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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.25}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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Two minutes after the elaborate goodnight wishes, the five girls were finally on their way down to the dungeons. Cas was babbling away as always, entertaining both Melissa and Lisa to the fullest, while Jorien and Robin merely listened and observed as they followed behind. The three girls up front barely made it down the spiral staircase, giggling as they were, but not even the gloomy darkness of the dungeon hallways could bring the calm and quiet of the night into their conversation as they happily chatted on and on about the many highlights of the dance. Thus it wasn't surprising when a minute later nobody took notice of Robin's quiet yelp as she was whisked away from the group in a crossing of one gloomy hallway with an even darker one.

The adrenaline in Robin's blood skyrocketed immediately, the yelp dying on her lips in a broken moment of initial surprise. Then the familiar arm around her waist and the comforting scent of home quenched every spark of fear or panic in her mind.

She found herself pressed against the cold stone wall a second later, kept in place by the weight of his body while his soft lips on her own demanded a fire she gladly returned, and every last cell in her body lit up in roaring flames as an immediate response. Her heart was bursting, drumming furiously against her ribcage while its echoes pulsed through her entire body in sheer blissful heat. Oh bloody fucking hell, this was magnificent… breathtaking, in every sense of the word. And it still was terribly dangerous, even here now in the dark. That, perhaps, was the only flaw of the moment, their one and only honest mistake.

"Are you aware that you are way too good at this?" Snape finally asked, ragged breaths brushing against Robin's skin as he leaned his forehead against hers. Upon this she smiled, but her eyes stayed closed as she found herself too overwhelmed to open them. She didn't need to; she could feel him, his presence, his warmth, his entire being…

"Really?" She finally let out a humoured and incredulous huff in reply. How could she be any good at this if she had never kissed anyone before? Was her lack of experience really not all that noticeable?

"Without a doubt. I would never allow myself to get this carried away in a school hallway of all places if you didn't enchant me beyond any measure. Beyond any reason."

"Sev-..." She was cut off by his lips, both in word and thought and she lost every string of reason that had just started to gather back together. Oh screw experience, they were way too good at this to even think of that. She must be doing something very right if he couldn't stop this madness either, couldn't resist the growing addiction.

It once again was the noise of people crossing by in a hallway close by that broke them apart, and only then Robin noticed for the first time how much it hurt to stand on one's tiptoes for an extended amount of time. For a kiss like that, she still would do it again and again any time.

"I should apologise for seizing you like that without your permission." He finally said when the retiring students' laughter and chattering had faded in the distance, then he took a step backwards to give Robin her space as well. "Who knew I could act like a dunderhead myself, given the chance."

"Oh, I knew." Robin couldn't help grinning as she stepped away from the wall, which earned her a small glare and a not-smirk. "And as much as I understand and appreciate your point, you do have my permission. Besides, where would be the point in suddenly pressing me against a wall and kissing me senseless if it came with a warning?"

Snape didn't look at her, but the corners of his lips were twitching and she could tell with utmost certainty that he was amused even though being rather flustered at the same time. It was surprisingly adorable, really, and made her wonder if he had never been in such a situation before. Well, not exactly the same situation, obviously, but still…

"I have wanted to do that for a long time now." He replied to her surprise, and his eyes were back on hers, dark and intense and every last idea of adorable was gone. Instead, his gaze made Robin shiver in delighted excitement. "But never would I have thought that it would be better than anything I was even vaguely able to imagine."

"You imagined kissing me?"

"More often than I should admit to, if I want to keep some last scraps of dignity at least."

"I've seen you lying in a muddy river before, as well as being stuck in a giant cobweb. And if that's not enough, we were just snogging in the hallways like the hormonal teenagers we scold for doing the very same. I think it's a bit too late to worry about your dignity with me." Robin chuckled, louder even when Snape rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but her heart soared when he smiled again after all. "We really should get out of the hallways though, I'm tired of fearing people might run into us. I really don't see how the danger of getting caught can be appealing to someone, for me it's just nerve-wracking."

"I could not agree more."

After taking two seconds to straighten out their appearances just in case, they made their way through the gloomy darkness side by side like they had done so often by now, with the small but significant change that the accidental touches, the brushing of hands and bumping of arms were more intentional than not this time, and both knew it to be their fullest intention as well. Robin couldn't keep the grin off her face, but she bit her bottom lip to tone it down as much as possible. She hadn't felt so much giddy excitement in one night since… well, ever really. And when they walked right past the office, then past the lab as well, a liquid lightning ran from the top of her head down her spine to her very core and every cell beyond. These new rushes were only an additional layer to the bottomless adoration and affection that had been there for years now, to the deeply rooted love she held for him, but it was a heavenly addition nonetheless. It certainly gave the term 'allconsuming' an entirely new meaning, an inevitably deeper one.

