#and he said he was sick for 3 weeks even though that’s unheard of and almost died

[its-time-to-write]

AH I've been waiting for requests to be open! i love love loveeee your writing!! I've been in dire need (if you feel like writing it lol) of reader comforting jamie after the locker room scene w his dad at wembley.. like maybe instead of roy hugging him the reader swoops in? you do you! thanks!! <3

Listened to 17 Pushing 24 by Sabrina Sterling while writing this. Highly recommend ✌️🥲

i know what i’m doing

Sometimes Jamie wonders if you two are attracted to each other due to your compelling need to take care of everything. 

It certainly was difficult at first, both of you with residual issues due to your upbringing. His as the only son of a single mother, yours as the oldest daughter of a large family. 

Those types of child-caretakers aren’t always compatible. Jamie’s much more lighthearted about the way he tries to control everything, and you’re more serious.

You’d think it would be easier, both of you taking care of each other, except for the small fact that neither of you were capable of accepting help from the other. 

It came to a head one evening when Jamie came home to you crying in the laundry room, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the tasks you had yet to complete before going to bed. 

“Love, I can help you,” Jamie had said.

“No! It’s my laundry and my responsibility and you already have enough to do without me burdening you even more,” you replied before dissolving into more tears. 

So yeah, it was a whole thing. It involved therapy and everything.

But you’re moving past it. You’re both getting to a point where each of you can receive the same love that you’re giving, however strange it may feel. Jamie even let you stay home from work to take care of him when he was sick a couple weeks ago, something that was pretty much unheard of up to this point.

You’re channeling the need to control things in healthy ways, like having all of AFC Richmond over to Jamie’s giant house for potluck-style family dinners. Or hosting non-video game nights, where FIFA is strictly banned as a form of entertainment. Or themed outings where everyone had to dress as something that shared the first letter of their name and then go see a movie at the local theater. 

Stuff like that. 

You’re the brains, Jamie is the execution. You can see Isaac side-eyeing him a couple times, making mental notes about temporary captains in the event that he can’t play a match. 

Jamie’s gone from Richmond’s resident prick to Richmond’s resident morale-booster.

He comes home one evening with brighter eyes than normal.

“Babe,” he calls before he’s even in the door, “Coach said I can go back to being a prick again.”

“Ted said that?” you ask from your spot on the couch. You’re laying down length-wise with your legs dangling off the end.

“Fuck no,” Jamie replies, “Roy.”

“Oh,” you say as Jamie plops his bags down. You sit up a little so he can have a spot on the couch. He pats his lap so you lay back down, head on his thigh.

“Roy said that Ted fucked me up, so ‘when it’s appropriate’” (he uses air quotes) “I can be a prick to the other team.”

“That’s nice, babe,” you say, “but how do you know when to do that?”

Jamie shrugs. “Coach said he’d give me a signal. Don’t know what it is, though.”

You say, “hm,” then lapse into comfortable silence, Jamie’s hand running through your hair.

—

The prick signal worked so much better than you could have thought. It’s the best. You see Jamie go from playing defensively to being completely offensive, screwing with the other team’s heads. You scream and clap as he scores, while Keeley practically throttles you with joy.

Now it’s late after the game, and the lads are all over at Jamie’s. They’re absolutely exhausted, but buzzing with energy. It isn’t until about 1am that they disperse to the various guest bedrooms and pass out on top of each other. You catch a glimpse of Dani cuddling Jan Maas who’s asleep in a starfish position as Colin sneaks in to draw on their faces with sharpie. 

“Don’t tell anyone it was me,” he whispers. You zip your lips and head to the master bedroom and pretty much fall onto the right side of the bed.

Jamie comes in shortly after, saying something about Isaac telling a bedtime story. He burrows under the covers and you quietly shriek because he’s placed his ice-cold hands on your ribcage.

“How are you so cold?” you whisper.

Jamie shrugs sleepily. “Dunno,” he whispers back. “Got ice in my veins, I guess.”

You smile. “You’re tired, aren’t you babe?”

Jamie shakes his head and stifles a yawn. “Nah, ain’t tired. Thinkin’ about our match against Man City.”

He says it casually. Too casually.

You see, both you and Jamie have this thing where the more nonchalantly you say something, the more important it is.

You prop yourself up a bit so you can face him and scratch his head. He sighs and leans in.

“You nervous?” you ask.

Jamie shakes his head. “Not to see the team. Lookin’ forward to seeing Pep. It’s just…” he trails off.

You whisper, “Yeah. I know. Whatever happens, I’m here. Don’t forget that. I’m here no matter what.”

Jamie says, “hm,” and then he’s asleep.

—

You’re running. 

You’re running faster than any of the boys on the pitch had run the entire match, and you’re pushing past people in a way that Keeley would later describe as “absolutely fucking feral.”

It happened like this:

The game was over. Richmond lost to Man City.

You were on your way to see Jamie and the rest of the team.

You were, maybe, three floors away? when Rebecca got a text from Ted, showed it to you, and before you knew it you were flying down to the guest locker room to find Jamie.

Of course his dick father would show up to make this day worse. Of course he would.

You’re ducking under security and pushing your way to the locker room in a flurry of motion, then immediately stop.

It’s silent, absolutely silent. 

And so still.

No one moves a muscle as your eyes land on Jamie, clinging to Roy like he’s a lifeline. Roy. Roy Kent, self-proclaimed Jamie-hater and staunch advocate against physical touch.

Jamie’s eyes are squeezed shut, but they flutter open at the sound of your tentative footsteps. He lets go of Roy for a moment, but only so that you can grab him in the next.

“Right,” says Roy, “Everybody get the fuck out!”

There are no complaints as the lads hurriedly grab their bags and exit the locker room.

Roy nods in your direction before leaving, and Beard mouths, “take your time.” You’re not sure where Ted’s gone off to.

Jamie feels like he’s going to collapse if he stands any longer, crushing you in the strongest grip you’ve ever felt.

“Oi,” you say gently, “let’s sit down, yeah? You don’t have to let go.”

So now you’re on the bench in Jamie’s lap, scratching his head in the way he likes, waiting for him to break the silence.

“Fucking stupid,” he says, voice muffled.

You ask, “What?” because surely that can’t be what he just said.

“I said it’s fucking stupid,” Jamie says, refusing to meet your eyes. “I’m a fucking adult. Don’t need to be crying about stupid shit, especially not in front of the lads.”

“Oh, right,” you say before you can stop yourself, “because crying after your dick father tried to swing at you when you set boundaries for the first time ever is a completely unreasonable response.”

Jamie is still in your arms and you cringe. Curse your stupid, logical tongue.

Jamie finally says, “Didn’t think about it like that.” He sighs. “It’s just fuckin’ embarrassing, innit? Him showing up here like that. Didn’t need the lads seeing that.”

You kiss his forehead. 

“The only person it’s embarrassing for is him. Not you. You’re absolutely fine, Jaim. If anything, the boys are going to look at you better for finally understanding the shit you had to grow up with.”

Jamie nods, but you’re not sure if he believes you.

“Jamie,” you say firmly, “It’s not your fault. You handled it the best way it could have been handled. You did a great job.”

Those words seem to do something to Jamie, and his face takes on an expression you’ve never seen before

He asks, “You think so?” in such a forlorn manner than you have the sudden urge to find James Tartt and kick him in the balls with steel-toed shoes. You briefly wonder if Roy and Beard would like to join you.

“Yes,” you reply forcefully, “Yes Jamie. You did a wonderful job in a shitty situation and I’m very, very proud of you.”

Jamie doesn’t reply, just holds you tighter if that’s even possible. He takes a deep shuddering breath, but it’s the first real one he’s taken this entire time. 

“I told you I’m here no matter what,” you say. “Just like all the times you’ve been here for me. Now I’m here for you.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[soubi122]

How Long? - Part 3

Hello everyone, it's been awhile but I am finally putting part 3 up. I hope you enjoy it! :)

This part takes place when Y/N asked for permission to leave Bonten.

Warnings: gun, mentions of murder, alcohol, smut, self harm, hurt to comfort, MDNI!!

Love Fool

Mikey pulled the pistol away from you and cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to see your glossy orbs - he was having a hard time deciding what to do. “You deserve better, angel.” He said as he swiped his thumb over your cheeks, wiping away your tears. Hearing those words and the display of sincerity made you break. You began to sob uncontrollably and clutched your chest. The throbbing pain of heartbreak was wrecking you mentally and physically. It was an image that Mikey couldn’t get over, he recalls a friend who bawled his eyes out in front of him several times. Those who show you their true feelings are worth protecting. He was the only person who provided some sort of comfort, though it’s minimal, it was enough to make your heart ache. Mikey placed a hand on your shoulder, “If you want to disappear, I can help you but it will take some time - you’ll be set free. Are you willing to do everything I say without question?” You were surprised at his response. Bonten had a strict policy about letting people go without repercussions, but to think that Mikey would bend the rules for a woman? It was unheard of. Your desperation made it easy to say yes. 

That same night he brought you to his home and you were only allowed to leave the room at night - when there were no prying eyes or ears. He was often dropped off home by Sanzu but never had company stay longer than an hour or two. “Mikey, do you have an extra futon?” You asked as walked you to his home. He lived in a one bedroom condo and had only one bathroom. “You’re sleeping on my bed, I will sleep on the couch - I’m rarely here anyways.” Setting your duffle bag on the floor, you got on your knees and bowed to him - “Thank you for everything, Mikey.” The light chuckle that escaped his lips made you look up, confused plastered all over your face. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh. “It’s ok, enough with the gratitude. You’re my guest. Anything you want, just ask me.” You didn’t ask for much, your needs were basic, food, water, shelter - nothing more and nothing less. In the upcoming weeks, you spent the days roaming his bedroom, tossing and turning - trying hard not to think about Ran. But when you are left by yourself, your thoughts tend to wander and never fail to go back to him. It was difficult not to think about him when you had spent years living with him, sharing the same space and sharing the same bed. Often, Mikey could hear your snuffles behind the door at night. You tried to not be more of a burden to him by keeping quiet, the last thing he wanted was to hear someone crying over a broken heart. There were times where your skin would feel Ran’s touch linger and it made you sick. Baths were long, trying to wash him off your skin felt like trying to erase a tattoo with soap and water. He was still there, the itch and burning sensations wouldn’t cease no matter how long you sat soaking in the water. Mikey turned a blind eye to you wearing baggy clothing with long sleeves almost everyday, even when the condo was warm enough to roam in shorts. 

The days and nights were hard when Mikey wasn’t home. He was your only distraction from the world and a distraction from Ran. Though he rarely spent days in, you were grateful when he spared the time to talk to you and check up on you. On a few occasions you had to hide in his room when Sanzu or Kokonoi would come over to discuss business. Hearing their voices made you want to cry. Recalling the night that they were all there with Ran, it made your chest hurt. Sanzu would sometimes be a little too loud about certain affairs. As much as you tried not to pry or eavesdrop, it was almost impossible when Ran’s name was mentioned. Mikey knew what he was doing - he wanted you to know what Ran was up to. He wanted for you to stand firm and not falter in the future, to grow and move past Ran’s affairs. He wanted for you to see that it was a mistake that you were lucky enough to rid yourself of before tying the knot. It would have been much worse had you two exchanged vows and taken his name. Though it was hurting you, Mikey was doing this for your own good. After Mikey’s guests would leave, he would find you curled up under the blankets, with tear stained cheeks and soft sniffles. Something about seeing you in this broken state made him ease up on his plans. He didn’t want to push you too far.

“Are you ok, angel?” He would say and place a hand on your head. Softly petting you and soothing your broken heart. “I don’t know how long I can do this Mikey…when he comes to mind, I feel like I’m going to lose it.” Those words were enough to send shivers down Mikey’s spine. You were teetering on the edge - just the slightest touch would be enough to push you over the edge. “Just one more month and it will be ready. Are you prepared to start your new life? No matter what the cost?” His question made you sit up. Those eyes that looked like an infinite void began to show a glimmer of light. “What do you mean?” You asked him while wiping your tears. Mikey explained the plan to you, the cadaver, the cover up, the news outlets that would report on your so-called death. Everything was perfect, he just needed one more month to find a woman who resembled you. 

“Mikey, I can’t let you do that.” You say and cupped his cheeks. The sudden action took him by surprise. He was not expecting you to get this close, he was not expecting for you to come to him, though it was to try and put a stop to his carefully calculated plan. “You agreed to do as I say…your hands will remain clean.” The entire night you spent going back and forth with him, in the end the pros outweigh the cons. He was right, you had no other choice but to die in order to escape Tokyo, to escape Bonten and more importantly…to escape Ran. To keep you distracted from the guilt, he allowed you to roam his condo at any time with no restrictions. He gave you access to his credit card to buy whatever you wanted, an account that was not under Kokonoi’s supervision. Though you refused to take it, he still left it with you so that you could take it with you when you leave. Visits were no longer made to Mikey’s home by the other executives/admins. No one questioned him, it wasn’t odd for him to refuse company. 

Little by little, you were finding things to do on your own time with his permission. An interest in baking and making coffee bloomed within you after watching too many DIY’s and creative food videos. You begged Mikey to buy an espresso machine for you to tinker with. The glow in your eyes was impossible for him to ignore. What more could he ask for? You were starting to stand on your own two feet, your aborred feelings for Ran were starting to nullify and you were numb to the sound of his name. 

The strong smell of coffee perforated his nostrils when he reached his front door. Often Mikey would come home to a mess in his kitchen, there would be cups and mugs everywhere on his kitchen table. Trays of baked goods lined the counters and sandwiches would also be lined up for him to taste. He couldn’t help but smile knowing that you were behind that door waiting for him with a cup of coffee or espresso in hand for him to try. As much as he disliked coffee - he’d grown fond of the taste and associated with you. You both were opening up a little more to each other. Mikey was getting used to your presence, he was getting used to your laugh, your smiles and your warmth. Often you would lay your head on his lap when you were feeling down. He would pet your head and it eased your thoughts, putting you to sleep as if you were a puppy or a kitten. It was a dangerous game he was playing, would he really be able to resist your alluring nature? Many times he would sleep in the office to avoid getting too attached to you. The threads were slowly fraying and he was finding it hard to balance mercy and desire.

One day when you were steaming milk, you weren’t paying attention and ended up getting burned by the steam wand. Your yelp caught Mikey’s attention and he dashed towards you. “What happened? Are you ok?” He asked as you showed him your hand - it was red and tender. “I burned myself, but I’m ok.” You said as he takes your hand runs room temp/cool water over the injury, making sure not to irritate it. Without a second thought, he brought your hand to his lips, giving it a light peck. Your face went bright red, your brain short circuited and you bit your lip. “I was always told that kisses make the other person feel better.” The innocence in his words made your heart skip a beat. What was wrong with you? Why is he making you feel this way? He holds your life in his hands, he can end it at any moment and you were fawning over an innocent gesture? “T-Thanks Mikey…it feels better already.” You say while looking down and taking your hand back. He brought you some ointment and lightly applied it over the burn, him touching your hand again was making your chest sting. 

A few days after that incident, you were careful not to get too close to Mikey. Though you missed the warmth and welcoming aura that Mikey gave off, something changed and he noticed it. Thinking that he overstepped his boundaries, he stayed out a few nights. You called but he only responded saying he’s busy. On day four of his absence, you texted him from the burner cell he provided you, but instead of texting back - he called. Bonten was out on a company dinner and there was a lot of background noise. “Hey Mikey, are you coming home soon? I have a few things I’d like to-” You were cut off by a loud laugh, his laugh. You could hear Ran in the background with another woman, they were all there - it felt as if he really had no remorse or regard for your absence. “Sorry angel, you were saying?” Mikey said quietly but the line went dead. 

You ended the call and felt a sharp pain in your chest, you began struggling to breathe and it felt as if all those times where you were in misery - he was in heaven with other women. Ran continued his affairs with no ounce of guilt. Collapsing to the floor, you began to sob uncontrollably. The sound of Ran’s voice echoed in your ears, though it was close to three months of no contact, you were starting to forget what he sounded like…until now. You felt sick, the sensation of his touch began to feel like an itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you scratched. Running to the kitchen, you began frantically searching for something, anything that would take the edge off. When you found the hidden liquor cabinet, you dove head first into a bottle of whiskey that burned like acid as it made its way down your throat. You drank from multiple bottles, yet the sensation of his touch still roamed your skin - making it unbearable. ‘Fuck…fuck…fuck! It’s not enough, please make it stop!’ You say to yourself as you scratch your arms and legs. Images of him riddling your skin with his kisses flashed in your mind, the way he would look at you, haunted your very being. Anywhere he touched, it felt like fire and you wanted it to stop. Hearing his voice again triggered you. Sending you spiraling into a maelstrom of emotions. 

Everything was spinning, you were stumbling from room to room as you held the bottle closer to your chest. “Stop it…stop it!” You yell to no one in particular. The condo was empty but yet you felt as if Ran Haitani was standing here, staring at you - laughing at your pitiful state. More images of him kissing you flashed in your mind. Those images began to turn dark and ugly, now you began to picture him from that night. Kissing those other women and touching them as if they were his trophies. ‘You aren’t worth my time, you aren’t worth anything…you were just a placeholder…’ Ran’s voice echoed in your ears and you lost it. 

Mikey came home within the hour, there was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he could not ignore. When he opened the front door, he thought that someone had broken into his home - there was glass on the floor and droplets of blood in various places. “(Y/N)!” He yelled but no one answered. Dashing towards the bedroom, he was met with silence and no one was there. The sound of the bath water running snatched his attention. He ran towards the bathroom and kicked the door in, he was not prepared for the site in front of him. You were in the bathtub, bare, your skin was red and bruised. You kept scrubbing your skin almost raw with the loofa, and you didn’t even notice as he stood by the door. Slowly, he made his way to you, a look of regret reflecting on his face. “I can still feel him…” You whispered to yourself as you kept scrubbing. When you tore the skin, Mikey immediately stopped you and turned off the water. “Angel, what the fuck?!” He says as he cups your cheek and makes you look up at him. Your eyes were empty, it’s as if the person in front of him wasn’t you. “It won’t stop…” You whisper to him. “What won’t stop?” Mikey asks as he tries to get you out of the bathtub. “Ran…he won’t stop, I can still feel him…” The words that rolled off your tongue felt like a ton of bricks. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t erase him - it hurts…it hurts so much. Please make it stop…”

This whole time you were trying your hardest to forget but hearing his voice felt like someone ripping the stitches out of your heart, those frail stitches that were barely keeping you together. For once, Sano Manjiro didn’t know how to react - nor what to do. These things were usually taken care of for him by the other members. Though your body was on fire, Mikey picked you up and took you to his room and wrapped you in a towel. He noticed the daze you were in and the smell of alcohol that lingered on the tip of your tongue. “Make it go away…Mikey-please…” You begged and cried your eyes out. He couldn’t take it anymore, the suffering, the ache, the desire…

Cupping both your cheeks, Mikey closed the distance and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. It sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. When he felt your lips move, returning the kiss, he deepened it. “I’ll take your pain away…just say the word.” The low tone in his voice made you reach out and wrap your arms around his neck. “Mikey…help me.” Your words were almost a whisper, it was enough to have him lay you down and climb on top of your still naked form. His tongue explored your mouth with such ease, the warm and wet muscle was dancing with yours, both of you began to pant. Your taste mixed with alcohol was making his head spin. Hungry hands roamed the valley of your chest, lightly pinching and massaging your nipples. You couldn’t help but arch your back to his touch, his hips were between your thighs and rolling on to your bare pussy. The bulge in his pants was rubbing against your entrance, to feel someone else for the first time in a long time made your legs quiver. The liquor in your veins was making you numb to the burning on your arms but it was making a mess of your lower half. Mikey pulled away, locking eyes with you as he removed his shirt - the stars in your eyes made him smirk. For once he got a wish come true, he wanted nothing more than to replace him.  

Despite the state you were in, he found you beautiful. The red and purple marks that were noticeably painful and light trickles of blood were like rubies that decorated your skin. You can only self-destruct, you refuse to take anyone else down with you and wallow in your own pain. He lowered himself and planted gentle kisses on your neck and made his way down to the valley of your chest, leaving open mouthed kisses on the area above your heart. “He didn’t deserve you…” Mikey says as he placed your nipple in his mouth. His touch was tender and made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of its chest. Who knew the most notorious man in Tokyo could have such a loving side to him? Lithe fingers traced circles on your hips, making their way down lower to caress your plush thighs, though it was his first time exploring your body - he was so familiar with it. The gentle nibble on the hardened bud made you mewl and run your fingers through his silver hair. Honey began to pool between your legs as he teased your inner thigh. Mikey latched on your other nipple, giving it the same loving treatment. “You’re worth more than anyone could fathom…” He said as he bit a little harder and made you moan from the pain and pleasure. The way he moved slowly down your body, trailing kisses and leaving light pink marks had your mind muddled. You knew it was wrong but at the same time, the carnal desires that blossomed when he showed you his affection made you let go of the doubt. He was diving down the deep end with you. 

The room was spinning as he spread your thighs open. Mikey basked at seeing how your walls clenched around nothing, how your honey was dripping and begging to be tasted. He slid a finger between your folds, collecting your slick and rubbing circles on your clit. “Ngh…Mikey.” You moaned out his name and it made his cock throb beneath their restraints. He smirked against your skin as he kissed your inner thighs, inching closer to your core - his pulse was racing and the urge to take you was clawing away at him. She needs more… He thinks to himself as his tongue glides between your folds, tasting your sweet essence. Never in his life would he have ever thought to taste something so decadent in his life. What a fool…he gave her up for what? A cheap whore? The thoughts were running wild in Mikey's head. Ran Haitani soon became the center of Mikey's ire. 

A single digit slid into your core, teasing and testing out the stretch for your cunt. You shifted your hips slightly to bring him deeper. Your warmth was everything to him right now, to try and pry him away from your honeypot would be suicide. Your walls clenched as he curled his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, his touch felt like heaven. More thoughts invaded his mind. Fuck… she's this tight even after him… Mikey added a second digit, curling them to hit that sweet spot that made you moan loudly and fist the sheets beneath you. The sensation of him lapping your every drop kept making your legs quiver, he was gentle yet firm with his movements. Be it the alcohol or lack of human contact, you were on the edge of bliss when his mouth latched on to your bundle of nerves. “W-Wait…Mi-mmm…” You were about to call his name but the sounds were replaced by your moans and gasps. His pace didn’t falter, if anything he made haste and your vision was beginning to go white. He began to rut his hips into the mattress, his cock was painfully hard and in dire need of attention. A wet patch began to form from all the pre that was leaking from his tip. That unique tingle that ran down your spine had you gripping his silver hair and rolling your hips. Hearing him pant and groan was bringing you closer to total bliss, as quiet as he was during meetings and gatherings, he was so vocal now that it felt like he was a different person. 

The tightly wound up coil in your belly was on the verge of snapping. “Come for me, angel…” Mikey’s words were the final push you needed. Your legs quivered as your orgasm came crashing into you like a tidal wave, you were babbling incoherent sentences and a string of curses escaped your throat as he lapped your juices and held your hips in place. Your eyes began to water as you came down from your high - the intense emotions and affection that was displayed made your chest sting. When Mikey pulled away from your core, he could see how your legs were quivering and how your body slightly spasmed as his fingers continued to plunge in and out. “You’re so beautiful like this…” His tone was heavy and it echoed in your ear, it made your walls clench and suck in his fingers even more. A coy smirk bled across his lips as he withdrew his fingers, your whine of protest made him sit up and lower his pants along with his boxers. The way his cock sprang free and twitched at the cool air hitting the tip made you roll your hips onto nothing. His tip had beads of precum that dripped down his shaft. Every vein was defined and he gripped his member, stroking it - teasing you with it. With every stroke you could see how the droplets fell from his tip and onto your folds. 

Your breath hitched when he positioned himself between your legs and he rubbed the red flushed tip through your slit. Mikey lowered himself to capture your lips, he could feel your arms wrap around his neck and pull him closer. Your lips were plush and slightly swollen from the earlier kisses. How they parted for him when his tongue glides on your bottom lip had him aching for more. The vibrations of his moans could be felt on your chest as his member pushed past your tight ring. For someone who has a small frame, he not only had length but he had girth as well - the sensation of him stretching you out made you run your nails down his back. The light red streaks on his back burned but Mikey didn’t care, he wanted to remain buried inside you and fill you to the brim with his seed. When he bottomed out, you could feel him throb inside you and broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on yours - Mikey screwed his eyes shut at your muscles contracting and sucking in him. He thought he was going to lose it. “(Y/N)...f-fuck, you need to stop clenching like that - you’re going to me cum…” He chuckled as you squeezed him tighter in response to his words. As he slowly reeled his hips back, you felt his hand wrap underneath your thigh, hiking your leg up higher and getting a better angle. When he slid back in, you dug your nails into his back, the pressure between your thighs was immense and you knew he was going to leave you sore. 

"Ngh…feels s'good…" You said between moans and gasps. "...don't stop…" Mikey sat up and watched as your breasts bounced with each thrust of his hips. His eyes trailed down your body, it was so perfect, so beautiful and all he could think of was making you cum in his cock. When his eyes landed between the space that connected you two, he was in a daze. He even slowed his pace so that he could watch his cock pump in and out, gazing at that white satin ring that adorned the base of his cock. With pride swelling his chest, he slung your legs over his shoulders and proceeded to lean forward - making him go deeper. Your dulcet moans got louder as he fucked you all the way to heaven. You could have sworn the bedroom light casted a halo above Mikey’s head. "Oh god! Manjiro!" That mind numbing sensation began to ravage your core and your legs were shaking as your orgasm clawed its way out. You screaming his name threw him over the edge, his pace became sloppy and his hips stuttered as his coil snapped. That unmistakable sensation had you twitching and quivering, your honey and his seed dripped down your slit. Your greedy cunt milked him dry, he was almost sure you were going to be dripping for days. Slowly, he pulled out and basked at how that milky white liquid would drip from your hole. With his finger he pushed it back inside and watched as your pretty little cunt would push it back out. 

