebrow at him. He picked up his own sandwich to eat as well. "That's... interesting that you think that."

For the first time Ben found himself really appreciating how terrible this man was. He felt anger twist inside of him. This guy was using a monster to exploit an entire town for money and control. Ben finished his coffee. "Yeah," he agreed, a little late. "Thanks for answering my questions."

He got a shrug in response from her. "Sure. Thanks for the company."

Chase felt like that meant that she was going to leave soon, but was still desperate to be around someone who he could understand that wasn’t Ben. He swallowed the bite of his sandwich that he was chewing. “Do you know if anyone else feels that way? Or is everyone just too friendly to say anything?”

Her eyes flicked between Chase and Ben. “I imagine there’s others in the same boat. This is for a school project?”

"The question on the economy was." Chase nodded. "The rest is... I think we just want to keep you around because I can't understand a word anyone else is saying," he admitted sheepishly, with a small laugh.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Chase, and nodded along with him. "Yeah, it's been... surprisingly hard to adjust." He returned to his sandwich, letting Chase have his time to talk to someone else, since he seemed so desperate to.

Confusion cleared from her face as Minnie laughed. “I get it. But it’s nice to have each other, I bet. How long’ve you been together?”

Chase blinked and shook his head quickly as he understood what she meant, the tips of his ears and roots of his hair turning slightly pink. "Oh, I... We're just... We're... He's my sister's..." He opened and closed his mouth and pressed his hand into his cheek as he shook his head again. "We're not together. It's... nice to have someone around though, I guess, yeah." He found himself very interested in his sandwich.

Ben saw the roots of Chase's hair slowly start to change and leaped back into the conversation, pulling the attention back to him. "That's so funny," he said, forcing a chuckle. "We've never gotten that one before. We're just classmates." Ben turned his body a bit so he was looking at Minnie more directly. "Did you come up here all by yourself?"

His effort to distract her from Chase’s hair seemed successful as she refocused on Ben. She laughed when he did. “Oh, sorry, must’ve misread that. No, some of my family came too- lifesaver on having people to talk to I can understand, even when they’re on my nerves. It’s just you two in town, or school trip?”

Chase's hair faded back to normal— or, at least to the normal colour of the disguised hair, as he got over the temporary embarrassment. "Oh, I bet a family trip here would be great." He sighed and turned his sandwich over in his hands, letting Ben answer the second question as he ate.

"Just us," he said, figuring if he lied it might be obvious to her when she failed to spot any other visitors after this. "We're researching a few towns around here before we head back to school."

“Oh, cool. Which ones?” Minnie smiled at him.

"Um," he tried to remember which towns Chase had said the other day. "We stopped in Cape Breton before this, and we'll probably go to, um, PEI after this."

She whistled. “Quite a road trip. Nowhere else in Newfoundland?”

Ben shrugged. “If someplace looks interesting, maybe. We’re kind of winging it.” Did people wing it on road trips? Ben had no idea, but he hoped she’d accept this answer.

Chase swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, we were in Quebec for a bit, but since neither of us speak French it wasn’t really, like... a thing.” He laughed a bit. “Just thought we’d explore the Maritimes.”

Between the efforts of the two of them, she seemed to accept the answer without trouble. “Fun! I’ve always wanted to do that, just get in a car and drive wherever the wind takes me.” She checked her watch, a simple accessory with a leather band. “Ugh, my break’s totally almost over. David and Luca, you said?”

He was almost a little relieved to see her have to go; at least it would mean no more questions he was unprepared to answer. “Yeah.”

Chase smiled and gave a bit of a nod, sad to see her go. "Yeah. It was nice meeting you, Minnie."

She wrapped up the rest of her sandwich and stood. “Yeah, pleasure. You wanna chat again before you skip town, I work down the street. Company’s nice.”

"Sure." Ben pulled up another smile and waved as she walked away, then focused back on Chase. "That was weird." 

Chase nodded, actually considering this, and turned back to Ben after he watched Minnie walk away. "Was it? She seemed friendly."

Ben frowned, finally letting his annoyance show. "Yeah, Chase, it was." He rubbed his face. "At least she also thinks what's going on is fucked, too. I felt like I was going crazy."

Chase frowned at Ben and leaned back as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, at least that means that some people might feel the same way that she does. Makes what we’re gonna do with him in the end a bit easier? Like let the town deal with him?”