It was only when Snape stopped in the crossing of hallways that on one end led to the common room and to his rooms on the other that Robin's smile faltered. With a confused frown she didn't bother to hide she came to a halt as well, looking up at him with the question clear as night in her eyes so she wouldn't have to say the words. It was safer than admitting to being as boldly assuming as she had been… somehow she hadn't doubted that they would at least have a coffee. Like always. Or… did he need space now, with everything that had happened? After all the days and nights they had spent together, he didn't really strike Robin as the kind of person who would need space, not from her. From others, yes, always if possible, but he hadn't sent her away in years, rather on the contrary really. So-...

"I don't know if this could be considered a good idea by any means." He said in a calm tone, reluctant almost while yet he reached out for Robin's hand and pulled her closer to himself. Always the contradiction, that man…

"And why wouldn't it be a good idea?" She asked in return, calm encouragement colouring her voice now that she knew the reason for his hesitation wasn't a sudden wish for distance. Indeed, as if to prove that point, he interlaced their fingers and drew her closer the last bit in a single move of gentle elegance.

"Because if you come with me right now, I won't let you leave again until we are late for breakfast." He replied quietly and yet in that intense sincerity that had Robin's heart skipping beats while her eyes were glued to his. Gods, he really did mean it… excitement struck her like lightning, her heartbeat posed the thunder.

"I can live with that." She managed to say in a breath, her lips curving up into a smile upon the repetition of his earlier words. Then they formed a smirk as she went on. "Bold of you to assume that I'll want to leave for breakfast though."

"Oh, I've never been partial to having three meals per day anyway."

His reply made Robin laugh, then smile up at him brightly and with just a hint of tease. "It's not such a bad idea after all, huh?"

"That would depend entirely on who you ask." He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, then walked on down the hallway with a start while keeping hold of Robin's hand. She didn't need to be not-told twice to follow, and was again walking by his side when he spoke on. "I for my part cannot complain, and I honestly don't care about any other opinion but yours beyond that."

"Complaining wouldn't help you at this point anyway, because I have recently discovered the perfect way to bribe you."

"Is that so?"

"Open the door and I'll show you." Robin replied easily but with a teasing smirk no less once they reached his rooms in the bow of the hallway.

"Don't tempt me."

"Isn't that what a temptation is supposed to do?" She quipped while her smirk broadened. "Tempt?"

"You are insufferable."

"Or perhaps tease? Allure? Seduce? Ens-..." She didn't get further when she was pulled through the now open door and into the darkness behind it, barely catching how it was thrown shut again before she found herself tightly trapped against it from the inside. The grin that wanted to form on her lips died a broken second later when she got exactly what she wanted, and yet, as always, so much more.

His lips moved against hers in hunger, returning every bit of passion she gave, and yet there wasn't a hint of roughness in the kiss, no blunt strength which would taint the blissful sensuality. In a spark of boldness or bravery, Robin traced the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip, only for him to gasp against her lips in return. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and did the same thing again, the gasp turned into a silent moan and he pulled her with him away from the door, staggering through the darkness with a baffling certainty until one unfortunate movement of his hand over the hurting spot on Robin's back made her first hiss in pain, then flinch at the intensity of it. He let go of her immediately in return, and Robin's first fathomable thought was a silent curse directed at Morgan for being the cause of what had broken apart this moment. The stupid pain in her back.

"What did I do this time?" Snape asked in honest concern as well as subtle remorse, and a second later the fireplace lit up from a wordless spell, illuminating the remainder of the room in a gentle orange golden glow. They had almost reached the sofa by now, obviously having made their way there before the pain had put a stop to their plans.

"You did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise." Robin immediately gave him a small but reassuring smile, and held onto him so he wouldn't even think about moving away. "It's just that spot on my back that's still hurting ever since Morgan touched it, it really doesn't matter. Don't worry."

"Your back simply started hurting out of nowhere upon his touch during the dance? And he didn't speak a word?" Snape still inquired further, in lingering concern but quite obviously more at ease now that he knew it wasn't his doing that had hurt her at least. Robin had to smile at his sheer inability not to worry about her; it made her heart soar in warmth and adoration all the more. And seeing as he wouldn't stop asking, now that she had brought the mysterious pain to his attention, they might just have to deal with it right now.