He was savoring the image before him, you were laying in his bed, naked, panting, covered in sweat with his seed dripping from your core - was a sight he etched in his memory. If this is what it takes to make you forget, to keep you happy - I’ll do it over and over again… Mikey thinks to himself as he lays next to you and pulls you into his chest. The sound of his heart beating was like a lullaby that put your mind at ease, your eyes felt heavy and his sweet nothings were fading in and out. 

**back to the present**

Soft moonlight trickled into the bedroom as you woke up in your apartment. You were too dazed to notice the heavy figure next to you but the moment you felt a pair of arms being wrapped around your waist - your heart sank. The person laying next to you was Ran Haitani. That’s right, he found you this morning and fucked you until you couldn’t think straight. “Stay…” His sleepy tone had warmth creeping up on your cheeks. “...let me make us something to eat, it’s late and we haven’t even eaten anything.” You say softly as you kiss him on the forehead and slowly wiggle out of his hold. He nodded and went back to sleep.

You wrapped a robe around your still naked body and headed for the kitchen. With your cellphone in hand, you stepped outside and made a call. The phone rang and rang, the longer it took for your call to be answered, the more anxious you felt and you began to pace back and forth. When the call was finally answered, “Is it done?”

END PT 3

Tagslist:

@rinrinfoxy @mor-pheus @no-signal  @namelessnikki2 @gabi-moureira @spookys-s @slvtmeow @jinii-desu @mmmaaannnsssiii @3xchooo @kokotakeomi @no-name-jack @barriesandcrem @reidsmexyconverse @waterfallsdown @1980losersliveinme @gabytodd @simp4ren @fffsksixj

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[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Three, Part 3

The main clerk who worked at Suncloud was a creepy old perverted prick. Suncloud is one of the main corner stores in Riverwest. I think every resident shopped there at some point. Be it getting a cheap and unheard of energy drink, or a six pack of beer, or a pack of cigarettes. Everyone had stopped in at least once. And meeting the asshole that was the clerk was I guess part of the deal.

He acted better than everyone, and would literally openly show hate and disdain when you would pay or ask for a pack. It was has if we were just ants in his sick sad little world.

That is, unless you had a pair of tits on your chest and hips that shook when you walked. Then he would openly ogle and horribly sexually flirt with you. Didn't matter about looks, as long as there was T and A. At least he didn't discriminate, I guess. He made ever woman feel disgusting.

I slapped the pack against my hand as I stepped out and onto the concrete stairs leading down to the sidewalk. A few people hung around the door, smoking cigarettes, and smelling like weed. I always envied those who could smoke in public. It sets my paranoia off too much when I do. I smoked, just mostly in private or with one or two other people. I had eighth sitting in my dresser right now. Of course, it's been in that drawer for three weeks.

It was just a little after six and the sun was still up and still warm. A good night for a show. I started the short walk to Dimes. Not even a block. Out of all the bars I'd been to, Dimes was probably the best one. Of course, it was rarely open and ran more like a punk or rock and roll club.

I stood outside the door, with a small group, finishing off my cigarette. I recognized a few faces from other shows and nodded. Once I tossed my butt into the ashtray by the door, paid my five dollar cover charge and headed inside.

It wasn't really all that large of a place, but it didn't matter. A small stage took up most of one corner of the room. Any band with more than four members was going to be quite uncomfortable though. A few tables sat as far from the stage as possible. The merch table was set up over here as well. The bar sat maybe ten people. All were empty at the moment, but that would change. There seemed to a group of people, myself included, who just liked to go see local bands. You never know who you're seeing. You could see the next big rejected punk rock band before they ever even fully learned what songwriting was.

I took a stool and the bartender was on me right away. Later on, once the bands started playing he'd be put to work, but he would make a killing. That was one thing I had learned being around some of the punks in the city. Tipping was done right. Always tip, even with shitty service. Even more than.

"What can I get you?" He asked, the official hello for bartenders everywhere. His voice was quiet, kind of surprising really.

"High Life," I replied and looked around as he walked back to grab one. He came back, set the beer down and I just handed him my debit card. I went back to looking around. Seeing if maybe I recognized any faces. I didn't. This didn't bother me. I wouldn't have to talk then.

A band was setting up on the stage, making sound checks that sounded awful, until they got the mix right for the small venue. I took a drink of my beer before heading down a short hall. The bathroom stood with a line, most in it were probably waiting for a line. It wasn't uncommon for the bathrooms to be filled with cocaine through out the night.

Further down the hall was a door leading to a fenced off area out back. It was here that the gospel of Pall Mall was spoken. All of us bowing, kneeling to our great tobacco overlords.

There were a few other people, sitting on wooden benches, all of us chasing away fresh air with our toxic fumes. I said hello to a few faces, but most people that knew me knew I preferred to be alone. I knew some people, but never any groups, and I didn't really join in. I felt safer being on the outside. And I had never really fit in, so even that feeling doesn't bother me much anymore.

Another small group came out and took places around the benches. A steel table sat in the middle of them with three ashtrays built into it. Our makeshift prayer mat.

#fiction #artists on tumblr #writing #my writing #spilled words #writers on tumblr #poets and writers #writeblr #creative writing #writerscommunity #writerscorner #writer #lierature #cynical #cynic #free verse #free form #Stories #autobiographical fiction #art #literure #howispentmysummervacation #september sky #punk rock soap operas #writersblr #writterscommunity

[wonlouvre]

hello! i see your requests are open again 😌 can i request jeonghan x reader, enemies to lovers kinda thing maybe where they have the same friends but jeonghan & reader always clash etc etc fluff at the end idk

i know you’ll come up with something amazing as always, do what you want with it 😘🥰💗

balance | y. jh. 

pairing: jeonghan x reader genre: enemies to lovers (kind of), fluff warnings: heights, ski mountain mechanical malfunctions (you know, dangling in the air kind of thing)  word count: 1.5k (i got carried away, im sorry)

💌: thank you so much for requesting!!! this was honestly fun to write although there was little to none banter, i’m so sorry :’( thank you for trusting me! i hope you like it <3 i will try to post at least two drabbles/requests per week :)

To you, Yoon Jeonghan was the type of person that looked like he would trample all over your principles in life. It’s a little dramatic of you but he can’t blame you for thinking so. He’s cocky, annoying and full of shit. The two of you stepped off on the wrong foot when he thought it was funny to pour sparkling water on your instant noodles as a prank during one of the traditional ski trips your group of friends always hold.

Soonyoung introduced him on what was supposed to be the best trip of your life only to get ruined when he made fun of you. Although technically speaking, your cup wasn’t the only victim of his shenanigan because the rest of your friends complained and threw it at the perpetrator before they could even finish eating. But you were hungry and stubborn, so you didn’t let it go. 

Ever since then, despite not confronting him, Jeonghan’s energy and wholebeing never clicked with yours. You barely speak a word to him and you rarely hang out with him, unlike with every single one of your friends. He hasn’t noticed and even if he did, you’re sure he could care less. Which is fine by you. The instant noodle prank is history and now that this year’s ski trip will be your third with him, you have just gotten used to ignoring his existence. 

“Jeonghan’s staring at you,” Seungcheol says, startling you. 

Your eyes throw daggers at him, not because he startled you, but because of what he said. 

The tall man nudges your shoulder with his. “I’m not lying. Give him a glance and then you’ll see.”

To set the record straight, you don’t have a grudge on Jeonghan for who he is. It’s more of what he does that gives a bad impression on you. Aside from the noodle incident, you noticed how much he takes pride in teasing and playing with the gullible younger ones and you hate him for that. It’s a good laugh every once in a while but it can hurt feelings at times and you don’t want that. He also likes to disagree and debate with everyone (you’re just glad you haven’t been a victim yet). When everyone else says yes, he’ll boldly say no. That’s how moronic he is to be friends with. 

Of course you acknowledge his good deeds. Whether you like to admit it or not, Jeonghan is a great friend. He is a beacon of strength among you knowing that he’s one of the oldest in the group. He knows where and when to have fun. He knows when to be there for anyone who needs him. He’s supportive. He’s loving. He’s more than okay. 

You’re just turning a blind eye because you’re still petty. 

It has come to your attention that apparently, Jeonghan has been harboring a crush on you. It’s a stupid rumor and you choose to ignore it because why. Why would he have a crush on you? You try confirming if it’s true by looking at him and observing his actions whenever he’s not paying attention. But to no avail, nothing special stood out.

In fact, it seems like all the staring and observation made you develop a crush on him. Now that’s even more annoying. 

You roll your eyes at Seungcheol’s nonsense and walk away from him to go to Jeongyeon who’s currently checking in everyone to the hotel. You might as well help her register everyone to all the activities you will be participating in. 

“Collect their IDs,” she orders without looking up from the form she’s writing on. “And tell them to fall in line so they can sign the consent form.”

“Told you we should have filled out the online form before getting here,” your complaint doesn’t go unheard by your friend who only glares at you, scaring you to immediately obey her instructions.

“IDs please,” you ask with your hand out and your friends happily complied as they chatted through the waiting time. You walk around to make sure you have everyone’s and as you double check, one last ID was missing. 

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

The devil himself, Yoon Jeonghan.

You take a deep deep breath before turning around and face the handsome face you’ve been sick of. Wait, did you just call him handsome?! 

Jeonghan flashes his signature smirk while pulling his wallet out from his pocket, picking one of the many cards inside it to hand to you. His gloveless fingers grazes yours and it concerns you why it made your heart skip a beat. You avoid his gaze and everything else about him and run back to Jeongyeon who’s the one asking for these in the first place. 

You heard his low chuckle and you wish you could wipe off his annoying grin with your fist. 

Moving on from what happened in the early afternoon, the rest of the day was pleasant enough for you and your friends to continue. Everyone had lunch at the local restaurant first before doing the group activities. It’s a good thing none of you are afraid of heights (except for Dokyeom, but he manages). Soonyoung leading everyone to hike the safe side of the snow covered mountain wasn’t a problem for him. 

After the quick mountain hike, you all scattered to have fun and decided to meet up for dinner in the evening. You, Jeongyeon, Dokyeom and much to your dismay, Jeonghan all went up to snowboard. 

The lift was supposed to carry the four of you up to the starting point before your adrenaline descend, but Dokyeom suddenly felt a wave of fear of heights and needed to calm down for a few minutes. He tells you to go on ahead and you did. You just didn’t expect Jeonghan to be accompanying you instead of Jeongyeon. 

You hide your disappointment and bewilderment as you make yourself comfortable. It’s awkward but it doesn’t matter. You’re just going to keep quiet and avoid looking Jeonghan’s way. This ride will probably not be a good ten minutes, right?

Jeonghan holds onto his snowboard while you place yours on the floor. A barrier of some sort to distance yourself from him. Your eyes are glued to your feet, watching them move from side to side. You also distract yourself from admiring the view outside the window, but it’s hard when you can feel his eyes burning holes on the back of your head. 

“Y/N.”

You hate it. You hate it. You hate it. 

Why does your name sound so melodic coming from his mouth?

You turn your head and raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. 

But the lift doesn’t let him because it suddenly stops mid-air, echoes of metals clanking and brakes screeching following suit. The abrupt stop causes the lift to shake a little, making you hold onto the metal bars out of fear. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a mechanical malfunction of the lifts and our engineers are repairing it now at this moment. We apologize for the inconvenience and fear that this has caused. We request everyone to remain calm and seated…”

The announcement falls deaf to your ears because all you hear is ringing. You’re not afraid of heights at all. But you have never experienced an incident like this before. You’ve heard and read about it and not all of them ended well. 

“Hey,” Jeonghan’s voice snaps you out of your dilemma. 

You blink away your tears and clutch your chest to calm your heart that’s beating faster and faster. 

“Y/N?” Jeonghan calls for you again, but this time he’s reaching his hand out. “You’ll be fine. Here, take my hand.”

Jeonghan probably noticed the panic in your eyes. So, after throwing away your doubts outside the window, you carefully move a little closer to him but not beside him as you don’t want to ruin the balance of the lift. You unclench your fist and finally take hold of his waiting hand. 

Jeonghan’s warm palm and genuine smile calms you down. Your heartbeat slows down and your breathing goes back to normal. Your eyebrows furrow in both fear and embarrassment. You question the universe how and why did this have to happen. 

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not!” 

Jeonghan giggles at your outburst and you don’t know if that’s music to your ears or if it just makes you want to punch his handsome face more. 

“I like you Y/N,” he suddenly confesses and you grimace. 

“I like you too,” you confess back, tightly gripping his hand. “But now is not the time, Yoon Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan bites back a smile that says he’s in love and just gently caresses your hand. It’s unbelievable how the opportunity arose itself right at this moment, but it was now or never for him. He’d explain how much he likes you in detail later. For now, he’s okay with this. 

“But, later though?”

“Yes, now shut up before I throw you out first.”

#seventeen #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan scenario #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan imagine #seventeen drabbles #seventeen drabble #jeonghan drabbles #jeonghan drabble #seventeen fluff #jeonghan fluff #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #drabble: adore u

[tharros-auris-black-asimi]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Chapter 7) (Part 1)

Paring: Soft Dark Alpha Lee Bodecker x Female Omega Reader

Summary: After moving to Knockemstiff, Ohio with your troubled parents, you find solace in the local Seven-Eleven. There, you bump into the Alpha sheriff, Lee Bodecker.

And then you keep bumping into him. There's just something about the chubby Alpha that keeps drawing you in. Now there's something going on with the new preacher of the church that you attend. Everything's a mess.

But you're an unbonded Omega. Life can turn to shit anyway.

Chapter Warnings: This chapter opens with Lenora's post-rape. Mentions of sexual coercion, as well as cheating from Preston's end. Unplanned pregnancy via rape is mentioned here too. Mentions of serial killers, and Carl just being downright creepy. Anger issues from the Reader, as well as gun violence and death threats. There's also another character death in here, so we're keeping count of the body count, lol. Some possessive behavior from Alpha Daddy. I've been writing him as soft!dark, but in this chapter and the next one, he's gonna be full-on dark. Maybe a tiny smidge of fatphobia in this one? Like a small smidge. A blink and you'll miss type of smidge. Just to cover all of my bases.

Additional Notes: I am so, so sorry for how long it took for me to update this on Tumblr. I usually update this fic on my AO3 first before I update it on here. But, since I split this chapter into two, it took longer than I thought. So this will just be part one, and part two should follow quickly!

Please read the chapter warnings before continuing with this chapter, as this chapter and the following chapter will have some disturbing themes. I want this to be a safe space for everyone. And, if you're a minor, please do not interact. Thank you!

I also have a series taglist for this series now, so if you'd like to be added to just the series taglist, let me know!

Word Count: 3, 370

Two days before your annual visit... with Lenora in the afternoon

Lenora Laferty was crouched over the toilet seat in the girl’s bathroom, vomiting her guts out.

Sick.

She had been feeling sick for the past week.

She didn’t know what had caused this. Lenora had woken up every single morning for the past week with an urge to puke her guts out.

Emma and Arvin had been getting used to the sounds of puking in the morning.

It was becoming alarming.

Emma was fully ready to ask if she had been frolicking around with an Alpha.

But she hadn’t, because she had gotten so busy.

Later though, she would ask.

Now, now though, Lenora continued to puke her guts out.

Her Omega had been very vocal this past week. Screeching. Throwing a fit. Screaming and shouting at her, due to the changes coming in her body.

She hadn’t wanted this.

She had wanted none of this.

Lenora’s Omega had screamed and shouted when Lenora had entered Preston’s car. Her screaming had become louder when the disgusting Alpha, (married too, she should add), kissed her. She had thanked some fucking being up there when Lenora had pulled away, stammering and saying that he was married.

Oh. And he was married, did Lenora’s Omega mention that?

Yeah.

Mhmm.

The Preacher was married.

He had a bite mark on his neck.

Preston Teagardin had an Omega for a wife. No pups, though. From what the church gossip said, he only got an Omega because Omegas were easier to control. His Omega wife had been a young, defenseless thing. It was horrible, what Preston Teagardin did behind her back. He had raped a young Omega who had just presented in his car, and who was currently vomiting her guts out in her school bathroom.

Lenora’s Omega remembered how much she had pleaded, begged him to stop whatever he was doing to her because she was currently sweating so much. Beads of sweat rolling down her temples as her Heat made her scent riper. Lenora had remembered saying, pleading, crying out so many no’s. She had pleaded with the Preacher that all she wanted was to make the pain go away. All she wanted was the pain to go away.

“I’ll help take the pain away,”   he had told her.

What he had done to her had been way worse.

Lenora had been pleading, nay, begging him no. No, no, no, no, no. All she wanted was some toys to help her out. She’d take them and go back to the Russell household to due with her Heat herself. Her pleading had turned desperate when she saw his wedding ring on his hand. She knew he was married. He knew he was married. It was a sin. Why was he doing this? To her? All she had wanted was for him to leave her alone. To stop looking at her, sniffing at her like she was something he could eat. Like a predator in the shadows, waiting to pounce on their prey.

And he had.

Oh yes, he had.

Lenora had remembered screaming until he had put a hand across her mouth. Flipped her over onto her stomach. Her Omega had been so busy screaming and throwing a fit in her mind that she didn’t register him pulling her dress up, yanking down her underwear, where she had slapped on a thick Slick Pad.

“No,”   She had been begging again, “Please Preacher- you’re… you’re married. This ain’t right.”

“It’s okay. No one has to know.”

There was a moment of hesitation.

Preston had taken that slight beat of silence as a yes.

Lenora had screamed again.

The brunette, young Omega had lifted up her head from the toilet bowl. The urge to vomit was still there.

Never had she ever felt this sick.

He had violated her body. Taken a piece of her that she could never get back.

Now, Lenora’s Omega was fully convinced, that she was pregnant with this fucker’s pup.

Lenora could feel the bile rise up to her throat again. She vomited into the bowl again.

Her scent of cherries and vanilla was burning. Making her eyes water.

Not to mention her Omega was throwing the biggest hissy fit known to man.

Her Omega wanted blood.

She wanted justice.

But now…

Now...

Everything had gone wrong.

Everything had been utterly ruined.

At the same time in Knockemstiff with you and Lee...

Carl was staring at you.

Actually, he had been interested in you ever since he came here.

Why would his brother-in-law be with someone like you?

It perked his interest.

So he watched you.

All the while your eyes were completely focused on the TV.

When Carl had been young, he never really stood out in crowds. He was always awkward. He discovered a love for photography when he had been young. He had been the only Beta in his family. His father had been an Alpha, his mother an Omega, his sister an Omega, and his brother an Alpha. His parents had always favored his brother over him, even though he had been the eldest.

With all the things at home… he never felt any happiness.

Photography slowly became his comfort.

The first time he had killed someone was when he had been in his early twenties. A simple knife through the neck incident.

It had also been his first picture.

Carl… Carl couldn’t begin to explain the euphoria that had run through him then.

Like a switch had flipped.

He had found his calling.

His true calling.

And when he had married Sandy, he had made it his life’s work.

Every murder, every picture… it was like a piece of heaven. Like Carl was close to those pearly white gates. Almost as if he was being baptized and made holy.

The Beta man had always used his Omega wife as bait to lure in his victims. Omegas had naturally sweeter scents. Easier to lure in prey. Carl never had an issue with his wife getting all of the men. Alphas or Betas. He knew male Omegas didn’t exist. Just like female Alphas. So, he didn’t mind that his Omega wife did the bulk of the work.

Until now.

Knowing how good Omegas smelled, it didn’t surprise him by how good you smelled either.

But you?

You smelled really, really, really good.

Even better than Sandy.

You smelled like chocolate chip cookies. Freshly baked. As if he had just pulled them out of the oven.

And your gland.

There was Lee’s bite mark on your neck. Showing the entire county who was your Alpha. Who you belonged to. Carl had noticed Lee’s bite on his gland from you looked to be there longer. Almost like you had bitten him first.

How peculiar.

In your society of Alphas, Omegas, and Betas, it was very unusual for Omegas to bite first. The majority of the time, it was Alphas who bit first. Omegas who bit first were considered unnatural. Unheard. Just like female Alphas or male Omegas. Not only that, it was considered taboo for Omegas to bite first.

So why the hell did Lee allow you, a normal, boring Omega to bite first?

It puzzled him.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to murder you.

For the first time in his life, he was jealous of his wife.

His wife always got her boy toys, why couldn’t he get his own babydoll for once?

Why not be greedy and have his own turn this time?

He inched closer to you. Scooted over just a bit. It made you stop.

You did not trust Carl.

Not one bit.

No.

Nope.

Nada.

Your eyes were narrowed. From where you were seated in the living room, you could still feel his stare. You were sitting on the couch. The furthest away from the Beta.

Oh no.

You were not going to sit next to him. Sandy, maybe. But Carl?

Absolutely not.

You were not sitting next to that man. That damn Beta smelled like rotten cabbage soup. You’d rather die than sit next to him.

The TV was still playing. Playing something. Maybe a sitcom? You didn’t know. Maybe it was I Love Lucy.

You had never wanted to flee from a room faster in your life. Sandy was with Lee, and you heard some conversation as they had walked through the front door. Because of their shopping trip. Bags full of groceries. You had seen Lee smile at his younger sister and laugh, his tummy shaking. It had made you smile. Having his sister here with his Omega, his Bondmate… it was good for him. Very good. He had been happier than ever.

Your mother was next door. Talking to the neighbors. You suspected she just wanted to play nice.

But you were not going to play nice with this Beta.

No.

Never.

You were not.

You would not be nice to this man. You could fake a smile and pretend to be nice, but the next time you would see him, you were going to grab your shotgun that Lee pretended you didn’t have under your bed and chase him around the house with it.

Just in case.

Although your mood was a bit better, considering tomorrow, you and your mother would be going to visit Lenora and Arvin. You missed them. You hadn’t called them in weeks.

Sandy and Lee were still unpacking the food when you had gotten up stiffly, not even sparing a look towards Carl.

Lee saw you walking into the kitchen.

His smile dropped at the sight of the sour look on your face.

Sandy watched as you grabbed the phone and spun the dial.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

Putting the phone near your ear, you waited.

There was a shuffling noise on the other line before you heard a familiar voice.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Emma? It’s me.”

“Oh! Hello dear. Arvin’s here, would you like to talk to him?” Emma’s voice trailed off. “Uh-huh,” you were nodding, your voice low, “I’d like to talk to him.”

Him? Who was him?

Lee and Sandy stopped with the groceries.

There was a shuffling noise again and you heard her shout.

“Arvin! Get over here! Someone’s on the phone wantin’ ya!”

Lee froze.

His jaw clenched.

“… Hey! Why haven’t you been callin’ the house? Lenora presented!” came Arvin’s voice from the other line.

You blinked.

Clearly taken aback.

“O-Oh…” More blinking, “Lenora presented? What’d she present as? Omega? Beta?”

Sandy Henderson felt her world stop. Or freeze. Like one of those record scratches on a sitcom before the episode would rewind back to its proper place.

All of a sudden, she remembered Roy Laferty’s words before he died.

Lenora. Her name is Lenora. She’s my daughter.

“… Yeah, but she’s been actin’ real funny lately. Ya think you could talk to her when you and your Ma come to see us?” Arvin’s voice from the other line brought both Sandy and Lee back.

You were nodding.

“I mean, Omega to Omega. I love her and all, she’s my little sister, but I ain’t an Omega, ya know?” Arvin said.

“Mhmmmm… I get it…. Yeah… I’ll talk to her when we get there… uh-huh… I miss you too… uh-huh… yeah… yes… I’m on my best behavior Arvin… no I’m not causin’ no trouble… I ain’t like you and your angry ass… naw… naw… shut up and smoke ya damn square Russell… mhmmm… yeah… got someone that I’d like you to meet one of these days Arvin… he’s my Alpha… love him so much…”

Sandy saw the corners of Lee’s lips curl up into a smile at that.

He was in love.

Her Big Brother was in love. She watched him come from behind you, walking towards you and gently put his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back towards him. She could see him bend his head down a little and rub his nose against your gland, making you giggle and squeal. Sandy saw you, watched as a smile came over your face. Your entire face lit up as you looked at your Alpha, who was deeply chuckling at your response.

There was an aching in her heart. Watching you and Lee interact was what she had wanted with Carl. A normal, loving husband. And she had that in the first few years of her marriage. Sandy had almost felt like a princess with her prince charming. Carl had been so charming.

And then the murders started happening.

Sandy had vomited the night before they had driven up to her Big Brother’s house. First, she had taken a shower and cried in it before she had actually vomited, puked her guts out into the toilet.

She had never suspected, nor expected her life to turn out like this.

She had never thought one day that she would be marrying a fucking serial killer.

No. Never.

“… Okay! Okay, yes! Okay. Bye.”

You hung up gleefully. Turning to Lee, you saw him looking so amused.

“Ya gotta stop doin’ that Lee, you’re too distractin’,” you scolded him playfully. Clearly amused, “Oh really?” Your Alpha even had his eyebrow cocked and everything. “Me? Distracting? Never sugar. I’m a good Bondmate. I always give my babydoll the space she needs.” He defended himself playfully. You just rolled your eyes. Looking at your sister-in-law, you spoke.

“Was he always like this growin’ up?” you questioned her. Sandy snorted. “Even worse,” she said solemnly with a nod. Lee just pouted.

“Gangin’ up on me. My little sister and my Omega. I’ll never forgive you two for this.”

Giggles filled the kitchen as you and Sandy snickered.

“What’re you makin’ for lunch?”

Just like that, the entire mood had shifted.

Lee had noticed you had tensed up from where you were in his arms.

Your Omega was alarmed.

Beta.

Smelly Beta is here.

Nasty Beta.

Like the church incident where you had seen the Preacher, you stiffened up. It was like you and your Omega had become one. Like you knew what the other person was thinking. In perfect sync.

Lee made eye contact with Sandy.

And then his gaze came over to his brother-in-law.

Carl was looking at you.

Lee was reminded of those leery looks other Alphas used to give his sister when they used to be young pups. Leery, predatory looks. Almost like his younger sister was something to be eaten.