Ben was quiet for a moment, his knee bouncing. Chase still had no idea that Nemesis had visited him, and he thought it was a bit too late to bring it up now. He picked up his sandwich and put it back down. "We need to get rid of the hag first, I think, before we can figure out how to deal with him."

Chase rubbed his jaw and nodded. “I think we’ll have to kill her after we destroy the totem, and I think we’ll have to do it in a dream.” He frowned and finished his hot chocolate, now cold from how long it’d taken him to drink.

"So our next step is finding the totem,” Ben sighed. “And destroy it in a dream. Super easy, right?”

Chase raised his eyebrows at Ben. “Never say that things are super easy. You’d die in a second in a horror movie. Let’s go investigate a creepy lighthouse, what could go wrong?” He shook his head.

Ben breathed out a small, humorless laugh. "Well, fuck, I guess I'm screwed, then."

#ben x chase #benchase10 #ben x minta #benminta1 #strangers #ben

[holtzygotback-blog]

Studio Time

WHO: Lardo, Bitty, and Holster WHERE: Samwell’s art studios WHEN: Early February, 2016 WHAT: Bitty is an encouraging coat thief, Holster’s naked, and Lardo Does Not Cry but she does draw.

LARDO Lardo bangs her head against the desk a few more time before picking up her pencil once more. "You can do this Larissa. Faces aren't hard. You are a master of faces." She murmurs to herself, though she doesn't make any effort to connect pencil to paper. Honestly she should grab another piece, because this page is starting to look more grey from how many times she's erased. "Ugggggh." She says slamming her head against the table again.

BITTY "You're the master of faces. You've got this in the bag," Bitty assured her and he placed a mini pie on the corner of her desk while he made himself at home in the corner of the room. "Do you need a glass of water or anything? Pencil sharpener? New eraser? Picture of a random face with no hair?" he asked, wishing he knew how to help her better.

HOLSTER Holster sauntered into the studio, already unzipping his sweatshirt. "Sup, bros." He booms, voice echoing around the studio. He ruffles Bitty's hair with a big hand and drops a wet kiss to Lardo's cheek before dropping his sweatshirt to the floor. "Where do you want me to stand, dude?"

LARDO Lardo looks up at him wide eyed when he places the pie in front of her. "You're seriously the best bitty." She shakes her head. "Hopefully, taking a small break will help I've been at this for hours. " she sighs, she's just about to bite into her mini pie when Holster walks in. "Hey, " she blinks at him. "Honestly just make yourself comfortable. " she hadn't expected him to actually show up. It was always an ongoing joke about the boys modeling for her.

BITTY "Hey anything I can help do to make you feel better about all this," Bitty insisted with a tight hug. Lardo being able to finish her assignment was the biggest thing, and Bitty was more than happy to call out sporadic encouragement.  He grinned brightly when Holster walked in. One of the best things about being on the hockey team was the amount of large boys who didn't mind platonic cuddling. And despite the chirps about always being cold, Bitty was not above bullying his way into Holster's lap as soon as he got settled.

HOLSTER "Don't look so surprised, Lards. You asked for a muse and I'm here to deliver." He drops into the chair across from her, grinning when Bitty makes his way over. Although Holster immediately wraps his arms around Bitty, he knows he's going to have to move him in just a bit. "So, Bitty, are you going to model with me?" He asks. "Because Lardo specifically asked for a help with nudes."

LARDO "Sorry, " she sighs, "I didn't think you were actually serious this time. " Lardo bites into her pie and groans loudly. "Will you marry me, Bitty?" She says and wipes at her mouth. "Technically. You volunteered."

BITTY "I mean. It would be an odd marriage. We would probably have to make sure Jack was okay with it. And LORD, Holster. If I'd known this was going to be a naked art time I wouldn't have gotten in your lap," he huffed, though he fully intended to steal Holster's jacket and use it to keep warm.

HOLSTER "Of course I'm serious. I got your back, bro." Holster lifts Bitty up and sets him on his feet, standing to shuck off his shirt, which he throws on the ground next to his sweatshirt. "Shit, please tell me I'm invited to this wedding." His shoes and socks are the next to go, followed by his pants. "So like, where do you want me to stand? Can I lounge? Can I eat some of that pie while you draw me?" He asks, eyeing the dessert."