"Not a word that was a spell, at least… and yes, he just traced his fingers over my back and that caused a strong stinging and burning that faded a moment later though. Now it hurts whenever someone even comes close to touching it. That's why I flinched so stupidly." She shrugged with a half smile. "Sorry for that."

"Don't apologise for what clearly isn't your fault. I should curse Morgan into oblivion for hurting you right in this instant… but I would rather take your pain away if I can." Snape sighed, then paused for a moment, lost in thought, before he finally spoke up again. "Did it hurt when your back hit the wall? Or the door? Or is it just a hand's touch that hurts?"

The question made Robin frown to herself; she hadn't considered that. The answer she came up with for herself then rendered her frown even deeper. "I believe it's just an actual human touch that causes me pain. It didn't hurt at all when I leaned against whatever surface, and neither does the dress make it sore or anything like that… But you and the girls could hurt me quite a bit by just touching any spot on my back. What does that mean?"

"I have a vague idea." He grumbled to himself at the thought of it, and Robin understood the sentiment only too well in this regard. "Can you touch it without pain?"

"I can try…" She mused and did just that, but even though she only barely could reach the spot with the back of her fingers when she twisted her arm enough, there should have been at least a little sting. But no, nothing, no pain at all. She frowned to herself again. "That's weird. I can't even precisely tell you where it is when it doesn't hurt… and I can touch it without pain. Perhaps it's nothing."

"Magical wounds should not be taken lightly, especially if inflicted by someone as irresponsible as Morgan. We should take you to the hospital wing."

"Or you could look at it here." Robin suggested easily, shrugging with one shoulder as she observed his reluctant but not averse expression. "You know more about the situation with Morgan, about what happened tonight and about me than anyone in the infirmary. I really don't mean to doubt their abilities at all, but I think if it's a magical thing of more or less unknown origin, it falls more into the dark arts anyway, which precisely is the point where I would prefer you to look at it. Who knows, maybe it really is nothing and we're through with it in two minutes… we could save ourselves the time of way. I have other plans for tonight than sitting around the infirmary with a bunch of punch-drunk students."

"Do you?" He couldn't help the smirk on his lips upon that, even though it was clear that he was trying to fight the short lived amusement due to the otherwise serious situation. At least it wasn't serious enough to warrant the complete absence of humour on his end, so that was a relief at least.

"Yeah, actually. I was hoping for a drink and the continuation of where we were interrupted, but I'm still open for further suggestions." She smiled up at him and he rolled his eyes, but the amusement stayed nonetheless, which sufficed to give Robin some more courage. They'd be through with this in no time, they always had been when she'd been injured. "Do you happen to know a spell to undo a million tiny buttons? I haven't found one yet, but if anyone knows such a thing, it would have to be you."

He let out an amused huff, then quirked an eyebrow at Robin. "I believe if there was such a spell, I would have discovered it by now. Every time I tried to invent one myself however, it led to the destruction of the garment rather than the desired result. Therefore I unfortunately have to disappoint you. Why do you ask?"

"Because it would have spared you work." She chuckled, somewhere between humour and embarrassment, the latter of which however she strongly tried to reason against. He'd seen her in various stages of undress over time, and it had never been a big deal. Or had it? Would he think differently of it now than he had over summer? Gods, why was she nervous now?! It wasn't even the kind of situation where she should be nervous, they were just trying to make sure that her back was alright, for heaven's sake! And she still stood with her point that she would rather have Snape looking at her injuries than anyone else, even in complete disregard to the most recent developments between them. This had nothing to do with that, it was just a coincidence. An oddly fitting one, going by the line of events.

Robin resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at herself and her antics and merely turned around so that her back was right in front of him, making an obvious point of what she wanted him to do. This wasn't a movie; plots didn't just fall into place like that. Two things could happen without any obvious correlation between them. She sighed, then focused on the task at hand. "Perhaps I should've worn a dress with a zipper like everyone else, huh? Then again, I wasn't really expecting anyone having to undress me tonight."

She didn't need to look at him to know that he was hesitating, and if she was honest, she couldn't really blame him. Truth was that things were different now, or could be different now, and it was uncharted territory for both of them. Either of them was uncertain what to make of it, afraid to make a wrong move. At least it brought some peace and relief to her mind that he obviously was just as insecure as she was in this new and yet so very familiar moment of innocent intimacy. Even though things like this had happened in the plenty over summer already.