Like now.

“… Lee and I bought some tomatoes. We might just make tomato soup with grilled cheese.” shrugged Sandy.

Sandy spoke your name.

You blinked.

“Lee was tellin’ me bout that book you were readin’… I haven’t been to the library in a while. You wanna go? After lunch?”

At her suggestion, you slowly nodded. Like you were coming out of a fog.

“Yeah… yeah… sounds great. Gonna go down to the Seven-Eleven, D-Lee, you want your usual?”

You had nearly slipped up.

“Yeah,” Lee said, his eyes still trained on Carl, “Yeah, that sounds good, Omega.”

“Okay.”

He pressed a kiss on the top of your head. His keys clinked together as he slipped the keys to his cruiser into your pocket. Happily humming, you said to Sandy, “Lemme get my heels on. Then we can go. Lee, ya left ya Pepsi cup in the car again… can you bring it inside to wash it?”

Nods came from your Alpha. A happy hum came from you. Maybe even a smile. Mood temporarily raised, you made your way into Lee’s room to grab your shoes.

Lee was now looking at you as you bounced down the hallway, the mere thought of slushies always putting you in a happier mood. Blue eyes continued to watch you and Sandy, watching intensely as the two of you walked to his cruiser. He saw you say something to his sister before rolling your eyes.

It was when he realized why you were rolling your eyes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Never had Lee spud to you so fast.

You were already rolling your eyes again.

“Lee,” you were saying, “did ya forgot?” You made hand gestures to the cup that was still in the car. The chubby Alpha cursed under his breath and accepted the cup from you. Cup now in his hands. Even knowing that the two of you did indeed have an audience. He couldn’t help himself. His arms went around you, making the familiar scent of your Alpha waft into your nose. It made your Omega sigh in content. And then, and then when he dipped his head down, his tongue licking, pressing down on your gland, scenting you, reminding everyone in this godforsaken county who the hell you belonged to, you melted.

Sandy’s eyes were watering. Due to the intense phenomenons, her Big Brother was giving off. Eventually, Lee lifted his head up. His eyes were dark. That dark, deep, possessive feeling all wedged and shoved down part of him satisfied.

At least for now.

Now, now, he could look down at you. Down at the mating gland that showed his bite.

“I’ll get you your usual. Cherry?”

“Yes.”

A thrill ran down your spine.

“Okay. We’ll be back-”

The sounds of the car opening and closing were heard.

“C’mon!” came Sandy’s shout from the passenger’s seat, “We gotta still come back to make lunch!”

You turned back to look at Lee.

“Go, Omega.” He told you. With one last kiss on the top of your head, you waved at your Alpha before getting into the driver’s seat.

Only after watching you drive off with his sister to the Seven-Eleven did Lee walk back inside, Pepsi cup gripped in his hand.

And when the door closed behind him, it was too late.

Lee Bodecker had been too quick for the brunet Beta man. A pudgy hand came to wrap around Carl's throat, and the man was shoved back. Right up against the wall. His small brown eyes widening in fear.

The first time Carl had met Lee, he had snickered to himself, looking at the Alpha who was his girlfriend’s older brother.

Lee had long made peace with himself, that he didn’t look like every other Alpha he knew. Or had known in his youth.

He knew he had rolls. He knew his tummy stuck out and jiggled. That his face was chubbier and less chiseled than it had been when he was younger. He saw those stretch marks on his stomach, on his thighs that used to be red, but were now faded and looked like lightning bolts etched onto his pale, milky skin.

Lee had given no shits, that everyone probably thought of him as the fat Alpha. His body type did not bother him in the slightest. Nor did it bother you. In fact, whenever the two of you were in his bed together, you had always cuddled up to him. Soft, sweet little murmurs and mumbles about how squishy he felt around you, how he kept you so warm. The way he’d wrap his big, strong arms around you, keeping you feeling so safe and warm. Like a warm blanket.

Carl Henderson did not know this Lee.

Nor was he used to it.

This Lee… his part of his brother-in-law that Lee kept so deeply buried… this piece of darkness which bubbled to the surface.

Carl wasn’t used to his.

Lee’s blue eyes were pure black. He looked almost like he was in a Rut. His scent of chocolate bourbon burned, making Carl have a headache.

The Alpha didn’t even need to try to pick him up.

There was a slamming noise.

“She’s mine.”

Lee’s Alpha was seething.

“You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t sit next to her.”

Carl’s nose was burning. He coughed. His eyes watered.

Lee’s expression on his face looked downright murderous.

“If I see or hear you harmed a fuckin’ hair on her head, I will fuckin' kill you.”

The burning urge to just put a fucking bullet through Carl's head came, rushed through him again.

His mind was completely made up.

Carl needed to die.

Carl was going to die tonight.

Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44, @bxnnywriting

Series taglist: @queensIvy

#lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x reader #the devil all the time #sebastian stan fanfiction #abo dynamics

[winterscaptain]

advocate.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!

words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide

summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Director Shepard?” 

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile. 

She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement. 

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…” 

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask. 

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.” 

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?” 

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship. 

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you. 

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?” 

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire. 

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you. 

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents. 

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner. 

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure. 

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other. 

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall. 

This is fun. 

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.” 

+++. 

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU. 

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment. 

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.” 

That doesn’t sound good. 

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates. 

No pressure. 

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” 

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.” 

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.” 

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales. 

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side. 

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.” 

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss. 

What the fuck? 

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which. 

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are. 

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch. 

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes. 

Not what I expected.

What did you expect? 

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe? 

Shut up. 

He’s handsome. 

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.” 

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.” 

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?” 

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it. 

It might be. 

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless. 

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner. 

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much. 

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen. 

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?” 

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you. 

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely. 

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.” 

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow. 

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.” 

That pulls a laugh from you. 

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.” 

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room. 

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details. 

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places. 

He wants them found, and fast. 

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors? 

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.” 

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin. 

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs. 

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat. 

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do. 

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch. 

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way. 

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.” 

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable. 

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical. 

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -” 

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.” 

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.” 

It’s not a question. 

You’re confused. 

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.” 

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for. 

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made. 

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.” 

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them. 

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long. 

To your credit, you ignore them. 

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot. 

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else. 

“I’m liking it,” you reply. 

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.” 

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.” 

“I am terrified.” 

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds. 

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -” 

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.” 

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.” 

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.” 

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.” 

“What’s the other half?” 

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.” 

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office. 

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime. 

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.” 

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head. 

“Then...what?” 

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.” 

+++

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice. 

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?” 

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?” 

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.” 

You wait on him, watching him watch the road. 

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.” 

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp. 

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.” 

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.” 

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.” 

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch? 

Because he’s the unit chief. 

I know but…

Don’t read into it. 

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed. 

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.” 

+++

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk. 

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure. 

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on. 

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going. 

There’s nothing to complain about. 

But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative. 

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after. 

It’s not in their nature, or his. 

He starts to type. 

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon. 

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates. 

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny. 

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about. 

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing. 

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past. 

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same. 

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute. 

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet. 

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work. 

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent. 

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings. 

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic. 

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”

“Yeah.”  He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case. 

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?” 

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch. 

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after. 

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried. 

“Too long,” he supplies. 

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair. 

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression. 

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials. 

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up. 

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork. 

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head). 

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning. 

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file. 

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself. 

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners. 

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…” 

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Good job in the briefing, today.” 

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table. 

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.” 

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch. 

Success. 

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.” 

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.” 

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.” 

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip. 

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?” 

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. - 

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz. 

“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.” 

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?” 

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -” 

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.” 

“Good.” 

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -” 

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.” 

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner. 

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you. 

Maybe you could just get used to this place.   

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink. 

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep. 

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon. 

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light. 

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife. 

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “ 

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...” 

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.” 

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.  

You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation. 

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity. 

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.” 

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone. 

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent. 

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.” 

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can. 

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.” 

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it. 

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.” 

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure. 

You are sure, though, that this was a test. 

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense. 

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.” 

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?” 

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.” 

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable. 

Hotch is...safe. Somehow. 

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.” 

“What?” 

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?” 

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.” 

The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.” 

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file. 

“He’s right.” 

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?” 

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.” 

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.” 

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in. 

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook. 

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised. 

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -” 

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone. 

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?” 

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.” 

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk. 

She calls him Aaron. 

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name. 

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted. 

Aaron. 

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can. 

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.” 

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it? 

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting. 

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time. 

None of your business. 

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again. 

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport. 

You can do this. 

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.” 

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?” 

Humor. Play off her disappointment. 

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.” 

To your surprise, she laughs a little. 

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering. 

Success. 

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?” 

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues - 

“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.” 

“Of course.” 

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing. 

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?” 

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask. 

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room. 

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look up. 

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.” 

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.” 

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.” 

This is above my pay grade. 

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -” 

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?” 

He shakes his head. “Any advice?” 

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade. 

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate. 

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles. 

Separate from the things that make him human. 

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home. 

It must be lonely. 

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally. 

Well, all except Emily. 

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you. 

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words. 

It’s none of my business, is what you want to say. 

Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?” 

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.” 

You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear. 

Another part of you already knows the answer. 

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you. 

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board. 

“What’s with that?” 

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.” 

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.” 

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.” 

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.” 

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread. 

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself. 

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly. 

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down. 

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months. 

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. 

I live in a circus. 

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again. 

Fuck it. 

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate. 

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” 

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.” 

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body. 

Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?” 

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.” 

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board. 

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice. 

You turn. “Yeah?” 

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room. 

“Did she ever what?” 

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.” 

You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door. 

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily. 

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before. 

This isn’t good. 

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense. 

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley. 

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours. 

She texts back after a minute. 

5:43pm Thanks. 

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case. 

Your eyes wander across the cabin. 

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window. 

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading. 

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched. 

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails. 

“Emily.” 

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding. 

“Thanks.” She looks away from you again. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history. 

You know better. It’s just clouds. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny. 

5:58pm How’s it going? 

You huff a little laugh down your nose. 

5:58pm Rough day. 

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?” 

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.” 

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.” 

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze. 

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“You should go, if she’s offering.” 

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.” 

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory. 

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps. 

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs. 

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel. 

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.” 

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell. 

You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch. 

“What happened?” 

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.” 

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?” 

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.” 

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.” 

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.” 

“Oh, my God.” 

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.” 

“How’s your team?” 

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…” 

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country. 

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?” 

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.” 

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder. 

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark. 

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net. 

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?” 

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere. 

Weird. 

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door. 

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little. 

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?” 

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off. 

Far from it. 

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.” 

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile. 

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.” 

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?” 

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.” 

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

#wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #nct x reader #nct scenarios #cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct ten x reader #wayv ten x reader #nct ten scenarios #wayv ten scenarios #nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct ten imagines #wayv ten imagines #wayv fluff #wayv angst #nct fluff #nct angst #moonwrites #ok 20k+ never again gn <3 #it's so painful to write small towns bc even if im from one (almost) my brain is permanently in a busy bustling city

[gxldenflower]

Stay Stay Stay (Bruce Banner x Reader)

NOTE: Originally posted on my ao3, supposedly_archer, on December 2nd, 2020. Both the summary and A/N are copied & pasted

Summary: Bruce watched as a name was written on his wrist, slowly and painfully. His soul mark had left his skin red, raw, and itchy. He sat there for the longest time, reading the name etched on his skin over and over. Y/N.

A/N: This is kinda messy ngl, but I had a lot of fun writing it!!!

Warnings: Age gap, little bit of angst

Word Count: 1,692

Tags: @9zoria9,  @thebookbakery

Gender Neutral Reader

Bruce hadn’t expected to meet his soulmate at a coffee shop.

To be honest he hadn’t expected to meet his soulmate at all.

He was working on one of his P.h.D’s when his soulmate’s name first appeared on his arm. Writing a paper on some subject he can’t even remember now when he felt a sharp, burning pain on the inside of his right wrist. It caused him to drop his pen on the floor and clutch his wrist with his opposite hand tightly.

Bruce watched as a name was written on his wrist, slowly and painfully. His soul mark had left his skin red, raw, and itchy. He sat there for the longest time, reading the name etched on his skin over and over. Y/N.

He knew that soulmates sometimes appeared later in life when their soulmate was born. But it normally happened when people were children, not when they were adults. The latest he had ever seen someone get their soul mark was in middle school.

For years, Bruce chose to ignore his soul mark. Covering up the name with long-sleeved shirts and wristwatches. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to not have a soul mark. And especially after the Hulk showed up in his life, he did his best to ignore it.

Whoever they were, wherever they were in the world, Bruce didn’t want them to get hurt. So, he hid away his soul mark from everyone. To protect them.

Only Tony knew, but of course Tony knows everything. “You do realize that you’re gonna have to face the music one day.” He had said to him one day out of the blue. Bruce had had his nose buried in an old SHIELD file.

Bruce looked up at Tony quizzically. “What do you mean, face the music?” Tony sighs and gestures with the spoon he was using to eat a cup of yogurt.

“Your soulmate. Those things work in mysterious ways, Bruce. You’re gonna meet them one day, and then what? It’s not like you can hide away from them.” Tony takes a final bite of his yogurt, and Bruce sighs.

“I’ll deal with it when I get there.” He mumbles, focusing his eyes back on the file.

Tony sighs. “It might be sooner than you think green bean.” He throws the now empty yogurt cup at Bruce’s head. It hits him gently on the forehead and drops to the floor. Bruce looks up and glares at him. Tony shrugs his shoulders, turning on his heel to exit the lab.

“Asshole,” Bruce grumbles under his breath, but Tony’s words had stuck with him. Fate always had a funny way of bringing soulmates together, no matter the circumstance.

Bruce looks down at his wrist, where his watchband covers the name Y/N. He takes off the watch and places it to the side. He runs his thumb over the black inscription repeatedly.

Over the years he had wondered what his soulmate was doing. Were they in school? Were they learning to drive? Were they thinking about him? Bruce knew exactly how old they were, he had been counting the days and years since his mark was first etched into his skin, even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

***

You quickly tie your apron behind your back as you exit the break room and walk into the main part of the cafe. You take your position behind the cash register, where a long line of customers is waiting.

You give the first patron your best customer service smile and apologize to him. You take his order and hand it off to the coworker that’s just appeared at your side. The next two and a half hours is a whirlwind of orders and customers as you try to keep up with the demand.

There’s eventually a lull of patrons and you lean against the counter and sigh. You glance at the watch on your wrist, but then you remember that the strap had broken suddenly last night, and you either needed to get it fixed or replaced.

Instead of gazing at the clockface as you normally do during work, you instead gaze at your soul mark. You had read it about a billion times during your life, even though it was an incredibly simple name. Bruce.

You had always imagined how you meet Bruce, your soulmate. A walk in the park, or a sudden run-in on the subway. But, you didn’t have any time to focus on that right now. You still had to finish school and find a decent paying job that wasn’t dealing with middle-aged mothers with bad haircuts.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts at the bell that signals a new customer. You smile at her as she makes her way to the counter. You take her order and hand it off to Bradley, one of your coworkers. The rest of your shift consists of the same ordeal. Taking orders and trying not to scream out loud.

After what felt like 3 days, you’re just about to untie your apron and take refuge in the break room when you hear the bell. You almost want to run off and pretend like you’re about to be sick, but something in the back of your head tells you to stay.

You smile at the man who’s just walked in. He has curly dark hair that’s graying at the sides and is dressed like he’s about to give a lecture at your college. He makes his way up to the counter and quickly looks up at the menu that hangs above and behind you before beginning his order.

It would’ve just been another order you’d immediately once the customer, but it was 6 coffees and 10 different types of pastries. You raised your eyebrows at him once he’s finished rattling off his order, and he lets out a mix of a sigh and laugh.

Your eyes meet for a moment, and you feel a sudden electrical zap in your wrist. You grab at it and by the way the man reacts you know he just had the same experience. You’re both rubbing at your wrists when you realize that it’s the wrist that has your soul mark written on it.

You lock eyes with the man and after an impromptu staring contest his eyes flick to your nametag where they stay focused. Your heart’s beating wildly in your chest and you look to the man’s, Bruce’s, wrist, but he has a watch on.

Everything that happened afterward was a mess of awkward introductions and trying to focus on whatever the hell he had just ordered. It was a blur of rushing to the break room to rip off your apron and rushing back out to where Bruce was now holding his numerous coffees and pastries.

It was a blur of exchanging numbers and trying your best to make plans to meet up at a better time. It was a blur of awkward goodbyes and Bruce almost dropping his box of pastries when he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.

The next time Bruce saw you was more planned out, you met in a different cafe on a Friday that you both had off. Bruce had been taken aback by how easy it was to talk to you. It was like he had known you his whole life instead of just one week.

You had found yourself thinking the same thing. You had never been the most outgoing or charismatic person, but with Bruce, the conversation flowed naturally and it felt like you were in your own little window of time with him.

***

It didn’t feel like it had been a full year since you’d met your soulmate when you were laying on your couch in Bruce’s arms, back pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around you snuggly. To be honest, it felt like somewhere between a minute and an eternity.

You look up at him and smile, pressing a light kiss right underneath his chin. Bruce honest to God giggles at your show of affection, and you giggle back as you turn so your chests are pressed together and you can look him in the eye.

“Hi,” you whisper to him.

Bruce whispers back, “hi.” He lays a hand on the small of your back and begins tracing random patterns with his index finger.

“I love you,” you say to him, scanning his face. He smiles and places his other hand on your back.

“I love you too,” Bruce whispers back.

You sit in comfortable silence, basking in each other’s presence. You focus on Bruce’s heartbeat that you can feel beneath you and how your breathing has synchronized with his.

“Will you stay with me?” You ask Bruce quietly, breaking the silence. He quirks his head to the side, confused by your sudden question.

“I can stay the night if you want me to, angel, but I have work in the morn-“

You cut him off, “no. I mean like.” You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from Bruce’s face when you pause. “I mean like, forever.” Your last word is barely above a whisper, but Bruce can hear it loud and clear.

“If this is some marriage proposal, you know I can’t-“ he stops and begins to sit up, pulling away from you.

You sit up as well so you’re no longer touching and shake your head vigorously. “No, no, no. It’s not a marriage proposal, Bruce. Just, just a promise. A promise that you’ll stay with me.” You finally look up at Bruce, who has his brows furrowed tightly together, looking at you intensely.

After a beat of silence where all you can hear is your own heartbeat, he takes your hand in his and places his thumb on his name that’s inscribed on your wrist. “Of course I’ll stay with you, Y/N. I’ll stay as long as you'll let me.” You notice that his voice cracks at the end.

“Does that include forever?” You ask him quietly.

Bruce smiles at you and squeezes your hand tightly. “It includes forever, angel.”

#bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #hulk #hulk x reader #marvel

[linksthoughtbrambles]

[Not uncomfortable at all!]

(Link's Thought Brambles part 3)

This isn’t uncomfortable at all. Just a completely silent ride. And an extra-long one, too. Next time she decides to leave so late we’ll miss the ferry, I should put my foot down. Say we have to stay for her own safety. The Breach of Demise is much too good of a spot for an ambush. At least not deserted now with the Sheikah excavating day and night, but still a risk. My eyeballs are dry from staring at every single shadow in the canyon. And also from glowering at that guy on Carok Bridge. What was his problem? You’d think we didn’t cross that bridge at least once a week. Who tells the Princess of Hyrule to halt? If I said that to her, they’d find me dangling by the seat of my pants from the nearest spire.

That’s not fair, is it? She’s only yelled at me a few times. Lots of jibes, though. And lots of cold-shoulder. Also a good deal of giving me the slip. Well, trying to. She probably doesn’t know she’s only actually gotten away from me once. I can be pretty sneaky. Still, maybe it’s better that we didn’t stay overnight. I’d’ve had to stay awake all night to be sure she couldn’t leave without me.

Uh.

If the slate is still hearing all this I might be in trouble.

She wouldn’t go back and read it all, would she? She doesn’t like me, but she respects my privacy. She doesn’t barge into my room or demand to know the content of my letters. I remember some of the soldiers my father served with complaining about a general’s wife who always read her servants’ letters. People are always trying to eavesdrop on the Princess. She doesn’t do the same to them. She wouldn’t do it to me. Right? She read it at first, but it took her by surprise. And she’ll have to look at it to try and fix it, of course. Unless she already did. I wish I knew. Purah would tell me if I asked, but it’s too late for that.

Maybe it can’t even keep all those thoughts. It can’t fit that many words on its screen. It could be like the camera rune, though, and you just move one part aside to see the next. But I’ve heard her get frustrated that it can’t keep adding more pictures forever. I heard her talk about, uh, external storage with Purah. Yeah, I think so.

And it’s not like she tells the king much. So unless he decided to learn how the slate worked himself, which seems unlikely, he probably won’t find out about this. Then again, she doesn’t like me. If there’s something in there that could get me re-assigned, she might show him to get rid of me.

She’s really nice to other people on the whole, isn’t she? She was a lot more patient with Carok guy than I would have been. Do you need to see my credentials, good sir? She even smiled a little.

The guy must have been new. The others converged on him after we passed. Probably to tell him what an ass he is.

She hasn’t said a word to me. It’s unheard of after a visit to the Royal Lab. She’s usually excited about something she worked on that day or something they showed her. I guess my brain taking over her slate isn’t very exciting.

How can I keep myself in line if it won’t stop? I can’t just say horse, saddle, bridle, stirrup in my head for the rest of my life. I’m sick of it already.

Time for that last snack.

She hasn’t eaten anything. Did she eat the cardamom bun this afternoon? Did they feed her anything inside? They didn’t bother with me. And we left so late. She must be hungry.

“Princess?”

“Yes?”

“Are you hungry?”

She’s taking a strangely long time to answer.

“Yes.”

“I have a nutcake. I know it’s not your favorite,” Oooh, ooh, that was the absolute wrong thing to say holy crap she’s going to know I read the cookbook recover recover recover recover, “uh, but they keep well.” She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows.

Say something.

Please, please say something.

What if she’s silent for the rest of the ride?

“Thank you, Sir Link. I- I am not unfond of nutcake.”

Okay, it’s in the right-hand saddlebag, really the only thing left in there other than the bun wrapper. Oh, that’s a little unpleasant, isn’t it? I licked that. The nutcake is wrapped, too, though, so it’s not a big deal. Still, I’m definitely not telling her. Oh no, crap crap crap it’s so easy to forget she might see this later. Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think don’t think don’t think don’t think don’t think “Here.”

Why is she staring at it like that?

“I know you- that is to say, I’m sure you must also be hungry.”

Well yeah but I got my second wind. That happens if you stay hungry long enough.

“It’s a rather large loaf. I cannot possibly eat it all, regardless. Here.”

Oh. Oh, she touched the licky part of the wrapper. Maybe I should take the smaller piece so she doesn’t keep touching it. But if I do that, she’ll look at me funny and wonder why I’m doing that when she knows I know she eats less than I do. Then again maybe she’ll think I’m just being generous and letting her have the bigger piece. That’s it, that’s a win-win, I’m taking the smaller one. Just nod, don’t look at her, don’t look. Definitely don’t look. Will she think it’s weird that I didn’t let her keep the wrapper so her hands stay clean? Na, she won’t, because it’s obvious the wrapper was sticky. Again, win-win. Win-win-win, three wins!

She’s still staring at me, isn’t she? I must have done something odd. Made a face or something.

“Thank you.”

Phew.

Good nutcake. I wonder who baked it. Eh, it was probably Plynne. She’s the best at the baked stuff. Maybe I should tell her that. It might surprise her a lot, though. Have I ever said anything to her at all? I just pick up stuff when we’re going to travel. It’s like she can read my mind. I eye something, she wraps some up for me. Wow, maybe she can read my mind. The slate can. So it’s definitely possible. All the old stories say Hylians used to have cool mind powers, or at least some of us did. Maybe some people still have them and they keep it secret because it’s an awesome advantage to have. Why not? Mipha can just magically heal people and Urbosa can make lightning and Daruk does that crazy shield thing and Revali, well, let’s not think about Revali. I don’t seem to have anything magical going on, though. You’d think the so-called legendary hero would have some cool hero powers but I’m just me. I’m good with the sword, though, I always have been. I’m really fast. I do a mean backflip. Freaks the other guys out. And I’m sneaky. Is that magic? Doesn’t seem like it. I’m small and light, of course I’m fast and can jump easily.

I’m small. People don’t like that much.

I wonder if Plynne knows I keep looking at the deserts for the Princess or if she just thinks I’m very greedy. I wonder if she knows about the fruitcake thing. She still bakes it. Not as much anymore. It doesn’t go quite as fast now that the Princess doesn’t eat any. She used to really love that stuff. It’s so unkind. It’s not like there’s much in her life she can actually enjoy, and they had to ruin it for her.

Na, Plynne doesn’t think I’m greedy. She smiles at me. Sometimes she even gives me a wink. She always gives me at least two of the sweet things.

Imagine if the Princess can and does read all of this later. What will she think? She already doesn’t like me, but she’ll know how much I think about food. I guess I should be glad I AM mostly thinking about food today. At least food is, you know, acceptable. Stupid puns are stupid. And other things are just not at all okay and fountain. Street. Horse. Stars. Moon. Cloud. Houses. Window. Brazier. Gate.

Almost there. It’s extremely late. I’ll let the stable hands take the horses tonight. I should escort her to her room. She doesn’t like that, but there’s something about her walking alone across the bailey late at night that worries me. She just seems so exposed. Not that I think anyone in the castle means her harm, but if someone did, late at night when most people are asleep is the time to try something.

____

Read Next: Zelda's Dictation One (occurs later that night)

Read this fic from the beginning (it makes more sense that way).

Follow this link to the post list for this fic.