LARDO "I'll ask Jack for your hand asap. Then I'll go out and get you a ring." She smiles and takes another bite of pie. "What's your favorite flavor of ring pop?" She flips to a new page in her sketchbook. "Yeah, brah. Literally make yourself comfortable anywhere. I'm probably not going to turn this one in anywhere so I'm not too mad about this. " she says grabbing her pencil.

BITTY "Here. Don't steal Lardo's pie," Bitty insisted and he pressed an extra pie into Holster's hand, trading it for a jacket. Bitty curled up in the corner and he snuggled down, content to watch Lardo work while Holster lounged around naked and clearly out of his mind considering how cold it was! "Oh I dunno. But Jack might not be too keen on you stealing me, Lardo. He might challenge you to a skate of. You might be better off focusing on the color scheme for the real possible wedding that could maybe hypothetically occur. Not that he's proposed or that I have or that I'm counting on it or anything! Just you know. If. And I like blue," Bitty said before pulling his knees up to his chest and blushing brightly.

HOLSTER After a quick rearrangement of the furniture in the studio, Holster shucked off his underwear and flopped down in a more comfortable chair, the pie still in his hand. "Bits, calm down. You and Jack are grossly in love but no one's judging you for mentioning a wedding." He says with his mouth full, the syllables garbled by the food in his mouth. "Also, fuck me, this is so good Bitty. Lardo, you should totally capture the essence of this pie. Can you see how good it is on my face?"

LARDO "Jack would kick my ass in a skate off. Like Shitty tried his hardest to teach me but I'm like a new born deer on the ice. " she sighs and looks over to Holster. "I don't think I can capture it on your face but I could probably capture your pie boner. " She snorts and looks back to Bitty. "If this is you asking me to be your best man. I accept. " she looks over Holster's position and hums. She decides to start his head but she was going to avoid his face.

BITTY "I think you'd be best as my best woman. Woman of honor? Best maid?" Bitty questioned and he shrugged as he pulled out his phone to pose the question to Twitter. "Also if you paint his pie boner you have to paint the actual pie in his hand so that I get credit for his face," Bitty teased, pulling the blanket closer and sending off a string of hearts for Jack before opening Pinterest to pass the time.

HOLSTER Holster rolls his eyes, shoving another piece of pie in his mouth. "I'll have you know that this is just how my dick looks. You can ask Ransom for measurements of my actual boner." He sets the pie aside, knowing he'll come back to it later. "Speaking of Ransom, can one of you toss me my phone? I haven't snapchatted him today and now seems like a good time."

LARDO "I'm comfortable enough in my gender identity to be called your best man, but I'll go by whatever you prefer. " Lardo tells him. She gets up to go get holsters phone from his pants and throws it at him before grabbing some watercolor paints.

BITTY "Good point. If you change your mind between now and the wedding let me know. But also did you know Holster's jacket is so warm and I am so cozy right now? It's so big on me and I am never giving this back. Just so you know," Bitty decided and he got up, wandering around Lardo's section of the studio and looking at all the other pieces. Lardo's artistic ability was phenomenal, and if Bitty's mind drifted to the possibility of a mural wall painted in a nursery, well. He couldn't be blamed for that.

HOLSTER Holster catches the phone with ease, snapping a quick selfie to send to Ransom and March before texting them both. He knows it's ridiculous, but it's nice to communicate with them on all fronts now that they're official. "Hell no, Bitty, I need that back. I already have someone trying to steal my sweatshirts and I can't have you try it, too." He knows Bitty is always colder than he is, but his sweatshirt situation is really getting ridiculous.

LARDO Lardo smiles, "Will do, Bits. Will do." She smiles and heads back to her desk. "That's some of my unfinished or abandoned works." She sighs when she sees Bitty looking through the stuff she has lying around. "My good shit is either framed and hanging in the Gallery. Or back with my parents. One I sent to Jack for his apartment. I don't know if he's gotten it yet." She looks back at Holster and continues her pencil hovers above his face before she sighs and starts to expand past his neck.