#linksthoughtbrambles #zelda #botw #fanfic

[enchantedsugden]

what happens to a love that’s not new? chapter 3

ao3 link

Robert’s unpacking one of his two bags. He would never admit it but it feels massive, hanging some of his clothes next to Aaron’s. They definitely stand out, next to Aaron’s black collection of clothes.

He smiles to himself as he thinks about how quickly he threw his stuff together, the way his sister had teased him about it.

 “There you are.” Aaron says as he walks into what he supposes is their bedroom now.

“Uh yeah, thought I put some stuff away already.” Robert says, looking at Aaron and sees that his boyfriend has that same teasing smile on his face.

“What?” He grins.

“Couldn’t wait could ya?”

“Shut up.” He laughs before looking at Aaron again and saying “I was excited wasn’t I?” Aaron grin turns soft as he walks over to the bed, lies down on it.

“As you were.” He says and Robert shakes his head, feels himself blush at the way Aaron is looking at him.

“Those draws are empty as well.” Aaron says, pointing to one of the bedside tables. He suddenly sits up, looking slightly shy. “That’s your side now I suppose, properly. So yeah- that nightstand is yours now.”

It’s like he’s looking in from the outside, Robert just can’t believe he gets to have this now.

He’s shares a room with Aaron.

He feels silly for being so exicted about it, but he is.

He didn’t feel like this when he moved in with Chrissie, he knows it’s because he was more concerned with the fact that he got so much more than a shared space with Chrissie. He got a definite foot in the business and status to go along with it.

If the Robert from back then would see him now he’d be baffled. Being happy about sharing a bedroom in a pub with a man? It would be unheard of.

Robert gulps, feels both upset and relieved. It’s freeing, the way he can let go now he’s with Aaron.

He’s upset for himself and all the years he spent trying to be a person he just wasn’t and upset for all the people he’s hurt in the process of becoming more himself- Aaron not excluded. But he doesn’t have to check himself anymore all hours of the day, it’s okay if he shows people how he’s really feeling.

“You okay?” Aaron’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah.” He whispers, his voice sounding somewhat horse. It makes Aaron frown but he doesn’t say anything, as if he knows that Robert is dealing with something that he can’t quite share yet.

When Robert turns around again to look at his boyfriend, he sees that he still looks somewhat concerned.

Robert joins Aaron on the bed- tucking a leg underneath him, he looks at his boyfriend intently.

“You’re happy about this right?” Aaron asks and now it’s Robert’s turn to frown because only a second ago they were joking about Robert’s impatience to move in.

“About moving in with you? Of course I am.”

Aaron nods and Robert hesitates slightly before asking, “Aaron, where is this coming from?”

Aaron just shrugs, like he’s not sure whether to be honest and Robert’s brain does the work of putting the possible pieces together.

“Is this because I didn’t agree to it straight away?” Robert asks, hoping it’s not because he thought they were past that but he can’t think of anything else that could have Aaron worried.

  Aaron grabs Robert’s hand as if to soften the situation. He doubts how much he should say, if he should say anything at all.

Aaron’s brain rakes over all of the things he’s told Robert over the past few days. He sighs, doesn’t know where to start.

He looks at Robert now, the way his cheeks are still a bit flushed, either from happiness or the way he had practically run to Keepers and stuffed all his belongings in two bags. It makes Aaron’s chest ache, knowing that he doubted Robert, again. Shame washes over him when he thinks back to his conversation with Lawrence, feels sick at having discussed his boyfriend with him of all people. He had let the man’s words stain him and as a consequence Aaron lashed out at Robert, didn’t let him explain.

Discussing Robert, letting Lawrence use him as a topic of conversation regarding sexuality was wrong and Aaron hates how he didn’t defend his boyfriend better.

It should be enough to have Robert here with him, happy and his. It is enough.

Aaron knows that there is a lot to what Robert has been through when it comes to his sexuality, stuff he doesn’t know about. He’s sure though that one day Robert will feel safe enough to talk about it but it’s something that has to come from Robert. He knows that.

He can wait, just like Robert’s done for him.

“I don’t doubt that you want this.” Aaron answers firmly, tries not to think about his words earlier this week.

You don’t even know what love is.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to those conclusions, thought the worst of you.” Aaron gulps, knows that’s exactly what he did. He promised Robert he’d try to be better about that.

He thinks about Victoria’s words, about Robert being trustworthy now he’s with Aaron.  

Aaron winces as he thinks back to accusing Robert of going out on the pull. Robert hadn’t done anything to make Aaron feel like he wasn’t all in, quite the opposite really. Aaron knows that it’s his own insecurities that make him lash out like that sometimes, it’s something he needs to work on.

Robert looks away, nods.

“It’s just- I don’t want to push you into doing something you might not be ready for yet- just to keep me happy.” He thinks about Robert trying to placate him the other day by saying they should start looking.

“This should be a step we’re both ready for.”

“I am.” Robert answers sincerely, looking at Aaron. “I was just worried that it would change things. And we said we’d take it slow.” He trails off with a small smile and Aaron grins too.

They did say they would take it slow and now Robert had moved into the pub.

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle.” He needs Robert to know that he’s actively trying to change when it comes to his reaction at times.

“It’s okay. I get that you got worried though- it’s just I didn’t- well I don’t want to mess this up and…” he trails off again and Aaron squeezes his hand to let him know he’s listening.

“I was just worried because- settling down with Chrissie didn’t last long and I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Aaron nods, surprised by the fact that the mention of Robert’s ex-wife doesn’t bother him.

He thinks about how much he does want a place together with Robert but knows that this might be a good place to start. He doesn’t want to scare Robert off or make him do something he isn’t quite ready for yet, especially as Robert has been honest about all of this still being very new to him.

Robert confirms his thoughts. “But this, it feels like a good first step right? Especially with Liv and everything still being quite new. But Aaron, I do want us to get a place together at some point. This is a forever thing for me, you know that right?”

Aaron smiles, squeezing Robert’s hand again. “I do, I promise you I do.” Once again he wishes he could take the things back he’d said in anger.

He does know. At first he was worried that Robert had agreed to move in with him to keep him happy, to keep them from arguing, kept replaying their conversation over and over again.

Robert’s willingness to live with Aaron’s family members, some of which have never hidden the fact they don’t like him is proof of Robert’s love for him, proof that he really wants to be with Aaron.

He sighs, hesitates before saying, “I know I fly off the handle far too quickly at times but we’re together now Robert which means we make decisions together and I don’t want you doing things just to keep me happy or because you’re scared it will break us up.” Aaron’s heart is racing but he feels lighter for saying it.

Robert looks taken aback almost as if he’s shocked at Aaron being able to read him so well.

For some people it would probably be hard to match their version of Robert up to his version, the one who does put others before himself, the one who would do everything to keep the people he loves happy but Aaron knows him, sees him.

“I-“ He tries and Aaron smiles a little, shakes his head.

“Just remember that yeah?”

Robert nods, eyes shining and Aaron feels a spark of excitement at the thought of their future, one that they get to share together.

Aaron’s starting to realise how good honest and open communication can feel when it’s with someone who makes him feel comfortable and safe. He hopes Robert feel the same.

   Aaron looks lighter after their conversation and Robert can relate to that. He appreciates his boyfriend’s words more than he can articulate. It means more than he can say that Aaron seems to understand that being in a relationship with Aaron, with a man, carries thoughts, memories and reflections with it- ones that Aaron doesn’t even know about yet and Robert hasn’t fully processed yet.

He smiles to himself as he thinks about how well his sister knows him, even if she is always sticking her nose in his business- it isn’t always a bad thing. She was right, he did see problems that weren’t really there because he was scared. He wants to be with Aaron, more than anything else. He’s finally happy and he won’t let himself sabotage out of fear.

He leans forward, presses a gentle kiss to Aaron’s mouth, his boyfriend smiling against his lips.

“I’ll just unpack the rest of that bag- the rest can wait till tomorrow.”

“Charity will be happy- think I already heard her complaining about it being in the way.”

Robert laughs, “you’d think she’s used to mess considering all the crap you own.”

“Oi.” Aaron shouts, eyes sparkling.

  Robert can feel the way his boyfriend is intently looking at him and everything he’s unpacking, most likely resisting the urge to tease him for pretty much everything he owns.

Robert in turn resists the urge to tell Aaron that he’s never felt this way around Chrissie, able to be himself around her- sharing his likes and hobbies with her.

He can’t quite believe the Woolie is his home now, that this is his bedroom he shares with his boyfriend.

He thinks about all the times he’d sneaked in and out of this exact bedroom.

He also thinks about how it was in the pub that Aaron told him to say it proud.

He’s doing that now he supposes- telling everyone that he loves Aaron, wants to be with him.

He remembers Vic’s happiness when he told her that he was moving into the pub, Diane’s knowing smile.

Even Andy had given him somewhat of a kind nod as he passed Robert on the street when he was carrying his stuff over to the pub earlier.

It’s still hard to shake off the past, the memories of who he was last year but whenever Robert is reminded of that time it shocks him how much has changed, how much he has changed.

Last year he could’ve never had imagined being in a proper relationship with Aaron, let alone be together with him in public. Robert can’t believe he used to think people would care about it or judge him for it. People might be wary of Robert because of the mistakes he made, the cheating but not because he’s with Aaron.

He wishes he could have known sooner, wishes he didn’t cause all this hurt and nearly lose Aaron forever.

Of course he knows why he genuinely believed that being honest about wanting to be with Aaron would be the end of the world back then. Sometimes it’s still hard to battle through his feelings and thoughts about his sexuality, maybe it always will be hard.

He looks at Aaron, his boyfriend watching him in concern and Robert realises he must have been standing there with one shirt in his hand for at least a few seconds, just staring into space.

He feels safe in the knowledge that one day he will find the words to tell Aaron everything.

“You okay?” Aaron’s asking and Robert nods, smiling.

“You looked sad.” Aaron says, not letting it go just yet.

Once again Robert is reminded of how much Aaron cares about him, sees him.

“I’ve never been happier actually.” Robert says sincerely and Aaron smiles again.

#final chapter time <3 #robron fics #mary writes fic

[poisonousroxstar]

Imagine:

Wally with a cheerful trainer s/o, who's dying from an illness

Trigger warning: dying reader, dead reader. Illness. Angst. Toxicly positive reader? Possible grammar mistakes.

Wally first met you on the day he was going to get his very first pokemon! To his surprise, you were here for the same thing! Norman was nice enough to lend you both a spare Pokémon and balls for you two!

He remembers how nerve-wracking but thrilling it was catching his ralts. When he did, you praised him! And gosh, he couldn't help but blush at your comment.

He invited you over to his parents house, and you both became quickly familiar with one another; becoming friends (and also rivals) very quickly!

Since both of your pokemon were relatively weak, the two of you decided to train together.

Eventually, you were confident that your Pokémon was ready to take on the first gym! Wally wasn't nearly as confident though, thus you two parted ways.

You told Wally you'd see him around! Giving him a gleeful smile that made his heart skip a beat. It appeared he had a small crush..

You guys wouldn't meet again until the second gym. Wally had moved to come stay with his uncle, and by then he had gotten a little stronger! When he saw you, Wally couldn't help but get a little giddy and blush ever so slightly.

After your guys' battle, his uncle invited you over to his home. He noticed how his nephew was behaving, and thought it might be good to bring over his crush!

You cheerfully accepted! And even wanted to race Wally there! Although, that didn't work out as his condition rendered running a bit.... Problematic. Soo, instead of that, you trailed alongside him and chatted about your adventures and experiences so far.

You sort of took a break on your journey to spend time with the lime haired boy. And he couldn't have been more thrilled!

At first, you two trained together. Being on break didn't mean you couldn't get some experience in!

Eventually, you two started doing everything together. Hanging out and enjoying the beautiful area, especially the flowers. Fooling around, even if Wally sometimes protested against your ideas. And lazing together during uneventful days.

It was on one of those days you asked about his condition, and what it was that forced him to move to his uncles.

Wally paused for a moment, before replying with an answer. He thought that by becoming a trainer, he could become stronger, both as a person and with his illness.

His answer made you admire him, and you felt like you owed him something in return. So, with your cheerful tone that made beautiflies flutter in his tummy, you said:

"well... I'm technically dying!"

Wally gave you a shocked expression, and almost thought you were joking because of your tone.

But it wasn't a joke, unfortunately. You told him you had an illness that was slowly killing. You became a trainer as a way to see the entire region before your death, and take on the gyms in an attempt to become the champion of hoenn!

Wally stayed with a shocked expression "s/o... I'm so sorry..". You hushed him, saying that you weren't afraid of it, or sad. Maybe you were a long time ago but now? You were fine!

To lighten the mood, you reassured him that everything was ok. Wally was awed at how much you accepted your fate. He understood, since he had his own issues as well, but to know you were dying and still be happy? He doesn't think even he could be as jolly.

You brightened up the somber atmosphere with optimism, stating that you were here, and ready to make the most out of everything!

Wally couldn't help his racing heart when you smiled. Your cheerfulness and determination made him feel so warm and fuzzy inside. It was more then obvious he had a massive crush on you, and in a way, you returned those feelings as well.

Once that was clear cut, you decided to ask him out! Gosh, he was a blushing mess when you did, stuttering over his words and behaving more meek then normal. But... He accepted, a small smile on his lips.

The date was simple, but very cute. You two were strolling together around both Verdanturf town and Mauville city. The old couple of the daycare even let you both help tend with some of the pokemon. Although Wally was a bit hesitant, the pokemon cooed to his gentleness and calm nature. It was truly a precious moment!

It didn't take much time for you two to become a thing! Although yous never said it directly, it was clear as day you two were helplessly in love with each other.

It was also around this time you and Wally decided to resume your pokemon journey. Wally suggested you two stick together for the remainder of it, and you found the idea cute, so you two did!

But the plan didn't last too long.. halfway through your two's adventure, you began to cough. You often didn't think much of it, since it was something that happened a lot for you. Given your conditions and... everything.

But once you looked down at your hand, you noticed it was stained with.... Blood? You had coughed out blood, some of it coming out in small clumps.

This hadn't happened before, and you were actually... Very scared. Perhaps because it reminded you of your morality.. or because of Wally.

You couldn't let him see you like this. What would happen? How would he react? The last thing you wanted was to suspend his own adventure just because of you.

Wally noticed how quiet you got after your coughing fit, and asked if something was wrong. You hid away your bloody hand and hastily wiped any remaining traces of blood on your mouth, turning to him with your smile that always tug on his heartstrings "Yep! I'm fine! Just..."

You had to find an excuse. A way so Wally wouldn't suspect something. So, in a slightly sudden voice, you told Wally it was time to part ways.

At first, he interpreted it as you breaking up with him, which left him confused and very hurt; but when you explained it was just because you wanted to get the next gym badge, he sighed in relief you weren't ending the relationship. Although he was still puzzled by why you wanted to go on your own and a part of him didn't want you to leave. Something didn't feel right.

But you reassured him you'd see him again! And told him you two could still keep in contact through the phone! Although he still felt like something was... off... Wally just chopped it up to him being paranoid, and maybe even a little bit possessive? He wasn't sure, relationships were such a new concept to him.

With that and a peck on the cheek, you took off! And Wally waved you goodbye.

Wally then decided, he needed to get stronger! He hoped that the next time you two saw each other, you'd be impressed with how much he improved as a trainer and as a person, who wasn't bound to his illness.

Illness.. that's right, you were also sick, but much worse. Honestly, you were so good at hiding and quickly recovering from the symptoms, Wally almost forgot you were dying..

His chest ached at the thought of you dying. One of his fears was you dying before he could even talk with you again. His heart held so much love for you, and Wally wished that somehow he could take away your pain...

But your numbered days served as motivation. He wanted to get stronger, for you. He wanted to show you how far he came, and how far you've come!

Wally believed in you as well. He found you admirable for your optimism. He thought you could do anything! And that, even if you were dying, you'd survive, and make it.

Wishful thinking, I suppose.

But as Wally got stronger, you only grew weaker. The doctors you had visited said your condition had suddenly worsen out of the blue.

They said, at best, they could give you a few extra weeks of life. Maybe a month or 3, but you'd be heavily restricted. At that point, you'd be stuck to a hospital bed; your journey finishing right then and there.

So, you went against what they said. You held onto hope that, at the very least, you'd be able to collect all the gym badges.

Your calls with Wally became a bit more frequent, which he didn't reject to. Actually, he was really, really happy to hear you! Sometimes he'd get scared that something awful happened to you, so hearing your voice helped calm him.

You avoided telling him the truth though, instead asking about him, his Pokemon, and how far he is. Wally answered every question you had, becoming especially bright regarding his trainer status. You could hear the light and excitement irradiating from his voice, which made you smile.

When he asked about yours, you put on a cheery voice as you often did. Telling him everything was grand! You'd gotten a lot stronger, and had managed to collect another gym badge!

He congratulated you, saying how awesome you were! He asked if, when you two met again, you'd be willing to battle him.

You paused for a moment, not sure how to reply. You didn't want him to see you, not in your slowly deteriorating state. But at the same time you missed him. You wanted to see him again, physically. So, with an unheard reluctance, you agreed to the brawl!

Wally was concerned. You had never sounded so meek before. Never sounded so resistant to see him. He wondered if he did something wrong? If he displeased you someway. He tried not to let it get to his head, but the thought did irk him.

..when Wally finally saw you, he noticed how different you looked. Wally wasn't oblivious, but he didn't know how to bring it up. So, for the time being, you guys caught up! You told Wally how far you've gotten so far, and showed off your collection of badges! You also showed him your Pokemon, how strong they had gotten.

But Wally kept quiet, or replied only in short sentences. You notice his concern expression intensify upon bringing your Pokemon out. Their faces showed hints of sadness.

Finally, Wally asked if you were ok. Your quick reply more or less confirmed you weren't, despite your response portraying the contrary.

He took your hand into his and told you softly that, it's ok if you don't want to tell him. He just wants to make sure you're fine. His skin was so soft you had just noticed, and his delicate hold brought you comfort.

So, with hesitance, you finally told him what was happening. You told him how your illness had advanced, how limited your time was, what they adviced and why you went against it.

Wally looked at you with shock and sadness, but he tried not to overreact. Instead, he held you.

You brushed off his concern, and challenged him to a battle! Wally was stunned by how quickly you tried shifting the topic, and he declined at first. But you reminded him of the ole' trainer rule:

If two trainers lock eyes with one another, it is mandatory they begin a battle!

You wanted to distract yourself and him. You didn't want your illness to be a burden. At the very least you wanted to enjoy the time you had with him instead of focusing solely on you.

When the battle concluded, as if on cue, you coughed out. Wally could tell you were in pain, even if you tried playing it off as if you weren't. He quickly came to you, asking what was wrong and if he needed to call the hospital!

You weakly say it's fine, but Wally rebuked in an attempt to bring you back to reality. It was obvious you weren't 'fine', and he tried to convince you to go see a doctor; at the very least they could offer you some sort of pain reliever!

What was only worry for your well-being evolved into an argument. Even if you put on a happy face and chipper persona, you were suppressing a lot of emotions, and Wally was the unfortunate 'pin to the balloon'.

You let everything pour out, such poisonous words being thrown at him. Wally was stunned into silence by you, only able to endure your verbal assault. Your toxicity would of likely continued if another coughing fit hadn't taken over.

But this time, you weren't able to hide the pain. Your coughs rapidly grew worse, and the ache became too much to the point where your legs buckled in.

Wally panicked when he saw you dropping, but was able to keep calm enough to call the ambulance. He tried to help you as much as he could, but he didn't know what to do. Even you didn't.

When help finally arrived you had completely knocked out, a sickening pool of dark crimson pouring from your mouth that had convinced Wally for a moment that you were gone.

You were rushed to the nearest hospital. Wally wanted to come along with you, but the doctors refused and didn't take the precious time to hear his pleas.

..for the next few days, all Wally could think about was you. His journey had reached another stop, and he tried to stay at the hospital for as long as he could.

The only people he seemed to interact with was his gardivour, his uncle, and his parents. Other then that he had turned completely mute.

He felt guilty, as if this was his fault. The last thing you'd remember if you didn't make it was the two of you getting into an argument. Maybe if he hadn't been so pushy, you wouldn't of had a fit and be here.

He knew it was dumb to think like that, but he couldn't help it.

Sometimes, he'd visit your Pokemon who had been transported to a daycare in the hospital. They seemed just as scared as Wally was, but he knew fearing wouldn't do anything; it wasn't what you wanted either.

So, he tried to be positive. He thought you'd be able to pull through. You were one of the strongest people he knew!

You couldn't die yet, not when you hadn't even completed the gym challenges!

His optimism brought hope to your Pokemon, and to him as well! But Wally was split if he truly believed in what he just preached.

And every day that passed. Every hour you remained in your bed, motionless minus your chest pumping up and down from a machine you were hooked up with.

That hope grew dimmer and dimmer.

Sometimes he'd talk to you, gently rubbing your hand. Your guardian(s) allowed him to be near you, which he couldn't be more thankful for.

He'd tell you about his day, how boring the hospital was. He wondered if you could hear him? He hoped you could.

Wally missed you. He missed you so, so much. He missed seeing you walking around, he missed hearing your voice; he just wanted you.

Wally tried to pull himself together. He didn't want to seem weak in front of you, not when you needed the utmost attention right now. But he couldn't control himself for long.

Wally's gentle whimpers grew into uncontrollable crying. He was pleading to you, pleading to anyone, begging anyone to just---not take you away.

"P-please, S/O... I can't lose you. I...I love you!"

He wanted his words to reach you somehow, so that maybe... Maybe you would wake up.

But no amount of love laced words could pull you from your eternal slumber.

Your heart monitor began dropping. The beating of the machine inducing an intense anxiety into Wally. He cried out for help, and the doctors and nurses flooded the room like water.

Wally was pushed outside the room and force to watch as the medical team desperately tried to revive you. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when every attempt resulted in nothing. No response, nothing.

The doctor came up to Wally, a sad expression on his face. The world went silent. He was muttering out words, lips moving, but Wally couldn't hear anything.

He didn't need to. He knew.

And he just breaks..

He's crying, perhaps even hyperventilating as the doctors attempted to calm him down. Wally knew you were gone. He thought he would be prepared for it, but the impact was too much for him to handle.

He cries, he cries a lot.

And then your funeral comes, but there aren't any tears. Not because he isn't sad, but because he can't squeeze anymore out. He just looks at your coffin in melancholy.

For awhile, Wally doesn't leave his house. When he returned to his parents, he is was nearly mute, and only stayed inside. All that progress had regressed, and he was back to his old self.

Wally wanted to care for your Pokemon himself, but he just wasn't in a good place. He couldn't even care for his own Pokemon, but they understood; your death affected them as well.

With some outside help from his family and his/your Pokemon, Wally slowly got better. Slow, but better.

It was painful for him, but he had to accept keeping you in memory while moving on.

He likes to think you'd want him to go forward, complete his journey. And he came up with a motivator; he couldn't be doing it for himself now, but for the both of you.

He'd do this. For you, and for himself.

He'll get stronger. He'll get braver. Because that's what you may of wanted from him.

Wally would never love someone as much as he did you. You mean the world to him. If only you two had more time together.

Wally will always miss you. The pain will lessen, perhaps even some of his feelings. But his love for you will mostly remain intact.

Wally would visit your grave frequently. But as time went on, the visits became less frequent. Still, he always brought your favourite gifts and most times your Pokemon came along with him.

He'll never forget you. Never.

This lovely artist is the person, I believe, made the drawing! I didn't ask for permission however, so if they ask me to remove the art, I shall!

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #wally pokemon #wally #pokemon headcanons #pokemon imagines #x reader #x s/o #x y/n #angst #pokemon angst #dying reader #dead reader #wally x reader #headcanon #x reader headcanons #x reader imagines #x reader imagine #x reader headcanon #pokemon s/o #pokemon x s/o #anime #anime x reader #anime x s/o #anime headcanons #anime imagines #anime imagine #anime reader #anime x reader angst

[chuuyasnumber1simp]

All I Ever Wanted- Karma x shy! Reader

ask: Heyyy can you do a oneshot with an karma x shy! Reader please 

@anime-allover 

a/n: hello! thank you for being my first request! this was fun to write, I had a lot of fun with it, as someone who was labeled ‘shy’ for most of my childhood, I think I got a lil carried away hehe

sorry this is so long! it's more like a mini fic now :/

if this isn’t what you had in mind or want something shorter let me know!

Warnings: A bit of violence at the end, like two curse words 

also, this is highkey inspired by the song “Me and My Husband” by Mitski Mitski

People were often confused by your attitude.

Much to their confusion, you didn’t hate people- others often thought you did.

No, you hated the thought of all the stares, all the eye’s on you.

The thought of all those people judging your every movement, you’re very being, that's what scared you.

You never wanted to downplay your emotions, but the thought of being disliked for who you were was terrifying.

Whenever you entered a room, your skin would crawl with how the people there seemed to size you up, like lions looking for a meal. Unfortunately, you were the poor gazelle.

By no means were you helpless. No, you were far from it. It was simply a matter of finding someone who would accept you for who you were, for all your quirks and flaws.

The search for that person was what put you in the dreaded class 3-E in the first place.

Unable to click with anyone in your class, you became discouraged, causing your grades to slip. Going to a class where nobody liked you made you nauseous, and that was your breaking point.

So here you were. Three months into the first semester and you already dropped this low. You couldn’t even muster up the courage to go to the mandatory meeting where the teachers were supposed to brief you on your life in this class. You didn’t see the point of going to a meeting where all they would do was berate you for falling behind, so you simply did not attend.

That was your first mistake.

Mentally preparing for seeing all eyes on you, you opened the door.

You had prepared for a classroom full of kids staring at you.

You hadn’t however, prepared for a yellow octopus looking thing to look at you as well.

“Good morning Y/N! Welcome to Class 3-E, I am your new teacher Koro-sensei!”

Oh my god, it talks why is it saying it’s my teacher what the hell is going on wow I think the floor is coming to me wait no thAT’S ME FALLING TO THE FLOOR-

If you were conscious, you would have been absolutely mortified at the thought of fainting in front of the class, but alas, you were not. For now.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain redhead had doubled over laughing in the back row.