BITTY "I'll let you know when I'm there next. Lord knows that boy needs all the artistic help he can get," Bitty chuckled and he made a point not to touch things so as not to disturb them or look at things Lardo might have wanted to keep hidden. "You know I think all your work is pretty great, right? Like I understand some things are going to be good and some things are going to be phenomenal. But you're really good at this. Don't you think so Holster?" Bitty asked, hoping a little more encouragement might help Lardo out.

HOLSTER Holster tucks his phone between the cushions of the chair he's sitting on, settling back again. "Of course. Lards, your show last year blew my mind! I'll be the first to admit that I'm an uneducated bro but your stuff was honestly the coolest." He can feel the faint buzzing of texts against his bare side, but he focuses on Lardo for now. "Besides, I wouldn't have some sub-optimal artist draw me. I am perfection and therefore require perfection."

LARDO Lardo flushes lightly at the compliments. "Thanks, guys." She knows that she's not a bad artist, she got into Samwell for fucks sake. But sometimes, she looks at what her classmates are producing and it's hard not to be anxious about her own abilities. "My classmates still talk about you guys dog piling on Shitty in the middle of the show."

BITTY "That was fun. I mean it was kinda weird to see the bedazzled jock strap with that explanation beside it, but it was really fun. I can't wait for this year's show. Especially since your new muse is apparently perfection. You're going to blow everyone else out of the water because they don't have the epitome of perfection modeling in the nude with one of my amazing pies to fuel their inspiration," he joked and sat beside Lardo, taking a peak at the drawing and humming in approval.

HOLSTER "My goal at Samwell is to become the stuff of legends. I'm glad to see I'm finally achieving it, in some small way." Holster picks up the pie again just as Bitty mentions it - there's gotta be some kind of team-brain going on here. "Aw, thanks, Bitty. Glad to know you agree." He shoves a large piece of pie in his mouth, actually taking time to chew and swallow before speaking again. "So, what's this for, Lardo? Practice? You said it wasn't an assignment."

LARDO She flushes. "You gotta thank Shitty for that. " Lardo licks her lip and pushes her hair out of her face. "He donated his jockstrap to the cause. " she laughs. "I really appreciate the encouragement guys. " she looks over at Holster. "I'm just trying to take my mind off the assignment. I haven't made a piece just for fun in months and I think my brain is rioting. " she frowns

BITTY "I heard somewhere that art is something you have to practice just like hockey. Like you have to do technical exercises to make sure your hands can make the right brush strokes. Is that true? Cause it kinda makes sense in my head," Bitty said, stealing a glance at the paper in front of Lardo. "Kinda like when Jack and I did checking practice? Or when I get frustrated with hockey and switch over to figure skating?"

HOLSTER "Rest in peace, Alfonso," Holster salutes with his fork vaguely, thinking back to the good times in the locker room. It should probably be weird, sitting naked in an unfamiliar room with two of his best friends sitting and looking at him, and he's sure the moment someone else walks in it'll be incredibly awkward, but for now it's fine. Just another day with Samwell Men's Hockey. "Bits, I live for those jumps you do. Remember that one you did on the pond last year? Iconic."

LARDO "Yeah, Bits. Talent isn't enough, it's consist practice to keep things sharp." She sighs. "But it's not like I'm slacking. I'm in four different studio classes this semester. I've been doing nothing but practicing." She frowns. "Maybe this is just proof that when push comes to shove..." She drops her head to the desk and groans. She probably just wasn't cut out for art. Practice and passion are nothing without talent and it was obviously something she was currently lacking. "Yeah, Bitty. I have some great stills of you fucking midtwirl. If you ever want them. "

BITTY Bitty moved over and he hugged Lardo tightly, pressing a kiss to her hair fondly. "When push comes to shove, you're more than good enough sweetheart. I didn't mean to make it sound like you're not practicing honey. Lord knows you work harder than God on this," he said, looking to Holster worriedly, unsure how to make Lardo feel better. "You should talk to Jack. I bet he knows good ways to deal with what you're feeling honey."

HOLSTER As much as Holster wants to get up and join in on the hugging, he's aware that he's still naked and that there's a limit to what friendship can endure. "Lards, that might be the problem. There's such a thing as too much practice. If all your art this semester is for school and not for fun that can be draining in its own way." He nods along to Bitty's assessment, knowing that Jack is probably the best to talk to. "I have a powerpoint on different study and relaxation techniques if you want. I made it for Ransom freshman year but I can update it."