“She didn’t even scream! Just plop face down on the floor!”

The blue-haired boy he was acquainted with yelled at him.

“Karma! Leave her alone!” though, his reply went unheard over the uproar of laughter resulting from Karma’s comment.

Shaking his head, Nagisa walked up to the front of the classroom where you were still passed out, and lightly shook your shoulder.

“Y/N? Hey um, are you okay?”

Slowly regaining consciousness, you tried to look u and see who roused you from your slumber.

“Mom? What time is it-” The face you saw was that of your mother, but one of the kids in your class.

“Oh um I guess you don’t remember, but you just fainted after seeing Koro-sensei. I'm Nagisa Shiota, and uh-oh,” Nagisa paused before fishing a hanker-chief out of his pocket. “Your nose is bleeding,”

Nagisa seemed to sense that you were still in shock about the quick succession of events in such a short amount of time, so he gently took your hand and placed the white cloth in it. 

“Your seat is in the back row, next to the boy with the red hair. His name is Karma,”

“And I’m your best friend, right Nagisa?” the boy -Karama- shouted back.

“More like my worst nightmare,” Nagisa grumbled, though from the look in his eyes you could tell he didn’t really mean it.

On shaky legs, you stood up and walked to your seat beside Karma, tears brimming in your eyes at how some of the kids snickered at your earlier display. Fainting had been the absolute worst way to meet your new class, and though Nagisa at least seemed very kind, you still had no idea what the octopus thing -Koro-sensei- was doing here.

Setting your bag down, you sat in your seat, folded your arms, and rested your head in them, hoping to block everything out, even for just a moment.

Something poking your arm roused you from your small mental breakdown, and you lifted your head to see Karma poking you with the end of his pencil.

Looking around the classroom, it was like your worst fear had come true.

Every single pair of eyes in the room was on you, some even pointing.

“Y/N? Were you listening?” Koro-sensei asked from the front.

You swore everyone could hear your heart by now, you ran your hands together in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“I-I’m sorry sir, could y-you repeat that?” At this point, the only thing that could make this day worse is if he made you introduce yourself to the class.

“I was asking if you would mind introducing yourself to the class?”

motherfu-

“O-oh okay, um, my name is Y/N L/N, and if I'm being completely honest, I have absolutely no idea what's going on,”

“Oh? Did you not attend the teacher’s briefing?”

It seemed that had indeed been a bad choice on your part.

“Um no? I didn’t want any more people to yell at me about my grades, so I didn’t go I guess. I'm sorry,” You cringed internally, hearing your voice get quieter the longer you spoke. You swore, whenever you didn’t know somebody it was like some weird nervous person took over and you turned into a stuttering mess.

“It is quite alright Y/N! It was actually required by the government for you to attend, as it explained my presence and your mission here in 3-E, but I’ll tell them you were sick and couldn’t attend,”

You were taken aback by Koro-sensei’s forgiving attitude, expecting a much harsher rebuke.

“T-thank you very much, sir,”

“You may sit down now, I’ll have Karma and Nagisa explain everything after class, they are the most knowledgeable on the subject. This will also give you the opportunity to meet your new classmates!”

You merely nodded from your seat, unable to will your voice to make a single sound.

The class passed fairly quickly, and you were quite surprised at how well Koro-sensei taught. You never excelled in math, but the way he explained things seemed to click in your brain. It was a pleasant change from the fast-passed, stressful lessons you were accustomed to before.

Light tapping on your desk roused you from your thoughts.

“Hey, it’s Nagisa again. Me and Karma are supposed to explain things to you. Do you mind if we do it while we eat?”

You nodded your head vigorously, eating always calmed you down.

“Alright, I’ll pull up a chair and we can share a desk if you don’t mind?”

You shook your head no, and turned to Karma, wondering what his lunch was.

You’re eyes practically leapt out of your head at the four bento’s filled with extravagant food he pulled out of his bag. You practically started drooling at the thought of eating all that delicious food, and you were tempted to steal one while he wasn’t looking. All you had was a sandwich, and suddenly the thought of eating it didn’t seem so appealing.

“Do you want one?”

The sudden question surprised you, you hadn’t known Karma for very long, but he didn’t seem like the type to share.

“Oh I'm sorry I didn’t mean to stare it just looked really good and you had a lot more than I thoughtandimsorryimtalkingwaytoomuchillshutupnow,”

Karma whistled at the sheer speed at which you spoke, and you tuned your now warm face towards your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how embarrassed you were.

The view of the desk seemed very appealing, but what was more appealing was the bento that was slid across your desk.

“Just eat it. I highly doubt that little sandwich is going to keep you going all day. You looked so pale when I offered I thought you were going to face plant again,”

“You’re right I'm so hungrythankyousomuch,”

You ate the food with fervor, relishing how the flavors danced on your tongue.

You hadn’t expected fainting and being given a bento box to be the start of a friendship, but here you were.

It had been two weeks since you fainted in front of everyone, and you were finally started to warm up to everyone.

They were all honestly very nice, though a bit annoying sometimes, they didn’t seem like bad kids.

And ever since that first day, Karma had brought a bento, just for you.

It was different every day, but the fact that he cared about you from the small interaction to bring you food warmed your heart.

Now, you were animatedly discussing assassination tactics with Nagisa, Karma sipping on strawberry milk- like usual.

“You know,” Karma said, putting down his strawberry milk. “You do this thing whenever you get excited Y/N. Your eyes light up and you talk like a million miles an hour,”

You shrunk inside of yourself at his comment, thinking he was making fun of your habit.

“It’s cute,”

You snapped your face up to his, surprised. No one had ever referred to you as cute before. Sure, there was the occasional creepy guy that would catcall you or the pervy boys in your old class that tried to look up your skirt, but that was about it. Usually, it was always you’re such a weirdo, or you can’t even talk right, you must be stupid.

That thought played on loop in your head for days. Just that single comment.

Karma thought you were cute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had avoided it for long enough, faking illness, ‘accidentally’ rolling your ankle, conveniently getting a migraine, but you could avoid it no longer.

P.E.

It’s not that you were bad at it- quite the opposite actually.

You just didn’t want your classmates to think you were showing off, and you still weren't a hundred percent comfortable with the thought of killing Koro-sensei. Your parents stopped talking to you after you were transferred to 3-E, so he was the most supportive adult figure in your life right now.

But unfortunately, he had also seen right through your attempt and falling ill today, so here you were, lined up with everyone else, ready wishing this was over.

“Alright everyone, today we’ll be going over flexibility and acrobatics. Both are key aspects of assassination, especially for getting yourself out of sticky situations,”

Great. Now everyone will definitely think your showing off.

“We have bars, a trampoline, and mats to test your skills in these areas. Please begin stretching to prepare,”

Karma leaned over to whisper in your ear: “Dude, you look constipated. What’s up?”

You gritted your teeth in dread, completely ignoring Karma’s comment about your face. “I’m good at this,”

“What?”

“I’m good at this stuff. That’s the problem,”

“I think you need to go to the nurse's office because that doesn’t make any sense. If your good at it, then what’s there to worry about?”

Oh how you wished you had Karma’s attitude, but your brain simply did not work like that.

He sighed next to you, then reached out a hand to ruffle your hair. The action caused your brain to short-circuit, and while you previously were imagining all the different ways this could go wrong, the only thing you were able to process was Karma’s hand on your head.

“Whatever you're overthinking in that pretty little head of yours, I promise it’s not going to be as bad as you think it is, so stop worrying. You make an ugly face when you think too hard,”

“Y/N. It’s your turn,”

Karma retracted his hand at Karasuma’s voice, leaving your an anxiety-filled blushing mess.

You breathed slowly and stepped up to the mats, flexibility being the first test.

Looking back into the crowd, you noticed Nagisa giving you a thumbs up and Karma smiling at you. Seeing them silently root for you gave you a bit of courage, so you slid into the splits with ease, stood back up, the bent into a back-bend. Next was a kick over, then a handstand, all executed to perfection.

Not giving yourself time to overthink and panic, you turned to the bars and performed your moves with grace, just as you did at gymnastics practice.

Lastly was your specialty- the trampoline.

Usually, the trampoline was a tumbling mat, but you would just have to make do.

The trampoline was long, spanning about 20 feet. Longer than your usual routine, but that was nothing you couldn’t handle.

Getting a running start, you front flipped, then, using your momentum, did a front handspring. Jumping up once more you did four back handsprings in a row, backflipped, then as a final move, an aerial. You cursed internally, as your hands flew up in the air in the judges salute, something you did on instinct after doing gymnastics for so long.

Shocked to hear shouts and clapping, you turned to the crowd of students who rushed at you.

“That was amazing Y/N!”

“Who knew you were secretly talented!”

“Could you teach me how to do that no hands front flip thingy?”

“Alright alright, let the poor girl breathe,” Karasuma shooed the class away, then turned back to you. “That was very impressive Y/N. If you could coordinate that into assassination, I'm sure you could go far.”

You gave him a real, genuine smile. “Thank you very much, sir!”

Karma’s POV:

Karma didn’t quite understand the feeling in his chest. It wasn’t like the feeling he got when he attempted to assassinate Koro-sensei, or how it felt to break someone’s nose.

No, this was different. Something he had never felt before you.

The way his heart fluttered in his chest at how graceful you looked. Or how he wished it was him you had given that shining smile too.

And it wouldn’t go away.

He started to notice that after you came out of your shell, you smiled a lot more. Your eyes lit up, and he adored the way you chewed your lip when you were worrying about something.

Karma Akabane never thought he’d used the word adored to describe something he felt, but here he was, adoring a new aspect of you each day.

He would lay awake at night, inside his cold, empty mansion, thinking it would be better if you were in it.

Wondering if you felt the same way about him.

He couldn’t bear to think that you didn’t. This new feeling, one he’d never felt before, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And he had no idea what to do.

Nagisa’s POV:

Nagisa had genuinely never seen Karma liked this before.

It was almost unnerving at first, the way he looked at you like he was stranded in the desert, and you were an oasis, calm and beautiful.

In all his time, Nagisa had never seen Karma in love before.

To someone who hadn’t known Karma along as he had, the way his eye’s got soft when he looked at you, or the way you could always bring him out of a bad mood would go unnoticed.

But Nagisa noticed.

The perceptive boy had also picked up on how you opened up when Karma was around, how you looked at him like he was the only person in the room. The way that whenever you bumped into each other, both of you would linger just a little bit longer than necessary. How when you dropped your pencil last Thursday, and Karma’s fingers grazed yours, both of your faces turned red.

It was almost hard to watch you both pining so obviously over each other, and then do absolutely nothing about it.

What he did not know, was that his annoyance would be short-lived, because no one was expecting what would happen the following week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was all because of those Class B jerks.

They had been your old classmates, and you were just trying to walk to the bus, Karma and Nagisa in tow when they had to show up.

“Hey look! The freak finally found her place, among the other freaks!”

“It’s fitting for her. I mean, you can’t be that weird and not get put in 3-E. Forget about grades, they should have chucked her into that dump the second she arrived!”

To say you snapped would be an understatement.

Nagisa had looked over to you, hoping to provide comfort, but the look on your face would put Karma’s to shame.

You flew towards the two boys, faster than Nagisa thought was possible, and punched the first one straight in the face.

Nagisa flinched internally, watching the blood spurt from his nose, as he actually flew backward from the force of your fist.

The second one was already trying to get a hit in on you, and Nagisa could see Karma was about to step in, but he stopped when he saw you grab the second guy's face, and slam it into your awaiting knee.

“Shut up,” He collapsed on the ground, and you crouched down so you were eye-level with him.

“Listen. I’m in 3-E now. I cannot sink any lower than this, so there’s nothing for me to lose right? So I suggest you tell all your little friends that I will not hesitate to do to them what I just did to you. Got it?”

Both shook their heads, then scrambled away from you, clutching their respective faces.

Your POV:

Your knuckles hurt. Punching someone with that much force was much more painful than they showed in movies.

And, deep down, you were scared what the boys said was true.

You were quiet and reserved, and your interests never matched those around you, and now here you were, blood dripping off your knuckles, tights ripped, hair disheveled, and they were right.

You were a freak.

Karma probably only hung out with you out of pity, why else would he?

And Nagisa only did out of obligation, after all, he couldn’t be Karma’s friend and then not yours, right?

You weren’t even aware you were crying until the tears dripped onto the pavement below your face.

“Y/N? are you okay?”

It was quiet for once inside your head. Too quiet.

“It’s okay Karma. You don’t have to feel pity for me anymore. You can ignore me, and go back to how things were before. I’m okay with being alone,” Despite your words, your voice wobbled and more tears sprung from your eyes.

“Hey. Look at me,” Karma cupped your face with his hands, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“I hang out with you because I want to. Those guys didn’t know what they were talking about. You’re beautiful and smart, and so devoted. I’ve always loved that about you,”

He said ‘loved”

“You looked badass just now. Don’t think you going crazy on those jerks is going to make me change the way I see you. If you think I’m that shallow, then you’re stupid.

I love the way you chew your lip when your worried, and I love the way you always try so hard in math even though you’re not that good at it. I love the way that you adore the weirdest things, like snakes and old music, and I love how you smile at me when you think I’m not looking,”

Crap he noticed-

“And finally, I love you Y/N. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You beamed at him, hearing the words you had always dreamed of hearing.

“Yes. Please,”

He hugged you close to his body, as he could protect you from all the bad in the world, and you relished the way his arms wrapped around you.

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of giving him an answer, you leaned up and tilted your head so it fit perfectly against his.

Despite all the strawberry milk he drinks, he tasted like cinnamon sugar, an almost bittersweet flavor. He melted into your touch, and his breath tickled your nose when he pulled away.

A light cough from ten feet away reminded you that Nagisa was still here, and you instantly withdrew from Karma’s embrace, smoothing down your uniform.

“Nagisa~ Look who just got a girlfriend,”

“Shut up,” You lightly punched his arm, but you also let your hand entwine with his.

And this was all you ever wanted.

a/n: i read somewhere that Karma’s parents r like super rich so he lives in a mansion????

#karma #karma akabane #karma x reader #karma akabane x reader #assassination classroom #lol i got really carried away #sorry about that

[inkribbon796]

Lost in a Lightning Storm Ch. 2: Far from Home

Summary: You shouldn’t talk about people, and not expect them to find out.

Chapters: 1, 2

While Henrik and Anti were talking to Tubbo and Logan, and then subsequently went off to Nate’s house to do some research, Mare went to go find Anti.

Anti was cackling with the Duke on some rooftop, who had escaped arrest after the chaos he had created. The two chaos-loving criminals were laughing and joking.

“Anti! Your boyfriend is getting too brave, you gotta[1] do something!” Mare said as he leaned over a massive air conditioning unit to get into the glitch’s face. Anti was lying on his back on the rooftop.

“Ooooooohhh~ You have a boyfriend?” Remus gave a huge smile, turning on his stomach and kicking his feet up like they were a bunch of pre-teens at a slumber party. “And you didn’t tell your best friend? For shame.”

“Shut up,” Anti kicked him in the face. Then he turned back to Mare. “I don’t got[2] a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, then what the hell is he?” Mare bit back.

“None ‘a yer fookin’ business,”[3] Anti spat back.

“M’kay,[4] whatever,” Mare rolled his eyes. “Point is, he’s trying to find you.”

“I’m right here, let ‘im[5],” Anti scoffed, still lying on the ground.

“No, the old you, the human one,” Mare warned.

“Why?” Anti spat.

“I don’t know, humans are dumb,” Mare spat. “He’s your problem, you deal with him.”

“Fook[6] you!” Anti spat and stormed off.

Directly after he stormed off, he realized that he hadn’t asked Mare where Henrik was. But it was too late to storm off. Mostly because he overheard Remus trying to weedle information out of Mare. Anti was too in his own head to admit to even himself that he was embarrassed.

So he went out to find Henrik. Except he wasn’t at the hospital . . . and Logan didn’t seem to know where he was. He wasn’t at the hospital either so Anti ran around for a little bit and found them in Nate’s house.

For a couple moments, Anti debated on how upset Mare would be if he barged into his territory. Then he figured that if Mare didn’t want him to trespass, he shouldn’t have told him to take care of Henrik . . . and Anti had been in Nate’s house before on multiple occasions.

So Anti tripped about three alarms to get into the house and Nate and Henrik watched him stroll right into the living room where they were.

“Don’t yeh[7] two know not ta[8] talk about someone behind their back?” Anti layered on the glitching and blood as much as he could.

“You are certainly getting better at zat[9] effect,” Henrik complimented.

“You bleed on my carpet and I will stab you with a soul splitter,” Nate threatened.

Anti pulled out his knife, completely offended that they weren’t screaming in terror.

Nate helped up a stake, the wood was etched with runes and spell writing. “Anti, I don’t want to explain to the rest of your friends why you’re in pieces.”

“Why the fook are yeh diggin’ inta my personal shite?”[10] Anti demanded.

“Because zer is much I do not know about you, und I vish to correct zat,”[11] Henrik told him, Nate was on his computer, still looking through old census records and newspaper reports.

“I’m right the fook[6] here,” Anti spat.

“I cannot recall a time ven ve have ever talked about any’zing,”[12] Henrik told Anti pointedly.

Anti glared at him, his nose scrunched up like the demon was about to pull his lips back in a snarl. “Why, though? No point in lookin’[13] fer[14] a dead man.”

Henrik stood up, really studying Anti’s expression, “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop.”

Anti sputtered for a moment, “I don’t care.”

“I am serious Anti, if all zis[15] investigation makes you uncomfortable or vas[16] a traumatic experience, I vill[17] stop.”

A myriad of uncomfortable feelings, that Anti refused to unpack or acknowledge, prickled under his skin and boiled his blood. He absolutely refused to be afraid of some past specter he could barely remember. Anti was better than some human who’s only contribution to the world had been dying so that Anti could be brought into the world.

So instead Anti just scoffed, some derisive, forced laugh, “Whate’er yeh two arses wanna dig up some dead bitch that did me the favor ‘a dyin’, go ahead. Here, I’ll e’en help.”[18]

Henrik watched for any sign that Anti was joking or would destroy Nate’s computer. “If you are certain.”

“Oh yeah,” Anti dismissed. “What did yeh shitebags find?”[19]

“Well,” Nate stalled as he watched Anti walk over, he stayed braced with his stake. “Don’t break my stuff.”

“I won’t,” Anti smiled. “Come on, we got some loser ta[8] find.”

“That “loser” is also a past version of you,” Nate pointedly reminded.

“Watch it, meatbag,” Anti warned. “If he wanted ta[8] stay alive, he shouldn’ta[20] died.”

“Eloquent,” Henrik commented.

“Shut,” Anti hissed back.

“Do you remember your country of origin?” Nate asked. “I’ve got several different deaths from lightning storms and factory accidents from the past 150—”

“I ne’er[21] worked in a factory,” Anti huffed, before mentally stalling because he couldn’t remember how he knew that, just that he did.

“Really?” Nate commented without even blinking. “That helps narrow it down. Means you only could have died from lightning if you’re as old as Mare says you are.”

“Mare needs ta[8] learn ta[8] keep his trap shut,” Anti scoffed.

“You were right there when he told me that, and you didn’t say anything,” Nate reminded.

Anti looked away from him, “I don’t remember this, it didn’t happen.”

“Anyways, do you remember where you came from?” Nate turned back to his computer. “I know the Septics first met you in Ireland, but are you from there too?”

“Been ta a lot ‘a places,”[22] Anti shrugged. “How am I supposed ta[8] know?”

“Well it vould[23] make it easier,” Henrik reminded.

Anti rolled his eyes, “I woke up in Australia. I hitched a ride on several hosts until I got ta[8] Ireland. I don’t know if I died there, my first ten years were a blur.”

“You are Australian?” Henrik was staring at Anti.

“No.” Hunching his shoulders up defensively, Anti glared at the doctor, “Maybe? I can’t remember. What’s it ta[8] yah[7]?”

“No, it’s not a bad thing,” Henrik rushed to say. “I just . . . it is a good thing.”

Nate and Anti just stared at him, neither of them sure which direction to take that comment, but Henrik wasn’t looking Anti in the eyes anymore. He was glancing at Anti though, a lot.

But with a country narrowed down, Nate was able to eliminate several different possible candidates. Until there were five people left, four men and one woman. Mostly because it wasn’t unheard of for gender changes to occur when a human became a demon.

“Okay,” Nate said. “We have: Caleb Carson, Hannah Laverty, Brendan O’Heyne, Angus Collins, and Joe Morrin. Does anyone sound familiar, I don’t see any pictures so . . .”

Anti’s brain felt clouded, like there was something wrong but he couldn’t place it. He felt the urge to stab something and run. Like he was in danger.

“Anti? Are you alright?” Henrik asked, there was a look on Anti’s face that the German doctor hadn’t seen on him before.

Anti’s attention drifted towards one of the names in particular. He had no memories left of that person.

Much of that person was gone now, eroded away by time, but snippets remained. Being arrested for something . . . feeling disgusting inside afterwards . . .

. . . Feeling sick as the boat wouldn’t stop shaking the world around him . . .

. . . The heat of the sun burning his skin, almost hot as the anger that burned inside of him . . .

. . . And then a deafening CRACK as he felt like his body was exploding with pain. And how they’d just . . .

“They left me there,” Anti remembered, his form glitching erratically. “They left my fookin’[24] corpse ta[8] rot!”

“Anti‽” Henrik called out but the two humans watched Anti violently shatter apart in a discorporation.

Nate surged up immediately and took out an amulet necklace. One he had once’s a while ago to safely carry Mare around. But he used his magic to scoop up as much of Anti’s aura as possible to keep him from fracturing.

“Vat[25] happened?” Henrik demanded.

“He must have remembered something,” Nate tried to calm Henrik down as he was casting spells to see how violent the discorporation was, “I don’t think it was a good thing.”

Henrik snatched the necklace away, looking at it. “Vill[17] he be alright?”

“He still seems to be in one piece, but it might take a while for him to reform,” Nate warned.

“I zink ve should stop,”[26] Henrik looked over at Nate’s laptop. “If I had known his reaction vould have been zis violent I vould have stopped ven he confronted us.”[27]

“Yeah,” Nate agreed and watched Henrik put the necklace on. “Be careful with him, an injured demon’s a more dangerous one.”

“I vill[17],” Henrik promised, and gathered up his stuff with a stiff thank you for Nate’s help and the doctor went over to his apartment with the necklace. Anti took a couple of days to reform, but he didn’t talk to Henrik. The demon would escape the necklace and then slip back in whenever Henrik was distracted or busy.

After almost a week since the incident at Nate’s house, Henrik decided that, if Anti wasn’t going to talk to him, Henrik would talk to Anti. He started out small, complaining about the coffee machine at the hospital, about how muggy the weather was.

Then, one night, while Henrik was sitting on his couch, watching some TV show, or at least had it on in the background while he was staring down at the necklace in his hands, the doctor decided to be a bit more blunt. He watched the gem, saw almost like glitchy lightning crackling underneath the surface. “I must admit, part of ze[28] reason I went digging vas[16] to get a reaction out of you.”

There was a pause to the energy in the necklace. But after a bit the glitched lightning continued as if nothing had happened.

“If you do not vant to talk about zis matter, I vill not force you,”[29] Henrik told him. “But I had hoped to get a violent reaction out of you, not to actually harm you. For zat[9] I am sorry.”

Anti’s aura shot out of the necklace was just staring at Henrik. “Why was that what yeh were goin’ fer?”[30]

“You have tried to kill me und[31] my friends many times, und[31] I vanted[32] to get you to attack me,” Henrik admitted.

“Why?” Anti scoffed, plopping down on Henrik’s couch. “If I wanted yeh[7] dead, I would’a[33] done it already.”

He took glared at him. “Zat[9] is exactly the problem, you have zis[15] odd stalking infatuation but you have tried to kill me in the past. Not to mention you utterly ruined Average’s marriage und[31] his ability to visit his children.”

“The fooker was gettin’ cucked an’ e’eryone knew it,”[34] Anti dismissed.

“She vas doin’ no’zing of ze sort,”[35] Henrik defended heatedly.

Anti looked away angrily.

The two sat in angry silence for a little while, before Henrik sighed, taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose before carefully putting them back on. “Anti, vat do you vant out of zese interactions ve have?”[36]

The glitch demon decided he would rather talk about literally anything else, but his only other option was talking about his former human life and he wasn’t sure which made him look worse. “I like it when yeh[7] get angry at me.”

“Is it simply ze[28] anger or ze[28] attention?” Henrik asked, genuinely trying to understand.

Anti still wasn’t looking at him, deciding that he’d rather take the human talk. “My name used ta[8] be somethin’[37] else.”

“Vich[38] do you prefer?” Henrik asked.

“Anti,” Anti told him hesitantly.

“Zen[39] you are Anti,” Henrik agreed. “As you said, zat[9] man is dead, und[31] you are here.”

Something in Anti’s chest tightened, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like even the reminder that he was human. But he started leaning over towards Henrik. It was just a little bit of a lean, not enough to even get near Henrik. So the doctor closed the distance for him, lightly resting his shoulder against Anti’s.

“I zink zat you like the attention, vich I am more zen happy to give to you,”[40] Henrik smiled at him as Anti still refused to hold eye contact with him. “Und ven you know vat you vant, you can tell me in your own time.”[41]

For the rest of the night the two of them sat in almost near silence. Anti wasn’t ready to admit anything, but still tantalizingly close all the same. Anti getting closer and close to Henrik until the doctor was pressed up against the side of the couch and Anti was leaning against him. Anti sat next to Henrik as the doctor just ran his fingers through his hair. Anymore and Anti would have started hissing and pulling away. But as he leaned into the touch the glitch decided that he liked this attention.

Henrik occasionally looked over at Anti, smiling at him.

And if, as he scratched his fingers across his scalp, heard him give out very quiet purring sounds, the doctor decided not to tease the glitch demon about them . . . at least not yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Anti in his AU used to be a man by the name of Angus (Jack’s “survivalist” character he made super early in his channel and in this AU Angus was arrested and sent to Australia where he subsequently died from a freak lightning storm, and then cue villain arc.