LARDO "Jack's busy though. He's barely got time for you, Bitty. He doesn't have time to try and make me feel better. " she sighs and presses the heel of her palm into her eye sockets. "And like Shittys been so busy, and it's not that you guys aren't great or that I don't appreciate you both for being here. But they were who I went to before and now they aren't here. " her lower lip trembles slightly. She feels like an absolute idiot for being close to tears now about them graduating. She'd taken her moment to cry when Shitty got his acceptance into Harvard. Lardo had been fine when they had graduated and over the summer. She nods at holster. "Can I see it. Maybe it'll help. "

BITTY The idea that Jack didn't have time for them stung sharply enough that Bitty nearly pulled away, especially seeing that Bitty had thought the same thing the night he'd dropped a pie and Jack had driven to the Haus in the pouring rain. But in the end he'd been wrong. Jack had made time for him, and Bitty was sure he'd do the same for Lardo. They were friends after all. "I think you should look at the PowerPoint and you should call Jack. You're his friend, Lardo. And he's still got all our backs," Bitty insisted, giving her a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

HOLSTER The moment Lardo's face crumples Holster is on his feet. He pulls on his underwear quickly and kneels by Lardo's seat, wrapping an arm around her back. "I'll revise it tonight and send it to you, unless you want a formal presentation." He promises, rubbing his large palm over her back. "I think Bitty's right. Jack and Shitty are your friends, and they'll be there for you if you need them. They just need to know you need them, if that makes sense. It's hard to tell with distance between you." He meets Bitty's worried gaze, hoping they're saying the right things.

LARDO Lardo slumps into bitty and holster and wipes at her face angrily as a tear rolls down her face. She was better than this. "I just don't want to bother them. You know?" She sighs and looks up at holster. "Will you give me the whole presentation. " she bites her lip.

BITTY "They won't think of it as being bothered," Bitty assured her. He gently wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. "Why don't I invite them over for pie or something, and then you can ask them while they're here. That way you're not even asking them to go out of their way, but you still get quality hugs. Better than a phone call," Bitty suggested.

HOLSTER Holster nods, already going through the presentation in his mind. He'll have to ask Ransom for help with the research and bibliography (they always cite. Always.) "Yeah, dude. We'll get them over here for any reason you want. I promise this won't bother them." He says, tone certain and sure. He can't imagine Jack or Shitty abandoning Lardo for any reason or feeling inconvenienced for a single second. "They'll be here for you, and we will, too."

LARDO She nods. "I'm sorry for this guys. You didn't sign up for my emotional breakdown. You signed up to watch me sketch. " she says sitting up straighter. She turns to hug Bitty, squeezing him tightly before turning to also hug Holster squeezing him as well. BITTY "I don't know about you," Bitty said, looking over at Holster with a smile, feeling a bit better about everything, "but I came to share pies and see my friend, and so that's a mission success for me." Bitty would make sure and send a text to Jack that evening once he got home not only to invite him over, but to ask if there was anything he could do to help Lardo have a better day.

HOLSTER "I signed up to have a valid reason to chill naked somewhere other than the attic or the locker room." Holster teases, wrapping Lardo up in a hug. He releases her and pats Bitty on the back before punching Lardo's arm. "Besides, what's a breakdown between friends? Just you wait until I have to sign with a team. I'll be sobbing left and right." He heads back to his chair, plopping down on the cushion.

LARDO Lardo laughs and ruffles his hair. "You should sign with the falcs also so we aren't fighting every time you and Jack face off. She picks up another mini pie and takes a large bite.

BITTY Bitty gave Holster a small smile and rolled his eyes. "Hopefully it won't come to sobbing, but if it does I'll have hugs and pie waiting," he promised, wrapping Holster's jacket tightly around himself again.

HOLSTER Holster pushes up into her hand, grinning when she scratches his scalp. "I'm not sure the Falcs actually want me, but we'll see." He fishes his phone out of the cushions, sending out a flurry of texts to Ransom and March. "Warm enough there, Bitty?" LARDO "They'd be idiots to not take you Holtzy. " she says honestly. "I mean you already work so well with Jack. So to have two former teammates on one team. It'd be great. " she looks over at bitty and starts to sketch him also.