Side note: Henrik likes Anti’s Australian accent, he likes it a lot! No I will not back down from this extremely unpopular headcanon.

Accessibility Translations:

1. have to

2. have

3. None of your fucking business

4. Okay

5. him

6. Fuck

7. you

8. to

9. that

10. Why the fuck are you digging into my personal shit?

11. Because there is much I don’t know about you, and I wish to correct that

12. I can’t recall a time when we have ever talked about anything

13. looking

14. for

15. this

16. was

17. will

18. Whatever you two assholes want to dig up some dead bitch that did me the favor of dying, go ahead. Here, I’ll even help.

19. What did you shitbags find?

20. shouldn’t have

21. never

22. I’ve been to a lot of places

23. would

24. fucking

25. What

26. I think we should stop

27. If I had known his reaction would have been this violent I would have stopped when he confronted us.

28. the

29. If you do not want to talk about this matter, I will not force you

30. Why was that what you were going for?

31. and

32. wanted

33. would have

34. The fucker was getting cucked and everyone knew it

35. She was doing nothing of the sort

36. Anti, what do you want out of these interactions we have?

37: something

38. which

39. then

40. I think that you like the attention, which I am more then happy to give to you

41. And when you know what you want, you can tell me in your own time.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #birthday post #footnotes #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #Nathan Sharp #Antistein #Doctor Glitch #Anti trying desperately to run away from his emotions #finally some relationship progress #Anti's just a scraggly alley cat that doesn't know how to get a home #Anti has feels #angst and feels

[ibijau]

You’re a marked man, brother

A new ghost king emerges, and promptly marries a god A martial god's temples are being targeted by the Magpie King and it is up to Lan Xichen to deal with all this trouble

I am 100% blaming the xisang discord for this, since a large part of the plot was brought up by other people

This is a tgcf AU, not a crossover, so while I'm using some of the same settings and general rules, the characters front tgcf won't appear. I also don't think it's all that necessary to have read tgcf to enjoy and understand the story (I'm personally still just going through book 3) but since this is inspired by a certain arc in the novel, I guess this could count as spoilers.

Also on AO3

The news that a new ghost king had emerged from Tonglu mountain, thirteen years after its gates had last opened, spread like wildfire among ghosts and gods. Everyone stood anxiously to the side, waiting to see what this new Devastation would be like, especially when the Magpie King was already out there, causing all sorts of trouble whenever the mood struck him. Everyone watched as this new ghost king went to settle into the eerie Burial Mounds of Yiling and established himself there. Although nothing terrible seemed to happen at first, everyone who had breath still held it, waiting and waiting. A number of bold ghosts and demons went to Yiling to offer their service to this new king, or to beg for his protection. Some he accepted into his new domain, others he rejected, all according to criteria that no one could understand.

It was almost a relief when, nearly a year after rising from Tonglu mountain, the Yiling Patriarch created trouble and destroyed some temples belonging to a martial god. Finally, the new ghost king was living up to everyone’s expectations, acting with the sort of evil intent everyone had expected, and the world made sense again.

As far as Lan Xichen was concerned, it would have been better if the Yiling Patriarch had remained quiet. It had already been upsetting to see that Devastation take root so close to his own territory, but then the Yiling Patriarch was obviously trying to cause trouble for Lan Xichen personally with these attacks. Although the damaged temples were not his own, in some ways it would have been less troublesome if they had been. There were only a few temples dedicated to his friend Nie Mingjue on the lands Lan Xichen was responsible for, but these had been the targets of the Yiling Patriarch, which seemed a clear attempt to create strife between them.

Nie Mingjue, whose domain was up in the North, was a god with a short temper who did not take well to insult. He would have barged into the Burial Mounds without hesitation if Lan Xichen had not asked him for a chance to investigate the matter before making judgements against the Yiling Patriarch. After all, just by existing a ghost king would attract enemies, Lan Xichen argued, and it wouldn’t be impossible for some lesser ghosts to try to get rid of him by sicking a heavenly official on him before he could become too powerful. After the initial burst of burning anger, Nie Mingjue agreed that it would only be just to investigate this matter, and allowed Lan Xichen to take matters in his own hands.

As usual for matters concerning the mortal world, Lan Xichen sent his brother to check on this matter. Although Lan Wangji was only part of the Middle Court, he excelled at dealing with this sort of thing, always finding the heart of chaos and untangling whatever mess he encountered while being careful of the well-being of any mortals involved. Lan Xichen could not have asked for a better deputy than his brother, and still hoped that in due time, being involved in chaos this way would give his brother a chance to ascend on his own.

Nearly a month passed after Lan Wangji was sent down to earth to investigate, and no news came from him. Lan Xichen, at first, did not worry. It was not unusual for his brother to get caught up with things and not update anyone on what he was doing. After two weeks, this was only mildly concerning. After three, it was odd. After four, Lan Xichen started to fear for his brother’s safety. It ought to have been just a quick investigation after all, and Lan Wangji had been ordered to report to his brother without attempting to handle the situation on his own, since Nie Mingjue would probably wish to punish the culprit himself. Besides, although Lan Wangji liked the mortal world too well and could be wilful at times, he simply never disappeared so long, not once in the several hundred years he had been around.

Terrified that some evil had befallen his brother, Lan Xichen decided to start his own investigation, helped (or hindered perhaps) by his husband who he thought needed a break from his official duties. Jin Guangyao complained at length about this, pointing to the piles of work he had to do, information to collect and organise, prayers to answer, outstanding mortals to check. He also pointed out that anything which might have caused trouble for someone like Lan Wangji would pose great danger, and being a civil god rather than a martial one, he would be of little help. To this, Lan Xichen countered that Jin Guangyao was an expert in collecting information, and thus would surely help finding what had happened to Lan Wangji. As for the danger, Lan Xichen was a martial god, so he could take care of it all and keep his husband sage. Jin Guangyao, knowing how stubborn Lan Xichen could be when he’d decided they were overdue a vacation in the human world, gave in and agreed to come along.

Their first stop, of course, was the dreaded Burial Mounds of Yiling.

It was also their last one.

At the foot of the Mounds, a ghost village of sorts had sprung, where those who had been refused access to the Yiling Patriarch’s domain mingled with those who had just arrived to demand such a favour. It was a grim place, filled with the unresting spirits of criminals, demons on the lookout for their next devious plan, and a number of lost souls too hurt to move on and rejoin the circle of reincarnation. And it was there, among those miserable creatures, that Lan Xichen found his brother hanging out with the ghost of a young man toiling over a nefarious looking pot of soup.

Much as Lan Xichen wished to run to his brother, something about the scene stopped him. There was something not quite right about it, though he couldn’t find what until Jin Guangyao, equally stunned, pointed it out for him.

“I believe it’s the first time I see your brother smile,” Jin Guangyao said. “Do you think he might have been cursed?”

And that was the oddity, of course. Lan Xichen, who knew his brother better than anyone, could recognise the signs of an implied smile on Lan Wangji’s stern face, but to anyone else Lan Wangji appeared impassible and colder than ice. To see him smile outwardly was something entirely unheard of. Then, to make it worse, the young man in black and red said something that Lan Xichen couldn’t hear, and Lan Wangji laughed.

It wasn’t a boisterous laughter, nor indeed a very loud one, but even at a distance there was no mistake possible when seeing the slight shake in Lan Wangji’s shoulders: he was laughing.

Seeing this, Lan Xichen could no longer stay away. He walked toward his brother, Jin Guangyao just one step behind him. Lan Wangji stood a little straighter upon seeing him, while his companion grinned at them and waved his hand.

“You’re not the sort of people we usually get here,” the young man said, distractedly mixing his pot of soup. “I’m guessing you’re here for Lan Zhan? Ah, gongzi, could you perhaps be his brother? You do look the same.”

Hearing his brother and him be referred to so casually, Lan Xichen had to fight a smile, especially when Lan Wangji, usually so formal, didn’t protest in the least.

“I am his older brother indeed,” Lan Xichen confirmed. “I had asked him to take care of a certain business for me, but instead I find him here with you. Might I be so rude as to enquire about your name, gongzi?”

“Where are my manners?” the ghost gasped, just a touch too dramatic. He let go of his ladle, and bowed. “My name is Wei Wuxian, and I am most honoured to meet you. Am I right in guessing you two must be Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao?”

Both gods instantly tensed upon hearing that name.

There were a number of ghosts who didn’t use their name, and preferred a scary sounding title that would strike terror in the heart of enemies and future victims. Even after several hundreds of years, nobody knew who the Magpie King was, and so it had been initially expected that the Yiling Patriarch would do the same. But the Yiling Patriarch liked to do things his own way, and was well known to dislike this title he hadn’t chosen, and to prefer introducing himself under his true name: Wei Wuxian.

It was a shock for this power ghost king to be this sort of a casual looking young man dressed in plain dark robes. Certainly Wei Wuxian was very handsome, but neither his face nor his easy going aura fit what Lan Xichen would have expected from a ghost capable of rising to the rank of Devastation. And yet, it wasn’t a complete surprise either. All the other ghosts and demons around were keeping their distance from Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, instantly guessing they were heavenly officials, and thus a danger to them, but Wei Wuxian didn’t appear particularly impressed with them.

“I imagine you’re here for that business with Nie Mingjue’s temples?” Wei Wuxian asked, his attention going back to his devilish stew. “I’ve already told Lan Zhan when he came here, this had nothing to do with me. I’m not interested in making trouble, and I’d prefer to keep away from Heaven’s business.”

Lan Wangji nodded firmly to this, so earnest looking that Lan Xichen couldn’t help smiling again.

“Then Wangji should have come home right away and given me his report on the situation.”

As expected, although Lan Wangji’s face remained impassible, there was just the slightest hint of pink on his ears. He looked away, while next to him Wei Wuxian burst out laughing.

“Well, that one is my fault!” he exclaimed. “See, Lan Zhan and I met when I was still alive, and then again a few times here and there after I died, and we became good friends.”

“Good friends indeed,” Lan Xichen noted with amusement, while his brother’s ears turned a bright red. Lan Xichen exchanged a glance with Jin Guangyao who was also struggling not to grin now that he understood the situation.

“Maybe more than good friends,” Wei Wuxian admitted without shame. “Poor Lan Zhan was very worried that I’d disappeared for a few years in Tonglu Mountain, and so now that I’m back, he decided he doesn’t want to lose sight of me again in case I do more stupid things; And that’s how we got married. I really thought he’d warned you,” Wei Wuxian added, lightly slapping Lan Wangji’s arm. “How rude. I didn’t think I’d married someone so rude.”

“Being around the Burial Mounds makes it difficult to contact Heavens,” Lan Wangji said.

“Then you could have gone away for a little bit, send your message, and returned!”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “Where Wei Ying is, I am as well.”

That simple declaration had Wei Wuxian groaning and whining as if he’d been mortally pierced through by a blade, and he complained heavily that Lan Wangji was unreasonable and unkind and quite clearly trying to murder him with words too sweet. 

Lan Xichen, at first, was shocked and disappointed to learn that his brother had married in secret, but ultimately decided that the decision made sense. Although he was only from the Middle Court, Lan Wangji was still a heavenly official, and so for him to marry not just a ghost, but one of such a dangerous level, was really scandalous. Lan Xichen dearly wished he could have been present for such an important moment of his brother’s life, but it would have been complicated to organise, and his own reputation would have suffered. Not that he cared too much about his reputation compared to his brother’s happiness, but Lan Wangji had probably wanted to be kind in leaving him in the dark.

As for the rest, if Lan Wangji believed that Wei Wuxian really was innocent of that incident with Nie Mingjue, it had to be true. Knowing Lan Wangji, if he liked a person he would stay at their side no matter what they did, but he wouldn’t close his eyes to their fault. If anything, had Wei Wuxian really been in disagreement with Nie Mingjue, Lan Wangji would have immediately said so to Lan Xichen so he could try to act as a peacemaker and resolve the situation.

“Will you be staying here then?” Jin Guangyao asked Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Hm.”

“Then we would do well to find a way to explain your prolonged absence,” Jin Guangyao mused. “Let’s avoid creating trouble for everyone. If Xichen agrees, I will go back and prepare an assignment asking you to keep a close eye on the Yiling Patriarch for an undetermined period of time. That way, no matter what others say, it won’t be a lie to say that you are here on official business.”

Lan Wangji nodded again, but it was clear he did not care much what others said about his decisions. Even after so many centuries in Heavens, he still had the firm belief that a person’s actions should be the only thing they should be judged on, regardless of gossip or social expectations. Lan Xichen found that trait charming and infuriating in turns, and so was deeply grateful to his husband for giving Lan Wangji some protection against those who would speak ill of him.

Having decided this, Jin Guangyao promptly left so he could take care of this, while Lan Xichen chose to linger a little while longer and learn more about his new brother-in-law. Since he had such an esteemed guest to entertain, Wei Wuxian abandoned his stew and the ghost village, offering that they continue this conversation inside the Burial Mounds. He’d only come to the ghost village because some of those who resided inside the Mounds had complained at length against his cooking and he didn’t want to bother anyone who didn’t deserve it.

"Then you are kinder than I might have been led to expect," Lan Xichen remarked as they traversed the village. "I suppose your mounting reputation might have more to do with memories of the Magpie King's early days than your own actions." 

"Is he really so bad then?" Wei Wuxian asked. "I think I've met him once or twice over the years, he didn't seem so bad. That is, if it was even him. He never introduced himself, eh?" 

Lan Xichen refrained a grimace. "If he likes a person, he'll make their life easier. If he dislikes them, they'd better start praying to every gods in the Heavens because the Magpie King will stop at nothing to destroy his enemies."

In fact, even heavenly officials weren't quite safe. Right after reaching the rank of Devastation, the Magpie King had taken a sudden dislike to a few minor civil gods and ruined their reputation so thoroughly that their own followers, ashamed of ever praying to them, had torn down their temples and burned their broken fondations. Since those gods had all been revealed to be corrupt nobody had really missed them in the end, but civic gods had lived in fear for years after that. Even the most upright of gods had secrets they didn't want to see revealed. Lan Xichen still remembered that Jin Guangyao had been terrified his origins would be revealed, and that his followers would turn away from him if they discovered he'd been born the son of a prostitute. 

"Maybe it wasn't him I met then," Wei Wuxian mused. "The person in question helped me quite a bit back then, and I've always made enemies of the wrong people. If I'd met the Magpie King, he'd have hated me for sure, ahah!" 

"Maybe yes, maybe not," Lan Xichen replied. "Nobody knows why he chooses to like this person and hate that one, so it's possible…" 

Someone caught Lan Xichen's attention as they were about to exit the ghost village, a silhouette not far that sent his heart racing. Without thinking he abandoned the other two and ran toward the person, a young man leaning against a tree and deep in conversation with a headless monster. With trembling hands, Lan Xichen grabbed the man's shoulder, roughly forcing him to turn around so he could see his face. 

"A-Sang?" 

Assaulted this way, and by a high ranking god no less, the poor ghost shrieked and nearly fainted on the spot. He'd been given that fright for nothing, too. Although from the back the silhouette and posture had seemed to match, from the front it was clear that there had been a mistake. 

"My deepest apologies," Lan Xichen said, bowing to the terrified ghost. "I mistook you for someone else." 

"Are you looking for someone?" Wei Wuxian asked, coming closer. "An evil ghost maybe? We're family now, so I don't mind helping out." 

"No, the matter is a personal one," Lan Xichen confessed, his cheeks burning at having behaved this way in public.

"Then all the more reason to tell me!" Wei Wuxian insisted. "Who are you looking for? An enemy? An old rival?" 

"A friend." 

Wei Wuxian looked surprised, though less so than Lan Wangji who had never heard of his brother having any missing friends. Of course he wouldn't have, when Lan Xichen had kept this matter to himself. Even Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao had never been told about this, so it would have been foolish to tell this stranger Wei Wuxian. And yet, if there was just a slim chance… 

"Back when before I ascended, I had a very dear friend," Lan Xichen explained. "A few years younger than me, but we got along wonderfully and made plans to travel together someday. I remember he particularly wanted to go see the stone pillars in Wulingyuan. Before this could be done, I had to return home and deal with some things there, but as it happened, I ascended shortly after. I offered my friend a chance to join the Middle Court, but he declined for the present because there was no one else in his family to take care of his parents. He said he would gladly join me once they had passed away, but for now he was happier in the mortal world."

Lan Xichen sighed. To this day, he still regretted not having insisted some more. 

"A little while after that, someone slaughtered the entire household," he lamented. "Even the children and the elderly were all killed to the last, there was no survivor."

Lan Wangji took a sharp breath, to which Lan Xichen answered by a sad smile. 

"I know what you're thinking, Wangji, and you're right. It is the same as what happened to Nie Mingjue’s family after he ascended. It even happened around the same time, and the city was the same as well, so I think the two crimes were linked. And as for my friend, his soul was not among those put to rest after, so I believe he might have become a ghost."

"What was his name?" Wei Wuxian asked. 

Lan Xichen laughed awkwardly. 

"For how dear to me he was, I actually don't know," he admitted. "I only knew him as A-Sang. For some reason, I didn't even learn his last name either. As you can imagine, it has made it nearly impossible to look for him. Perhaps it's for the best anyway." Lan Xichen sighed. "What would I even say to him anyway? After so long, 'sorry' is a pitiful word, and anyway I am married to another now, someone who was fated for me. Still, I wish we could have had a proper goodbye." 

Lan Xichen sighed again, in spite of himself. He knew it was selfish to still miss this person, and surely Jin Guangyao would have been hurt to know his husband couldn't fully get over that old flame, even after centuries. It was why Lan Xichen had never told him, nor Nie Mingjue who would have been upset on his brother's behalf. But maybe he should have said something, because sharing this secret made him feel a little lighter. 

Still, this was a very grim topic to discuss with newlyweds, so Lan Xichen forced himself to smile more warmly and quickly changed the subject. Although the others were clearly curious, they understood this was painful for him and dropped the matter. 

Aside from that brief incident, the rest of the day was pleasant enough. Wei Wuxian was an eccentric character, and maybe a little self centered, but ultimately Lan Xichen figured this new ghost king should cause as many problems as the first one. Wei Wuxian seemed more interested in experimenting with his new power than in causing chaos, and apparently his goal with those powers was mostly to see if the notoriously nefarious Burial Mounds could be purified. That, and shamelessly flirting with Lan Wangji, seemed to be Wei Wuxian's only preoccupation. 

Still, a Devastation remained a Devastation. Although Wei Wuxian was friendly, it would be best to keep an eye on him. 

As night started falling, Lan Xichen took his leave. He promised to come visit again, and at Wei Wuxian's insistence he swore he would try to bring his husband, though it would be an arduous task. Jin Guangyao wasn't found of leaving his work behind, and had little taste for ghosts. 

All in all, Lan Xichen was in an excellent mood when he walked away from the Burial Mounds. But as soon as he was out of that place's area of influence, a panicked voice into his mind as Jin Guangyao shouted into their private communication array. 

"I'm here," Lan Xichen said, surprised that his husband had lost his calm so thoroughly. "Were you worried because you couldn't get in touch?" 

"Indeed I was," Jin Guangyao replied, already calming down now that he'd gotten an answer. "Xichen, you must return at once, the situation is urgent. More of da-ge's temple have been attacked, in his own territory, and this time the culprit signed his crime so da-ge went to confront him!" 

That didn't sound like something to panic over, Lan Xichen thought at first. Out of all the martial gods in the Heavenly Court, Nie Mingjue was the most powerful by far. Ghosts, demons, mortals, or other gods, there was nobody he couldn't defeat. 

Not unless the battle wasn't just a physical one. 

"A-Yao, the person who attacked his temples, could it be…" 

Jin Guangyao let out a deep sigh. 

"Yes, Xichen, it is. Da-ge went off to fight the Magpie King."

#xisang #wangxian #there's xiyao so be warned but they're not endgame #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #marked man au

[ajoy3fanfics]

101 Ways to shut up Granger p.3

Find it on AO3!

Fifth year

Bellatrix Lestrange had been beautiful once; Draco knew that much. Though the Malfoy’s did not hang portraits of Bella in their home, Draco had privately seen pictures of his aunt as a young woman, full of smiles, wide and toothy, laughing with her sisters. She looked striking- hair as black as ink, long and thick, twisted into loose waves that fell around her shoulder. It was a stark contrast to her pale skin, cheeks rosy with youth. She had the same eyes as his mother. Darker, to be sure- Draco had inherited his icy color from his Narcissa- but Bellatrix had the same heavy lidded look; When he looked long enough, he could see traces of his mother in her face. This was the woman his mother remembered. The sister she kept secret, hidden away in nightstand drawers and only took out when she had too much to drink.

The wanted picture showed a different Bellatrix. She looked almost grey, sickly. Her face was gaunt, starved. And her eyes-

She was just as crazed as he remembered.

Draco had only ever met ‘Aunt Bella’ once. Lucius had pulled some strings and made several sizable donations to secure the Malfoy family a visit to Azkaban. He could remember the click of his mothers heels on the stone floor as she briskly walked down the corridors, the blistering wind that cut to the bone.

And the mad woman locked inside. That, he could never forget.

She looked wild as she lunged from the table, chained and dirty. Draco had never seen a creature so unkempt. Her deep voice called out “Cissy!” in such tormented sob that Draco had been afraid that the creature was going to hurt his mother, and was astounded to see his father do nothing but look on as the lunatic pawed at Narcissa. She gripped his mother, the woman's dirty nails digging into Narcissa’s shoulders and wept. It was not until she heard his mother choke out a sad string of, “Bella, Bella” that he realized this was his aunt. Tears trailed down her filthy cheeks as she finally crouched down to inspect Draco. Her bony hand reached out, gripping his chin as she turned his head left to right.

“He’s got a bit of Black in him, eh?” She murmured, a crooked smile revealing rotten teeth. She began to card her hands through his hair and Draco froze, locked up in fright. It was all he could do just to breathe. “A little too much Malfoy, but we can work around that.”

“He’s a credit to both houses.” His mother said proudly.

“He’s a Black, Cissy. The last one. He’s got to carry on the legacy.” She looked at him seriously, leaned in to get a better look, and spoke slowly. Dangerously. “When the Dark Lord calls again, he must be ready to answer for the House of Black.”

He felt his mother pull him back, a hard tug on his shoulders, away from his aunt. When their time was up, they made no moves to visit again.

Bellatrix terrified him as a child. The witch she was before Azkaban was not the same as the one now his mother always said. She had always been a bit untethered, unpredictable. But the time in Azkaban, the isolation, the shame of losing her war, it had driven her mad, depraved.  She had once worn silk robes, but now she was draped in chains, stripped rags falling off her shoulder. Snape handed Draco the paper, his aunt holding a placard that read ‘prisoner 93’. She screamed, silent, unheard, as her matted and tangled hair flew around her. Draco swallowed as he tore his eyes away, pushing the paper towards his professor.

“I knew your aunt. In school and from… other associations.” He said evenly. Steady; Unashamed. “She will try to contact your family. She will try to contact you.” Snape looked at him seriously, “You must inform me if she does. I cannot stress the importance of this.”

Draco bit his tongue, did little else but nod. He turned on his heels to head back to the dungeons. He knew all summer that something was going to happen, felt the change in the air. It had been building up, winding towards a climax.

The coil was snapping.

~.~

Draco knew it was his aunt.. But until that moment, she seemed abstract. A portrait hidden away, not a flesh and blood family member. She was not someone he had to claim- not someone he could claim. She was too far removed from his life to be real. Until then.

A few Slytherns clapped him on the back, congratulated him that his aunt was free. Like they had been waiting for it. Like Draco should have been waiting for it.  

“To think they put a pureblood witch in a cell, just because she took up against muggles and mudbloods?” one had said. “Maybe she’ll keep up the work now that she's out again, eh? Good riddance!”

They seemed to have forgotten that she did not set her sights on only muggleborns, but on any wizard who disagreed with their cause. She followed blindly, faithfully.

Longbottom avoided him in the halls, and up until that moment he had always thought him a coward. Bellatrix was safely contained by the dementors, nothing to be afraid of. And yes, maybe their interactions did not leave the kindest impression on him, but Draco had never done more than sling an insult.

He was afraid, and had every right to be. It was easy to lock Aunt Bella away for Draco. She could be tucked nicely into a side drawer and forgotten about.  For Longbottom, she was just as present and cancerous as the day she cast that curse on his parents. Draco had only tasted this fear, and it left him in shambles.

Longbottom- Shit, he lived with it every day. He was stronger than he gave him credit for; not that he’d tell a soul that. Not when his housemates were giving him sly smiles, whispers of congratulations.

He knew he should share in their excitement; It would look odd if he didn’t.

It made him feel ill.

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Hermione looked as sick as he felt as she read the paper over breakfast. She folded it, a deep frown on her face as she stuck it into her bag. A mass breakout, they called it. He could see Potter and Weasley, shoulders hunched and faces pinched. From his spot, he could pick up bits of their conversation, all focused around Sirius Black. The two oafs were not as quiet and discreet as they thought themselves to be. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only one who saw it for what it was.

He wondered if she felt it too, like they were at a precipice. Wished he could tell her how uneasy he felt.

Wished he could do more than steal glances over his morning tea.

~.~

The days passed, and no mention of Bellatrix came for him. Weeks after, he waited for the owl each morning, looking for clues in his mothers letters to let him know what was happening. They didn’t look any different than usual; she still sent sweets and her warm regards.

Draco held out hope that maybe Bellatrix used this opportunity to start over, to lay low.

All he could do was hope.

~.~

She seemed a little more cheerful, smiled a little more.

It was nice to see the color in her cheeks, the liveliness brought back to her. Felt good to focus on her instead of worrying about a psychopathic aunt raising the manor while he was tucked away at school.

He noticed that she was meeting with a larger number of students. Secretly, of course, and never for long. Never would he tell.

It wasn’t just Gryffindors she was associating with. Every house but his own was making contact with Granger, passing her notes, discrete nods in the hallways. The exchanges happened so swiftly, so often, that it was almost infectious. Several times Draco almost found himself nodding in her direction, before he clenched his fists to remind him that no, he and Granger were not involved in whatever she had going on. Fuck, they weren’t even amicable. It was like she was a damn ring leader in a cult with all the attention she was getting. Not that one would notice on the surface. You had to really watch Hermione to see those things going on. But luckily for Draco, that's all he had to do.

Umbridge had officially asked him to trail her, was sure that Hermione was the key to whatever she was trying to riddle out. He smirked as he accepted the mission, “I’ll be on top of her, professor.”

Fuck, he wished he could be.

Or under, or behind. Hell, he’d settle to just be near her, skirt hiked high so he could see her white panties. In the library, against the stacks. Or in his bed, hands twisted into his sheets as he gripped her thighs and drove into her. He’d take her right on Flintwicks desk if she’d let him. Merlin, he would give her anything if she would let him.

She walked by with Weasley, purposefully leaving Potter alone with Chang. She had her petite hand wrapped around her elbow as she whispered something about ‘space’. She was trying to contain a smile- awful at it, really. And looking at Weasley in a way that turned Draco’s stomach. Big, brown doe eyes, stealing glances. She had thick, heavy lashes- how had no one ever mentioned that? Never talked about her bedroom eyes?

Maybe because they were always directed at a bloody weasel, no one could take notice.

He noticed.  What he wouldn’t give to have her look that way at him.

Merlin, they weren’t even amicable.

~.~

It occurred to Draco that he may have a problem.

A small one. People all over the world suffered, people died everyday. He just had an infatuation.

A slight obsession, perhaps.

Mild. Completely mild.

Fucking ludicuris.

He and Hermione were not friends, yet he knew so much about her. Too much, some might say. He memorized her schedule, how she liked her tea. Knew she preferred cappuccinos should they be offered. Knew that when she stretched, she always put her hands high above her head and twisted to the right first. Knew that when she did that, the hem of her shirt would ride up, exposing the slightest amount of skin that left him salivating. Knew she often scoured informational texts, but far preferred fiction. Knew she liked to twist a loose curl around her finger as she read, idle, preoccupied. It drove him mad, made him want to demand her attention. She never fucking noticed.

That wasn’t even the problem. He was perfectly self aware that he was a sick bastard.

The issue was everyone else.

What would Slythern think if they knew Draco Malfoy was half hard every time he watched Hermione Granger take house points away? He’d be exiled, ridiculed. And if the news ever got back to his mother- she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The tears and theatrics that would ensure already gave Draco a headache. Merlin forbid his father found out…

History has shown what happens to pureblood wizards in his family that married beneath station. Marred their bloodlines so badly they were burned out of family records.

And for what?

It’s not like she would choose him anyway.

~.~

Ron Weasley was a terrible prefect. He liked to take house points away as an act of power, a way to boost his ego. Draco found it incredibly pathetic that Weasely needed a silver badge to feel important, but that was not the part that bothered him.

It was that he idiot didn’t even take it seriously! He seemed to make up his own rules, dock points based on his mood. And it became abundantly clear that if your skirt was short and legs toned, Weasley would let you off with a warning.

Even more infuriating was that he was paired with Hermione. He’d have to see them walking together, talking about Merlin knows what. Sometimes he’d make her laugh, but most times, he trailed behind her like a sad puppy.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how different it would be had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. He was certain she’d look stunning in green.

~.~

It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing how disgustingly one sided it was. Logically, Draco knew that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Never meant to. Never would be.

That did little to curb his imagination. It was so wild that it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction.

She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. Hell, Hermione didn’t even like him.

No, not Hermione. Granger.

When had he started referring to her as Hermione? When had she begun to feel comfortable, familiar?

Granger. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prissy little Granger who was the first to correct someone when they made a mistake. Stuck up Granger who knew better than anyone else in the wizarding world- maybe the muggle one too. High strung Granger, who had one hell of a right hook, didn’t take shit from anyone. Always the boss, had to be the one in charge. It made Draco want to push her down, make her submit. No, that was the wrong train of thought. Prudish-  Granger alway had her oxford buttoned up tight, wore sweaters. He’d bet anything she was wild underneath. Granger, who-

Fuck, he needed to get his mind off of her. Needed to get Hermione out of his head.

Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that he didn’t know her. Not really.

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

~.~

Snape had never been the sort of professor who took an interest in his students, let alone those from other houses. At best, Draco could describe his relationship with Snape as awkward, but tolerable.

When Snape had asked him to stay behind after class, his heart nearly stopped beating. It had to be about Bellatrix. He was delivering news to him, passing a message his way. Something too horrid, too secret that his mother could not even code it in her daily message.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Draco.” He said, much to his surprise.

“What?” He scoffed, both relieved and genuinely confused at what the professor meant.

“You may think you are keeping it under wraps, but you stare far too long at the girl.” Draco swallowed hard.

“Its none of your business.” He spat. “And it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Perhaps.” He drawled, considering Draco’s words, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest. “But, if it were… something…. More-”

“-It’s not-”

“Then I should remind you that your aunt has recently escaped Azkaban.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.” Draco snapped.

“If she finds that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for Granger-”

“Affection?” He countered. Snape kept steady, kept pressing on.

“She will crave her flesh clean from her bone. Bellatrix will turn her fingers into jewelry. So should this be anything more-”

“How many damn times-”

“BUT SHOULD IT-” Snape's voice rose to a timber he had never heard, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I may be able to help.”

Draco froze, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Help how?”

~.~

Pansy was nothing if not a good distraction. Better than the Greengrass sisters, and aside from them, there were very few options left for Draco.

Yes, there were others available in different houses. Pureblood ones too; but it was expected that Draco would bed and wed a Slythern. Asinine traditions and expectations.

He was becoming increasingly tired of expectations.

Like valentines day.

Whose brilliant idea was it that witches needed the red carpet rolled out for them, just because it was the 14th of February? Chocolates from Switzerland, jewelry that dripped in gems. Cards and romantic gestures, adding layers of intimacy to a relationship. It felt forced and unnecessary; He didn’t give a damn about it.

Pansy, on the other hand, could talk about nothing else. She was good at that, filling the void with conversation. She didn’t prattle on like Astoria did, but kept it going at an easy pace. They were friends, and it somehow made it more bearable to try and replace Hermione’s name with Pansy.

He wanted to hold Pansy. Wanted to lick his way down her neck, grip her curls- no, short, cropped hair, as he brought her head back to bite the junction of her shoulder, suck it until it bruised. It was Pansy he imagined accidently running into in the prefects bath, tanned skin- fuck, pale skin covered up only by a bath towel.

Pansy was the one to enact that with him, but it was Granger on his mind. To be fair, he couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed as he rocked his hips between Pansy’s legs- his blood was flowing away from his brain.

Of course, it left Draco with mixed feelings. The sex was good- of that he had no complaints. But it was unfulfilling. Not enough.

Empty.

At first he had felt guilty about using Pansy, taking his needs out on her while he fantasized about someone else. The first few times the guilt had gnawed at him so completely that he felt sick enough to almost admit it to her. But then he remembered that though Pansy may like him as a person, she liked his Gringotts vault just as much. That without his money behind him, she might not be so keen to take his arm.

They were friends. Cut from the same cloth. They both knew what it was.

When she hinted (heavily, multiple times) that she might like to go out on Valentine's day, Draco didn’t mind taking the trip to Hogsmead. They were official, though no one had publicly said so, and a gentleman must treat his witch right- even if he thought the holiday was total bollocks.

He had met her in the common room, earrings in hand, flowers in the other, bundled and ready to brace the winter's chill. She had accepted the gifts gracefully, tugged on his bottom lip as she kissed him in thanks, and before long, they found themselves strolling through Hogsmead. Pansy looped her arm through his as they headed to Madam Puddifoots for tea, bags from Honeydukes in hand. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but the throngs of people crowding the street, obnoxious in their love, decked out in reds and pinks set him on edge. Best of all, it was entirely Granger free. A day without running into her. A day without having to see her sandwiched between Potter and Weasely.

That was until they passed The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn’t even his idea to stop in, to freaking spy. But as they walked by the shop Pansy caught sight of Granger and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that Granger?” She twisted her neck to get a better look. “At the Three Broomsticks for Valentines day. Oh, that’s rich.” He couldn’t say that she cackled- no wellbred woman would- but the sound was dangerously close.

“Probably just waiting for Weasley.” He answered darkly. He hated the idea of the two of them together. Hated the thought of her waiting for him. Did Weasely know how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day? What did she see in him anyway? It certainly wasn’t his intelligence. Revolting orange hair, freckles, lanky build, was that really Grangers type? The reason she tied her hair up with red ribbons, wore a red sweater?

“Think Madam Puddifoots was too expensive for a Weasley?” She snickered. “Let’s pop in Draco.”

“In- In there?” He balked. “Whatever for?”

“I want to see what the Golden duo does without their third. I imagine they’re terribly boring. I’d bet Granger quotes from the dictionary and Weasley pretends to understand.”

Draco often wondered the same thing. They had nothing in common. What could the two possibly talk about? He wasn’t eager to find out, felt mouth turning down at the thought of Hermione leaning in to kiss-

“You want to spend our date watching Granger?” He asked.

“And Weasley, yes. Draco, this is loads more interesting!.” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. “Like dinner and a show!”

Well, she had him there. In his very limited free time, when he wasn’t busy following Granger from one place to the next, he was fantasizing about doing it. Weasley was just never part of it.

No, he was doing this to get away from Granger, not drag others into his obsession.

“Pans, why would we want to subject ourselves to what I’m sure will be a disgusting display?”

“For the laughs, of course.” Pansy tilted her head as she appraised him.

“Seems incredibly juvenile.” He turned his nose up, hoping she would take the bait.

“You used to be more fun, Draco. This sort of thing used to get a rise out of you.” She pulled him forward, dragging him along. Despite having followed her just yesterday, having company made it feel seedy.

He rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be lead forward, quickly claiming a seat near Grangers table. Not too obvious, one would really have to look to catch a glimpse of them- but still close enough to eavesdrop. Draco made sure to get the seat facing away from her. He didn’t fancy seeing her make eyes at a weasel.

“I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine. They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print." He recognized that voice. Draco turned to Pansy and mouthed “Who..?”

“That's loony Lovegood.” She whispered.

"I'm supposed to do this for free?" Skeeter? Why on Earth was Rita Skeeter meeting at Hogsmeade? With Lovegood no less?

"Well, yes.” Draco heard her voice and it sent a shock through him. “Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of Azkaban...."

Draco’s eyes blew wide, taking in the new information. Pansy seemed less interested, though she still listened intently.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" He could practically hear Skeeter seething.  

Draco couldn’t help the smirk; tried to control it by biting down on his bottom lip. His girl- she was damn good.

~.~

Umbridge is mad. No, that wasn’t even the right word for it. Livid, perhaps. Crawling out of her skin was a rage that was palpable, might be more accurate.

Thanks to his stunt and Hermiones brilliance, students were no longer allowed to read the Quibbler- not that he was anyway. Still, everytime another hammer hung up one of Umbridge's decrees, Draco felt himself suffocated a little more. Nevermind the fact that she was chomping at the bit to get Potter and his accomplices. He had thought that she saw him for what he was, but now he wondered if there was something more. Draco had his own reasons for hating Saint Potter, but Umbridge… it was almost as if she was threatened by him, for how harshly she reacted.

When Goyle had caught him talking with Lovegood and Longbottom in the hallway he had promptly split the trio up, and in the process, Potters glasses may or may not have been cracked.

And because nothing could ever be easy in his life, never achieve any sort of balance, he realized that if Potter was unhappy, so was Hermione. He couldn’t enjoy his nemesis getting what he deserved if he knew it would upset the witch that filled every corner of his thoughts.

He picked a fine time to give a shit about Potters well-being. Umbridge was hungry to make an example of him; it fell on Draco to tell Crabbe and Goyle to ease off.

Life just wasn’t fair.

~.~

He never used to care about what upset her. Used to call her a filthy little mudblood to her face.

Somedays, he missed that. Missed the time in his life when things were so uncomplicated. When he stopped making them complicated. At least if he could touch her, hold her, fucking taste her, it would make it worth it. What was it all for? What was the point of wanting someone so badly, crave them so completely that it made you question everything you thought you knew?

But then Draco would catch sight of her, legs curled as she read one of her blasted books, sunlight catching on her chestnut curls in just the right way that she looked angelic. Unashamed to be herself. Content with her own company. Smiling at whatever nonsense filled the pages. It must be a fiction story; must be one she was familiar with from the way she lazily turned the pages, like she had lived the story more than once. And in that moment, it would feel like Draco could finally breathe; like air was filling his lungs for the first time. It reminded him why it was worth it.

~.~

Why did prefects have to patrol with their houses? Just once- just once, couldn’t Malfoy and Granger be paired on the schedule? Perhaps to patrol someone outside, secluded, away from everyone?

Why was it always Pansy who unfastened his buckle in the empty classrooms, stroking his hard cock instead of Hermione? Pansy, who was caged between his arms, back against the cobblestone wall as she panted into his ear. He’d hike her thigh up higher, grip it tighter to lock her in place as he rocked his hips into hers. And when he’d come down, the ecstasy and joy washing away, he’d wonder “Is this what she’s doing with Weasley? Are they fucking at this very moment?”

The afterglow never lasted long when he was on rounds.  

~.~

They caught them inside the room of requirement. Caught all of them, red handed, wands drawn. Dumbledore’s Army they named themselves. Rule breakers was what Umbridge had said.

Draco had to be there. Crabbe and Goyle were practically giddy with excitement a Umbridge cast spell after spell to dismantle the wall. Pansy, who stood to his side, looked like she was going to burst from the drama. All Draco could do was try to remain calm. He willed the wall to hold, said every counter spell he knew to hold it up. He knew what the other members of the squad were doing, knew the curses and jinxes they gave as punishments. For all the rules plastered throughout the school, it was lawless. Worst, he heard rumors of Umbridge, and what she had done to Potter. He remembered the frightened look Hermione gave him as he tugged down his sleeve. Draco worried if she would see the same fate, once the wall was down.

What would he do? If Umbridge was determined to make an example of the golden trio, how should he react? He couldn’t sit by and watch her be tortured. He couldn’t just stand there and let her come to harm. He would have to do something; there was no scenario in Darco’s mind in which he could bear witness to Hermione hurt and in pain, with him on the sidelines.

He could see it all in his mind, a course of actions ready to be played out. All them leadinging to the rescue of his witch and the shame and isolation that would follow. Not just from friends and family, but also from her. She would never want to see him again if she knew in the inner workings of his mind; knew how desperately he wanted her. All of her. It wasn’t worth denying anymore. He was a sick fucking freak, and she would be better off without him nearby. And that would be the end of it- he would never see Hermione again.

He focused, begged, and willed the castle to listen. The room of requirement was supposed to fulfill a need, and all he was asking that the walls would stay up. It wasn’t good enough.

When Umbridge stepped through, the bright light of the corridor bleeding in, his eyes immediately went to Hermione. His stomach sank low to find she was already looking his way, looking at him.  

Each one was marched down to her office, made ready to give an account. All the while Draco formulated his plans and readied himself for his move.

~.~

On the list of things that Draco Malfoy thought to be unlikely, Dumbledoor taking the fall for Saint Potter and vanishing into thin air with a bird topped the list. He always figured he’d fuse himself to the chair inorder to avoid being cast out of Hogwarts. Leave it to the greatest wizard of all time to add the theatrics.

The whole school was in an uproar. He was certain his father would march down to the castle and pull him out, drag him back to the manor. His mother was over protective on her best days, and she would never stand to have her only child in a school filled with turmoil.

But when his father did not come, and Umbridge settled in behind Dumbledore's desk, he had a dreadful sense of foreboding that something big was about to change- and not for the better.

~.~

The Weasley's may be a menace, but the twins knew how to leave with a grand gesture. The only thing funnier than the entire fiasco was seeing how flustered Hermione had been.

~.~

Draco hadn’t meant to find her asleep in the library. For once, he was too preoccupied with his own studies to follow Granger around- O.W.L.S. were no laughing matter. The amount they were expected to memorize and recite was borderline criminal. No one would ever use half of the charms he was required to know, but he still had to spend his days practicing with wand and quill.

He had meant to get a book- just pop in and out- but as he walked to the stacks he saw her there, at her usual table, head propped on top of her folded arms. Her breathing was heavy, even, as her chest rose and fell with each intake.

Draco lowered himself to the floor and took a seat near her. They couldn’t sit at the same table, of course. But close enough that he could keep an eye on her while she slept. He picked up his wand and practiced charms, making paper birds dance overhead.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours before she woke. Draco wasn’t sure; it was like being caught in a haze to see her so vulnerable. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked herself awake, stretching high overhead, twisting to the right first, like always.

That was when she saw him.

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered, embarrassed. It made him nervous to look at her so directly.

“Finally awake, Granger?” He snarked. “Thought you were going to spend the night here.”

“Wh-Why? What are you doing?” She was desperately trying to connect the dots, put the pieces together. Draco longed to drag it on, hold her there in the moment forever.

“You were sleeping, dummy.” It was quick, too quick. He should have put more thought into an explanation. “It's dangerous to be so carefree, you know.” He added.

“I must be dreaming,” She said, giving her cheek a gentle slap.

“Then you must have very boring dreams, Granger.” He smirked at her, unable to control it. “I like mine a bit more exciting.”

“I was sleeping-” She started.

“Thought we’ve covered that-”

“And you thought... you were the one to what, look out for me?” She was skeptical, and it was only fair. “Did you do something to me while I slept Malfoy? Do I have ‘idiot’ written across my forehead or something? Just tell me now and get it over with.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He objected.

“Sure, Draco Malfoy would just watch over me while I slept for no reason.”

He answered defensively. “I may be a lot of things Granger, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. And a gentleman would never leave a witch in such a vulnerable position. You’ve no doubt studied charms. Not all of them are good natured. So yes, I looked out for you. My training as a wellbred wizard wouldn’t allow me to leave a witch alone like that.”

Hermione frantically ran her hands through her hair, trying to control the frizz and volume. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that she looked fucking beautiful with it wild, untamed. But instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No matter who the witch is.”

She nodded, as if any of the bullshit he said made any sense. As if he wasn’t watching over her for his own satisfaction, for his own peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you just wake me?” She managed, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Draco shrugged. “Have you seen yourself Granger? The bags under your eyes are incredible. You should submit them to a medical textbook.”

“Ha, very witty Malfoy.” She said, collecting her things into her bag. Draco did the same, stretching as he stood from his chair. “I- I just have been preoccupied- with my studies, I mean.” Hermione looked away from him as he rolled his neck; it made Draco immediately straighten, worried that he had become too casual, made her uncomfortable.

Of course he had! He was fucking watching her while she slept for crying out loud.

“Right.” His throat felt dry as he swallowed, then turned to leave. Two steps forward, and she in front of him, chocolate eyes holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t- I mean-” Hermione bit her lip as tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t often he got to catch her off guard, to watch the wheels work in Hermione’s head. When she spoke, her voice was lower, a sexy timber that shot right to his groin. “Thank you.”

Hermione took off in a brisk walk, leaving him behind.

It was a good day.

~.~

They had caught them by Umbridge's office. All hands were on deck looking for the group. Umbridge made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that nothing, barring death, was off limits. It set the group alight with a hunger for the hunt. Even Draco felt fired up to catch them.

If he didn’t get to Hermione first, who knew what would happen?

It was easy to find her, easy to know which set of footsteps were hers. He had trained for that moment, laid in wait, and now she was his. He’d crucio anyone who thought to put a hand on her. Draco led the charge, determined to be the one in control, needed to be the one.

Her hand reached out, ready to grip the door handle when he found them. They were quiet, even charmed their shoes to not make a sound, so to say Hermione was surprised to find Dracos large hand clamped over her mouth was an understatement. He worried that his ring knocked against her teeth, because the next thing he knew, he could feel her tongue dart out, as if licking a bloody wound. Her breathing came in quick bursts, hot and panicked. Draco’s other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her in, closer than they had ever been before. The rest of the squad had followed suit, the sound of a struggle behind him.

She was making a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and Draco could feel the fear coursing through her. He leaned in, so small a movement it would be missed, until his lips were near her ear.

“Shh.” He begged, and felt her try to twist to look his way. Weasley let out a mangagled scream as his arm was bent backwards. “I won’t hurt you.” It was barely more than a breath, hardly a whisper. Hermione froze, eyes wide. Longbottom groaned as Crabbe knocked his head against the wall, a small trickle of blood running past his eyes. Hermione's voice began to hitch.

“Shh.” He begged, flexing his fingers that dug into her hips. “Please.”

Hermione was a smart witch- the brightest of their age. Draco silently willed her to understand.

If she made noise, if she struggled, it would have to look like he was hurting her. And for the life of him, Draco had no idea how to do that without traumatizing her. He ran his thumb over her cheek, small enough that it would appear to be a twitch, delicate enough that he prayed it was soothing.

“You got her, mate?” Goyle asked.

“Just brains and no brawn in this one.” He joked. “Granger barely put up a fight.” He squeezed her again, hoping beyond hope that his comment would not make her fight harder.

Remarkably, she stood still, her chest rising and falling as his arm crossed over it.

He didn’t miss the way Pansy looked him up and down, Granger held flush against him. He way his hands lingered on her skin.

“Let’s bring them into Umbridge’s office.” Pansy offered, “that’s where she’s expecting them.”

~.~

He should have kept a tighter hold on her- should have known she’d insert herself into any problem, try to solve everything.

Umrbidge had been tickled pink to see a job well done. More than happy to peg Potter as the main culprit. She wasted no time interrogating him; When Potter would not budge, not give up their secret weapon, she held her wand up, on the brink of the cruciatus curse. Draco felt his muscles weaken, his jaw go slack, felt energy drain. He heard her rumors, but that was nothing in comparison to seeing a professor ready to torture students. Wizards his age. Peers.

And if Harry was first, he could guarantee who was next.

Turns out, he didn’t need to wait for Umbridge to drag her forward; his damned witch offered herself up. Hermione rushed forward, and just like that, she was out of his grip, slipped away from his grasp. She was shouting, claiming that she knew where the secret weapon was, that she could take Umbridge to it.

In the woods. Of course it was in the bloody woods.

The headmistress pushed Potter and Hermione out the door, ordering the squad to keep a close eye on the rest of the group.

~.~

As Draco watched Ron Weasley run out of the office, he knew that the twit would brag to everyone that he had bested him in defense.

Not even in his damn dreams could Ronald Weasley beat him in defensive spells. Did he know that every summer, every holiday, his father made him train in them relentlessly? Did he moron really think he was able to bloody his lip and get that many right hooks in if Draco hadn’t thrown the match? Hell, he leaned in to every punch. When he let the jinxes render him paralyzed, Weasley hovered above him, examining his work. He smiled- wide, far too much gums, as he walked over him, stepping on Draco’s hand along the way.

He was oozing satisfaction, brimming with ego.

He could practically see him puff his chest out as he ran to Hermione to save her.

As long as he saved her.

~.~

#Harry Potter #harry potter fan fiction #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #Dracos side #draco smut #hermione draco #hermione granger #dramione #dramione fanfic #dramione fandom #dramione fic #fanfiction #ajoy3

[yourdeepestfathoms]

You Say Stuff Is Way, Way Too Go, Go Away

five times Orla caused a disruption and thought she was messed up for doing so, and one time someone assured her she wasn’t

ft. Good Big Cousin Erin

also: title from Stuff Is Way

TW: Vomit

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

1.

  “I don’t like it, okay!?”

James’s outburst took everyone by surprise. His face flamed red as he began to shout in anger, spitting awful words about how terrible fried food was. Not that anyone expected anything less from a Brit.

  “It’s too greasy! It’s much, much too greasy!!”

Underneath all the yelling, there was a whimper. It went unheard by everyone, however, as all the attention was turned on James.

  “Even the smell of it makes me physically sick!!”

Silence.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Fionnula,” Michelle said. Then, in James’s ear, she hissed, “You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

  “Get him out of here!” Fionnula ordered.

In a muttering, awkward heap, the girls (and Brit) began to file out--

  “Oi!” Fionnula barked. “You forgot one!”

The gang stopped, turned around, and that’s when they finally noticed that Orla was on the floor, huddled in the corner between the wall and the counter, with her hands clamped firmly over her ears.

  “Orla, let’s go.” Michelle said.

Orla didn’t move, though. She just scrunched her eyes shut and curled her fingers into her hair. She looked like she was in pain.

  “Oh shit,” Erin muttered, then darted down to Orla’s side. She didn’t touch her cousin, rather let her hands hover over Orla’s lanky body, which she realized was wracked with trembles. “Orla. Orla, hey, it’s Erin.”

Orla pried one eye open, glanced at her, then slammed it shut again. A tiny whimper escaped her lips, and a piece of Erin’s heart broke off.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Erin told her. “Can I touch you, Orla? Is that okay?”

Orla nodded, and Erin had her securely in her arms a moment later. Orla nuzzled against her, but kept her hands placed firmly over her ears. James yelling must have set her off.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Erin murmured, stroking Orla’s unruly curls the way she knew her cousin liked. “Everything is okay… James startled you, didn’t he?”

Orla nodded wordlessly and buried her face against Erin’s chest. Due to her height, she was having to lean down, practically laying on Erin, but neither cousin seemed to mind the position.

Fionnula, however, did mind, and did not appreciate the scene that was going on in her restaurant.

  “What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” The woman said impatiently.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Erin snapped. “It’s not the end of the goddamn world if we linger around for a moment! My little cousin is freaking out! Have some respect, will you!?” Then, in a quiet, soothing voice to Orla when she flinched and whimpered, “Shh, shh. Not you, Orla. I’m sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Orla made a tiny noise in response. Erin tucked her head underneath her chin and held her closer, rocking her in slow, gentle motions.