BITTY "Lord am I ever warm enough in this god forsaken winter?" Bitty grumbled, a severe pour on his face. "But Lardo's right. If you like them, you should totally go for it. Y'all can do anything you set your minds to!" Bitty insisted.

HOLSTER Holster shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think they'll go for it. They won't build a team around a single player and besides, I'm a D-man. We don't play on the same line or anything." Holster shrugs, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I'm just trying to be realistic, Bitty. I'm not going to waste my time courting a team that doesn't want me when I could actually sign with a team that thinks I could be a valuable addition."

LARDO "Want me to turn the heat up? I usually keep it low for creative purposes. But it wouldn't hurt to turn it up for a little bit if you're cold. " Lardo tells him and looks between the two of them. "I don't know have you had any contact with the Falcs? It's still early. " she licks her lips. "Actually what's your dream team? "

BITTY "I'll be alright. You keep that creativity flowing! And Holster, you do whatever makes you happy. I'll cheer for you whatever team you're on, so long as you're not playing against Jack. Then you're going to have to take the leftover cheering," Bitty grinned and he smiled over at his friends fondly, happy to support them however he could.

HOLSTER Holster shrugs, unsure how much he should reveal. He doesn't want to broadcast too much, especially since it's all up in the air. "A little, but not enough. Don't get your hopes up." He taps out another text to March and Ransom, feeling uncomfortable. "I don't expect you to cheer for me, man. I'll be on a random team, not one you actively cheer for." He shifts on the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. "The Bruins. Good city, good culture, good team."

LARDO Lardo frowns when Holster starts fidgeting. "Hey if you're getting tired, when can stop for the night." She licks her lips and looks between the two of them. "I'm feeling a little bit better now anyways." She rubs at the back of her neck. "Guess, I just needed a good cry." She points a pencil at them both. "I'll deny ever saying that. "

BITTY "Everybody has those days. And for the record I love you both and I'm going to cheer for you in your games and come to your art shows and all those cool things." Bitty gave Lardo another hug and he regretfully shrugged out of Holster's jacket. "Y'all are my friends. Whatever you're doing in life I'm going to support you. Just make sure you're happy."

HOLSTER "I can keep going." Holster protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. Talking about the future has been particularly stressful lately. "Of course, Lards. What cry? Who cried? I don't know anyone who's ever cried." He raises his arms above his head, stretching before he stands. "We'll see, Bitty. No promises."

LARDO "Nah dude, I need a cigarette anyway. It's chill if we take a break."  She stands up and stretches.  "Exactly, there were no tears shed in the making of this art. "She knows that he's been stressing about draft picks and she shouldn't have pushed. "Thank you both, for coming to help me."

BITTY "Anytime," Bitty said sincerely. "Now I'm fairly certain if we hurry we can get back to the Haus in time to rescue a few more of those mini pies. But like I said- we'll have to hurry." Bitty grinned at both of them, resolving to make sure he kept an eye on them both over the next few weeks, and to be sensitive to whatever g-word related issues they ran into.

HOLSTER Holster dresses quickly, taking his jacket back from Bitty at the last minute. " Of course, bro." He holds out his fist for Lardo to bump, offering it to Bitty just after. "I'm going to go find Ransom and March. I promised I'd hang tonight and they will not be forgiving if I stand them up."

LARDO Lardo bumps his fist and starts cleaning up her drawing area before pulling on her coat as well. "I'm sure they'll be so upset." She waggles her eyebrows at him. "Do you mind if I smoke while we walk, Bits"

BITTY Bitty's small hand bumped against Holster's giant one, and then he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. "Honestly, no. Maybe the tinsey fire will help to keep us warm while we walk," he joked.

HOLSTER "Well, maybe if I'm late they'll punish me, but something tells me it won't be the enjoyable kind." He bumps Lardo's shoulder with his arm, happy to play into her innuendos. "I'll catch you guys later. Bitty, save me a crumb." With that he's out the door, waving through the window before disappearing down the hall.

LARDO "Only one way to find out." She calls after him laughing. Lardo slings her bag onto her back and looks over at Bitty. "Ready to go?" She smiles and puts a cigarette between her lips and offering him an arm to loop his own through.

BITTY "Ready," Bitty confirmed as they headed out, waving goodbye to Holster and promising to save him some pie- though he'd probably just end up making more.

#para: studio time #c: lardo #c: bitty