  “You still like being rocked, right?” Erin asked quietly.

Orla nodded.

  “Wonderful. Just making sure.”

They remained there on the floor for awhile, ignoring all the stares and whispers they were receiving. Erin might have cared a little more if it weren’t her baby cousin in her arms. 

  “Are you okay?” Erin asked after a few minutes of silence. “Feeling any better?” Orla slowly uncurled herself from Erin, pulling her hands away from her ears. She looked tired and shaken, but slightly less traumatized.  

  “We can sit a while longer if you need,” Erin told her.

Orla shook her head and slowly stood up. She nearly toppled right over, but Erin leapt to her feet and steadied her.

  “Take it easy, love,” Erin said, and the pet name slipped out without her even thinking about it. “No need to rush.”

Orla looked at her, blinking her bleary golden brown eyes, then latched onto her hand. Erin stroked her knuckles gingerly as she led her out of the building.

To their credit, Michelle, Clare, and James waited a moment before bombarding the cousins with questions. Unfortunately, “a moment” seemed to be more like a millisecond because there were suddenly a barrage of comments spewing out of eager mouths. Erin gave her friends an evil warning glare when Orla whimpered in distress at their volume.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Clare apologized for her and the other two. “We’re just worried.”

  “You sound like you want to hear the latest news,” Erin said.

  “Can you blame us?” James said. “That was the most eventful thing to happen this week! What was that?”

Orla shifted uncomfortably. The discomfort on her face wasn’t an expression she usually wore, and when Michelle noticed it, she added for James, “He means you can tell us when you’re ready.”

  “Better.” Erin said. She squeezed Orla’s hand. “Maybe some other time, okay? I’m gonna get Orla home. She’s tired.”

Orla nodded and rested her chin on Erin’s head, letting her eyelids flutter shut. It wasn’t an act to get away from the questions, she genuinely looked exhausted- both mentally and physically.

There was a scattering of agreements from the other three before Erin began to walk Orla down the street.

  “Do you think Orla will be better by the time I steal that notice board from Fionnula’s shop?” 

Clare and James whip their heads around to Michelle.

  “WHAT?”

2.

Orla wasn’t sure what woke her up- her brain not wanting to stay asleep any longer or the buzz in her head. Probably both.

It took everything in Orla not to whine out loud when she realized that buzz was an oncoming migraine. Of course. 

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was in Erin’s bed, per usual (she never slept in her own bed) nestled in a burrow of blankets. Erin was still asleep, sprawled out on her back with her mouth open slightly. If that John guy saw her like this, snoring softly and drooling ever so slightly, he would probably run for the hills. Orla giggled softly at that image, and that small sound rebounded uncomfortably through her head.

Footsteps made Orla perk up a little. They were a little distant, but someone was definitely awake. After waiting a few minutes, Orla released her head from the grip her hands had on it and got up, too.

Simply walking down the short staircase was difficult with Orla’s increasingly intense headache. She stopped on the third step and had to take a deep breath before continuing on. Luckily, she got downstairs without any injury.

When she got to the bottom step, she saw the kitchen lights on and her Aunt Mary heating up a kettle on the stove. The woman looked surprised, but smiled warmly when she noticed the girl.

   “Good morning,” She said, “You’re up early.”

Orla waved and then shrugged, padding across the hardwood with her fluffy socks. She peered at the kettle curiously, like she was expecting a rose to sprout out from the lid. Mary studied her thoughtfully.

   “Do you have any preference for breakfast?” Mary asked.

Orla shook her head. She would eat anything. Although, right now, her head was pounding enough to make her lose her appetite.

   “Can I help?” Orla asked after a moment.

   “Of course!” Mary said, pleasantly surprised. “You can start the eggs.”

Orla nodded. Mary made friendly conversation with the girl as the two of them began to cook breakfast, though Orla wasn’t much of a talker. Even if she was, Orla’s migraine began to get worse and worse until she wasn’t able to pay attention at all anymore.

   “Orla? Orla!”

Orla reeled backwards, hissing in pain. She had no idea what Mary was yelling about until she noticed the egg in the pan was smoking. She ogled the pan with wide eyes, hands fumbling, and Mary had to turn off the burner for her.

  “Orla, what has gotten into you?” Mary said, looking at the girl. “Maybe you should sleep in some more?”

Orla shook her head and backed away. She lifted her hands and squeezed her skull between her palms, like she was trying to keep a headache at bay. Mary noticed, along with the fact that something was very wrong, so she helped the girl over to the couch so she could sit down.

  “Are you alright?” Mary asked, setting a hand on Orla’s back.

Orla shrugged. 

   “What’s wrong, honey?” Mary tried asking something else, keeping her voice low.

Orla hesitated, then gestured vaguely for her head.

  “Your head hurts?”

Orla nodded.

  “I see,” Mary frowned. She thought for a moment, then began to rub Orla’s head comfortingly.

Orla’s gaze snapped up at her with wide eyes. Mary quickly pulled her hand back.

  “Sorry.” Mary said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to be touched.”

Orla tapped the top of her head. Mary furrowed her eyebrows.

  “But I thought--”

Orla tapped more, so Mary put her hand back on her head, rubbing gently.

Orla pressed into the touch, closing her eyes in bliss. The pain from the headache began to melt away with each stroke over her skull, soothing her. She couldn’t help the content cooing noises she began to make.

Mary chuckled. “You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Orla nodded. She keeled over into Mary’s lap and rolled over onto her back like a puppy seeking pets. She grabbed her aunt’s hand and placed it back on her head, even making rubbing motions like she was reminding her what to do. She sighed happily when the affection resumed.

  “So much for starting breakfast,” Mary chuckled lightly.

3.

The ride back to the house wasn’t very fun for anyone: Michelle, who was trying very hard not to swerve off the road because she was a tiny bit tipsy (don’t drink and drive, kids!); Clare, who was simply still reeling from what had happened at Jenny Joyce’s party; James, who was moping because he missed the one chance he would ever get to lose his virginity; Erin, who was stewing in embarrassment after all her accusations; and Katya, who had to sit with all of them in the same cramped car. But most of all, Orla, who could feel her stomach roiling as Michelle swerved haphazardly down a turn in the street.

  “Erin,” Orla leaned forward to the passenger seat and tugged on her cousin’s sleeve with one hand, holding her stomach with the other. “I don’t feel good…” 

Erin snapped her head around to her. “I thought you said you could handle it.” She whispered as if this discussion was some type of super secret spy mission, although Orla did appreciate her not shouting it to the rooftops.

  “Mm-mmm,” Orla shook her head. She moved her hand from Erin’s sleeve to her stomach with the other.

Erin looked around at the dark road the car was speeding down. “Can’t you, like, hold it in?”

Orla swallowed thickly, trying to reign in her growing nausea, but could only shrug as an answer because she truly didn’t know.

  “She doesn’t need to piss, Erin,” Michelle said not-so-secretly. “She needs to boke. There is a huge difference.”

  “Yeah, one is not so easy to hold in,” Clare added.

  “Thank you for your addition, Clare,” Michelle said. “We all definitely did not already know that.”

  “If you vomit on me I will bust your nose in.” Katya said coldly to Orla, who shrunk away with a tiny whimper.

  “Why did you eat so much if you knew you were going to be sick?” James asked Orla.

  “It seems she always eat that much.” Katya observed. There was a hint of cruelty in her words as she smirked slightly and said, “Like a pig.”

  “Oi! Don’t call her that, you bitch!” Michelle snapped, jerking around to glare at Katya (and not paying attention to the road at all).

  “Watch what you say,” Erin hissed.

  “What?” Katya said innocently. “I only say truth.”

  “THE truth,” Erin corrected. “And it is not the truth! Just because Orla likes to eat doesn’t mean she’s a pig.”

  “Erin…” Orla moaned, hugging her stomach even tighter. A sudden rush of saliva filled her mouth.

  “Sounds like the definition of pig to me,” Katya said. She peered at Orla, apparently not noticing how pale she had gotten. “She even has chocolate still on her face. And shirt. And hands.”

  “That means nothing.” Erin said dismissively.

  “Erin…” Orla called out weakly again, but it still went unheard.

  “Oh really? So you are allowed to insult me and call me prostitute, but I cannot say a word about your pig of a cousin?” Katya said.

  “Stop calling her that!” Erin growled. “She’s not! You aren’t allowed to talk about my family that way, ESPECIALLY my little cousin!”

  “Erin!!” Orla wailed.

  “What?!” Erin whipped around to Orla.

And that’s when Orla threw up all over herself.

Naturally, the rest of the ride was driven in silence. Nobody really knew what else to say, so they all just stared forward as if one of them weren’t covered in her own vomit. They dealt with the smell by rolling down the windows and spoke nothing of it until Michelle parked outside the Quinn house.

  “Night,” Michelle muttered. Clare and James echoed her phrase as Erin got out of the passenger seat and Katya climbed over James to go out the other door. Orla almost crumpled right out of the car, but managed to catch herself. Vomit poured down her legs from where it had been congealing in her lap for the past seven minutes.

  “Erin,” She whimpered, staring teary-eyed at her cousin.

  “It’s okay, Orla,” Erin told her. “Just get it out.”

  “It really is not.” Katya said helpfully and Orla threw up again. Erin shot Katya a burning glare.

  “Will you shut the fuck up?” Erin snarled. She went to Orla’s side and held her hair out of the way, ignoring how her fingers grasped tightly onto bile and digested chocolate marshmallow-soaked locks. 

  “No, because you did not at party.” Katya said. “Why should I?”

  “Because my little cousin is SICK and you are just a BITCH, and so help me god I will STICK MY FIST so far up your ass that you will TASTE the coconut lotion I put on a few hours ago!!” Erin roared.

That was what got Erin’s family (and some old woman she vaguely recognized) to come storming out to see what the commotion was. And, boy, was it a sight. Michelle speeding off down the road before anything could be linked to her, a very pissed off Erin and Ukrainian, and Orla, who was covered in vomit.

  “What is going on here?!” Mary yelled.

  “I couldn’t handle it,” Orla gurgled, and then threw up again.

4.

The gang arrived at the bus stop with Orla clinging to Erin’s hand like it was her lifeline. Orla had an expression of discomfort and uneasy on her face and she kept leaning down to bury her face against Erin’s hair like she was trying to hide. Something was wrong.

  “What’s up, fuckers?” Michelle greeted them. She had a wide smirk, but her eyes kept glancing over at Orla with obvious worry.

  “Nothing much,” Erin replied. “Orla’s going nonverbal today.”

Clare and Michelle nodded knowingly, sympathy suddenly oozing into their gazes. James blinked, looking slightly confused.

  “But she’s usually nonverbal?” The Brit said, then got elbowed in the ribs by Michelle. “Ow!! I was just asking!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Michelle hissed lowly. She looked at Orla. “Ignore him, doll. He’s being stupid.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t mean it,” Clare added.

Orla nodded slightly. She buried her nose against Erin’s blonde locks and kept it there until the bus pulled up. When they all crowded inside the vehicle, she would shudder in an awful way when someone’s arm would brush against her side or back. She seemed uncomfortable when someone other than her cousin would touch her.

Orla curled against Erin when they sat down, sandwiched securely against her older cousin and the window. Erin eased her to completely lay down in the seat, her head resting in her lap, brown curls sprawled out all over her thighs. Erin rubbed her back comfortingly, humming softly to help soothe her further.

  “Is she okay?” James asked quietly when Orla had fallen asleep. Even with all the bumps on the road, the young girl didn’t wake up. 

  “She will be,” Erin answered. “I think it’s a burnout. So she’s pretty tired.”

  “What caused it?” Michelle asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all.” Erin sighed and combed her fingers through Orla’s hair. “Don’t give her a hard time today, please?”

The other three nodded.

The group soon fell silent for the rest of the bus ride, either staring out the window or watching the semi-peaceful face of the youngest in the gang. Erin’s hand never stopped stroking Orla’s hair for the entirety of the trip to school, and when they finally arrived, she was hesitant to wake her cousin up.

  “Hey, Ors,” Erin shook Orla’s shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Orla’s eyes fluttered open. They looked darker than usual, weighed down by exhaustion and emotional fatigue. She blinked slowly at Erin.

  “We’re at school, lovely,” Michelle said. “Unfortunately.”

Orla nodded and sat up. Erin helped her out of the bus, squeezing her hand comfortingly, while Michelle, Clare, and James followed like protective guard dogs. They all walked into the main hall for announcements, and Orla was instantly set off by the closed space.

  “I know, Orla, I know,” Erin murmured when Orla whimpered in distress. “It’s going to be okay. It won’t last long.”

Orla stepped closer to Erin, practically pressed against her, but Erin didn’t seem to mind. She was more than happy to wrap her free arm securely around her little cousin to help her feel more protected.

Announcements soon began. Sister Michael’s voice boomed loudly through the microphone, causing poor Orla even more discomfort. Orla whimpered again and released Erin’s hand to cover her ears.

  “E-Erin…” Orla croaked. Her voice was tight and pitched with anxiety.

  “Breathe, Orla.” Erin instructed. “Breathe. It’s okay. It’s almost over.”

  “N-no--” Orla gasped. “It’s too loud-- Erin, it’s too loud--” She crumpled to her knees, keening a strange kind of distress call, and rocked back and forth.

Girls started to turn and stare at the spectacle. Sister Michael stopped talking and pursed her lips with a mixed expression of annoyance, confusion, curiosity, and concern. Erin lunged down to Orla’s side and clasped her hands over Orla’s own to further help muffle the noise. Orla collapsed against her, sobbing into her chest. The poor thing was shaking so badly.

  “Shh, shh,” Erin murmured. “It’s okay, Orla. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Orla released her ears and clung tightly to Erin with her nails dug in. She was gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack, and she may as well have been with her symptoms. She kept whimpering and whining in elongated cries that cut Erin’s heart into tiny pieces. Erin held her tighter.

  “Try to focus on my heartbeat,” Erin instructed, pressing Orla’s head to her chest. “Can you hear that, Orla? It’s my heart. Use that to ground yourself. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “God, Erin,” Someone scoffed from nearby. Erin recognized it as Tina o’Connell. “Can’t you tame your retard?”

Michelle, James, and Clare froze in shock. Orla whimpered. Erin looked up slowly with an expression of murder in her eyes.

  “Michelle. Take Orla.” Erin said, not breaking eye contact with Tina. When Michelle swooped in and brought Orla into her arms, she stood up and then began undressing. First, her scarf. Then, her blazer, tie, necklace, and ponytail. And then she threw herself at Tina in a flying tackle, screeching like an enraged banshee and swinging her fists in a whirlwind.

Pandemonium instantly broke out inside the room. Girls began to shout, a large crowd formed, nuns and teachers rushed over, and Erin and Tina fought violently on the floor like a pair of pissed off cats. James, Clare, and Michelle watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

  “Your cousin is kicking ASS.” Michelle whispered to Orla. She began to tenderly stroke her hair like Erin had been doing. “You’re definitely gonna be okay, Ors. We’ve got you.”

It wasn’t long before Sister Michael broke through the crowd and ripped Tina and Erin apart with ease. Both girls were scratched up and Tina had a busted lip, but luckily there wasn’t much damage done. Unluckily for Erin, though, because she had wanted to beat that little bitch into a bloody pulp.

  “She came after me for no reason!” Tina exclaimed once they were all dragged into Sister Michael’s office. 

  “No reason?!” Erin barked a harsh laugh. “She called my cousin a--!!” She glanced at Orla hanging onto her and then lowered her sharp tone of voice. She leaned in to Sister Michael. “She called my little cousin a retard. Was I supposed to just stand there and let her get away with that? While Orla was having a sensory overload? It isn’t her fault she reacted that way!”

Sister Michael looked at Orla, who hasn’t looked up from the floor since they entered. Both of her hands are grasping onto Erin’s arms and she had her face pressed against Erin’s neck like she was trying to hide. Tear stains were still glistening on her cheeks from when she had been crying.

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael asked Tina.

  “I--”

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael repeated firmly.

Tina hissed underneath her breath and then grumbled, “Yes, Sister.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Sister Michael said. “Such language will not be tolerated in my school.”

  “But she and her friends say stuff like that all the time!” Tina cried.

  “They have never said such a disgraceful, disgusting, hurtful slur before.” Sister Michael said. “They may be hooligans out to drive me mad, but they aren’t savages. They know better. Unlike you.” 

Tina sputtered, but wasn’t able to come up with a good reply. Erin had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

  “A week suspension should give you enough time to think about what you’ve done,” Sister Michael said. “Now, out with you. Wait in the hall while I call your mother.”

Tina opened and closed her mouth several times, but wasn’t able to come up with something to say, so she stormed out in anger. Sister Michael waited a moment and then looked at the cousins. When she spoke, her voice was strangely soft.

  “Is she alright?” She asked.

Erin glanced at Orla, who didn’t glance back at her. She lifted a hand and cupped the side of Orla’s head protectively.

  “She will be,” Erin said. “The noise set her off. But she wasn’t having a good day to begin with.”

  “I see,” Sister Michael nodded. “Is she okay to go back to class or would she like to sit down for a while longer to recover?”

Erin looked at Orla again, who didn’t seem to be in any shape to learn anything.

  “I think we’ll wait a moment longer.”

Sister Michael nodded and gestured for the couch in her office. Erin guided Orla over to it and they both sat down.

  “Oh, and girls,” Sister Michael said. “If Orla is ever feeling unwell again, stop by my office. It’s quiet in here. She can stay until she calms down.”

5.

When it came to her issues, Erin, believe it or not, was the most patient. Erin repeated over and over, made Orla look at her eyes or her mouth, asked Orla to repeat, to show her that she remembered.

It was strange. Erin was sometimes the one to lash out the most, although she had her reasons and they were very good ones.

A lioness waiting to pounce. That was what Erin reminded Orla of.

(Orla tried to get herself to stop comparing to animals, but that sort of failed because she was still doing it. As seen here.)

Regardless, Erin was smart in a way Orla wished she could be.

(She tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about people being better at things than she is. She knew how those thoughts caught like hooks in her fish-mouth brain and tug and tug and tug and tug until she broke the surface, struggling to breathe.)

Clare and Michelle are usually good. They love Orla enough to not snap at her when she loudly goes “Huh?” for the fifth time in a row. They dealt with her strange mannerisms and comments as if everyone acted like she did. They played along with her when her brain made her skin feel like it was too tight. Michelle let her mess with her hair and jewelry for hours and Clare simplified things that might have been too much to take in.

They’re good with that. Orla loved them so much.

(She loved them enough to let them be, to pull herself away, to shut herself away in herself as best she can when she finds-- when she realized she’s not--

When she saw the clench of Michelle’s jaw and the twitch of Clare’s nose and the way they glance at each other, and it’s never mean, it’s never intentional, it’s just…

Orla knows herself enough to know when she’s too much, and she loves them enough to spare them the discomfort of having to actually tell her she’s too much, to figure out how to explain that she’s overstepped, to put into words that they have limits.

People have limits. Orla tried not to push them. She does.)

James is still new, and he’s doing his best, he really is, but it’s the adults who are the least patient. Adults try, they always try. Orla liked that they tried. But adults get a pinch between their eyebrows after the third time they repeat an explanation, like they’re starting to wonder if Orla is just being a little shit. Adults are quick to get annoyed, or to fake annoyance, and sometimes Orla can’t tell the difference. Sometimes it feels like there is no difference.

Still, she dealt with it. She always did. Always oblivious, air headed, Orla who doesn’t know better, who doesn’t know what she’s saying, who doesn’t know how to act like a normal person.

She didn’t know where this was coming from or how to stop it. She couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore it, impossible to block it out, impossible to disagree with the things it made her think about.

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it--

Everything became too much. Orla was too overwhelmed. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating, burning.

She felt like she was dying.

Erin had had enough of all of this when she found Orla collapsed in her bedroom, keening in pain. She kept saying over and over again that the lights were too bright, distant noises were too loud, her clothes were too tight. She had somehow managed to claw open her shirt around the sleeves and stomach before she was in her current position. Curled up and biting herself.

Before Erin came rushing in, noises from outside in the house were all encompassing, rattling Orla’s skull, eardrums threatening to burst. She squeezed her eyes closed, covered her ears, rocked frantically with her head bent to her knees in an effort to block it all out. But no matter what she did, she can’t, and that’s it.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let out a loud, pained, keening noise as she cracked her head back hard against the wall behind her, digging it in firmly when she sank to the floor. She clawed at her shirt like fire ants were crawling all over her, desperately trying to get it off but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. The material tears, eventually, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck.

Her head shook hard, side to side, side to side, repeat. She swore she can feel her brain trying to detach and fly out her nose. Her hands snapped to her scalp, pulling harshly on her hair and god-fucking-dammit, it’s still not enough. Her fingers left her hair with one last tug, loose strands of curly brown hair stuck between them, and balled into tight fists to strike down on the sides of her head. She pushed her feet firmly into the floor, thrashed and squirmed in the corner.

Nothing is enough nothing is enough why is this happening nothing is enough--

She slammed her feet down harder, dug the heels into the floor until her thighs ached. Then, she lifted one arm and clamped down hard and firm on her wrist with her teeth. Her other hand found her hair again, this time not tugging but holding it in a death grip and staying there.

She stayed like this, rocking and writhing and biting at her wrist with tears rolling down her cheeks, for what feels like forever. All she knew is she can still feel it- the lingering, bone-deep pain of the noises, eyes sore like she’s looked at the sun too long.

That’s when Erin rushed in. She had heard the commotion from downstairs.

The sight terrified Erin, to say the least. Watching her baby cousin spasm and sob and bite herself like a rabid dog made her blood run cold with fear. She snapped into action almost instantly, practically gaining wings due to her panic.

Orla didn’t register Erin as Erin. She didn’t even register her as a human being, just a presence she felt nearby. The touch she began to feel on her body, however, made her whimper in fright. First on her stomach, grazing lightly over scratches she knew she had carved in the flesh, then her head, where strands of hair had been pulled out, next her shoulder, over more angry red claw marks, and finally her wrist, with blood dripping down freckled skin. The hand was gentle with each prod, which was the only reason why Orla didn’t scream. She even relaxed into it a few times, almost cooing through her painful sobs.

But then fingers wrapped around her wrist and she bit down on them.

Erin hissed on pain, flinching backwards a little. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

   “Orla,” She said softly, despite the pain. “Orla, let go. Let go. It’s just me.” She felt like she was speaking to a dog rather than a human being.

Orla showed no sign of hearing her. Her eyes were glassy, blank, and glazed over, which terrified Erin even more. Her cousin looked more dead than alive at this point.

   “Orla,” Erin tried again. “Orla, babes, it’s me. It’s Erin. I need you to let go.”

Orla’s eyes flickered up a little for a moment before darting back down. Her entire body shuddered and she bit down harder for some kind of grounding. Erin had to grit her own teeth to keep from screaming as it felt like her fingers were about to detach from her hand.

   “Orla--”

She winced at the increasing pressure. The skin broke open and blood filled Orla’s mouth.

That’s what snapped her out of her trance.

The girl lurched backwards with enough force to make the wall rattle when her spine connected with it. Erin ripped her hand back and shook it in the air to try and ebb some of the pain. There were marks left on her fingers, scarlet at the center and purple all around them. She hissed, shaking her hand again.

Meanwhile, Orla looked to be completely out of it. Her head was lolling back and forth across the wall, Erin’s blood still wet on her lips. Her tongue instinctively flicked out and her entire face contorted into a grimace. She blinked once, twice, then saw the bruising already forming on her cousin’s hand.

Orla was guilty, to say the least. She would not stop apologizing for two days and couldn’t even look Erin in the eye out of shame for what she had done. Erin, however, constantly told her it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t mad. But it didn’t make it better. Orla still felt horrible for hurting her cousin.

That’s all she seemed to do. Mess up. Because SHE was messed up.

+1

While at the market getting groceries, Erin noticed Orla staring at something. She shimmied over with the heavy cart and realized it was some kind of toy in the window of a store. 

  “Like that?” Erin asked with a light chuckle.

Orla nodded. “It looks so soft…” 

Erin laughed.

Orla didn’t ask for the toy, rather just kept glancing back at it as they walked away. Erin watched her, and then a lightbulb lit up in her head.

  “Mammy, I need some money.” Erin told her mother when she got home.

  “Absolutely not.” Mary said instantly. “You already almost went over today.”

  “No, it’s not--” Erin looked around, then whispered, “It’s not for me, Mammy.”

  “Oh, is Michelle having you buy alcohol, now?”

  “It’s for Orla.”

Mary faltered. “Orla?”

  “Yes.” Erin nodded. “She hasn’t been well lately. I know you’ve seen it. And when we were at the market, she kept looking at this thing in one of the stores. I wanted to get it for her because it might cheer her up and--”

Some money was placed in Erin’s hands. Erin blinked in shock that that worked and looked up at her mother. Mary smiled.

  “Go get Orla’s thing.” Mary said.

Erin lit up. “Thank you, Mammy!!”

An hour later, Erin returned home from the market, barely able to suppress her giddy grin.

  “Orla!” She called. “Orla, where are you?”

Orla peeked out from the kitchen and Erin hurried over with her hands behind her back. 

  “I have something for you,” Erin said excitedly. 

Orla tilted her head and Erin held out the ostrich beanie baby. Orla’s eyes went wide, mouth opening in a quiet gasp. She tentatively grabbed the stuffed animal and turned it over like she was trying to make sure it was real, then held it close to her chest. 

  “Like it?” Erin smiled.

Orla nodded rapidly. Erin laughed.

  “I’m glad! I hope it’ll help, Ors. I know you’ve been a bit unwell lately. I just wanted to get you something so you’ll know you aren’t a burden or something. Because you aren’t.”

Orla’s eyes glistened, and then she sprung forward and hugged Erin tightly.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

#here it is bois!!!!! #enjoy :) #derry girls #orla mccool #erin quinn #michelle mallon #clare devlin #james maguire #sister michael #ma mary #my writing #derry girls fanfic #tw: vomit #you say stuff is way way too go go away