"We're just looking at my back for the damage Morgan did yet again… Just like the times he dislocated my shoulder, or cut open my hand, or-... well, you know what I mean. You've seen me torn up and bloody before, and we've always taken care of it. And I know for a fact that your hands aren't cold, so there really is nothing to worry about, right?" She said in a calm, almost soothing voice, both to him and herself, and contrary to what she had thought, it actually caused an overwhelming wave of ease and comfort to wash over her when he finally started with the first button in the back of her neck. When his fingers brushed against her skin however, her breathing hitched nonetheless while goosebumps covered her skin within a broken second. Perhaps this wasn't entirely like it had been over summer… But comfort and excitement were what it caused yet again, and that really seemed to be a reoccurring theme with them. Their own perfect ambivalence. Home and adventure at once.

It didn't take long at all until the buttons were open down to her waist, just far enough so she could slip the spiky and stiff shoulder parts off her arms, which left her to clutch the front of her dress to her chest quite a bit more tightly than necessary. Robin blamed the neckline of her dress for making her forsake any kind of bralette… It left her upper body entirely bare now, and that in return was the reason why she was clutching the front of the dress to her chest. But then again, she didn't really mind it too much if she was being honest with herself. Having an excuse to show some skin… forcing her to be bolder than she was… it really was terribly exciting for some stupid reason. A lucky coincidence, even if a bit poorly timed. Most of all however, Robin liked the reaction she was getting from the man behind her, judged by the fact that his heartbeat had doubled in speed by the time her back was exposed to him almost entirely. There it was again, that overwhelming excitement that came with the power she seemed to have over him… the knowledge that her mere being did such things to him. But they were just looking at her back for the spellwork done on her, and she gave herself a mental slap to stop pondering how they could go on from there. Unrelated situations, and all that…

"So… how does it look?" She finally asked in a surprising calmness, considering that her every sense was heightened to the extreme. Gods, she wanted him to touch her skin again, even if it would hurt… No, bad thought, bad Robin! There was work to do, and she was getting distracted!

"Like three hand-length cuts that seem to have scarred. Did you ever notice those before? They look far older than just a few hours." He mused in return, then carefully pulled Robin closer to the fireplace by her elbow. She didn't resist and merely walked backwards blindly until she was in the direct light of the fire, and thereby also in the reach of its warmth. He stopped her there, and for a moment she wondered if he needed the light or if he had just noticed the goosebumps on her skin. Duh, obviously he had… they were hard to miss, even if they weren't at all caused by the cold. Either way, his hand lingered on her arm, and that was even more welcome than the fire's warmth.

"Actual scars? I don't think I've had them before, no. And truth be told, you probably would've seen them before if they had been there for longer." She finally remembered to reply, then frowned to herself. "And in addition to that, I can't remember ever getting severely injured on the back. Other than the thing with the bludger in fifth year, that is… I never really knew exactly how badly I hurt myself there, and I never dared to ask."

"Badly enough to have me terrified of your impending death."

"Oops…" She breathed rather lamely, then chuckled to herself almost apologetically. "I guess passing out in the infirmary right in front of your eyes didn't help much with that."

"No. Neither did it prepare me for the instance last summer where you actually came close to death when you passed out on my doorstep." He said in a sigh, then the hand on Robin's arm vanished as he spoke on. "Let us ensure that it won't happen again and find out what that pest of a man did to you this time. Tell me when the pain becomes noticeable, yes?"

Robin only hummed in agreement, and jumped a second later when he placed a hand on her shoulder this time, in a gentle touch that had her melting right on the spot. Slowly and with just enough pressure to be noticeable at all, his fingers danced across her skin, down to her shoulder blade and over her spine, tracing three lines at last with a bit more pressure. Robin had to bite her lip to keep in both a sigh of bliss and a whimper of pain. For some odd reason these two were currently very hard to tell apart in that they both caused an echo of his touch, a heat pulsing through her in the rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Didn't that hurt at all?" He asked with a frown practically ingrained in his tone, as well as confusion in the plenty, and Robin had to call defeat to circumstance.

"Oh. Yes, it did. Sorry, I really should have said something." She admitted in a quiet voice, then got a grasp of herself and continued on a little louder. "But I didn't want you to stop, so I kind of… forgot speech over the overwhelming feeling of having your touch on my back at all."

"You do make it very difficult for me to focus on the problem at hand when you say things like that."

His words brought a smile to Robin's face as it suddenly eradicated the nervousness, and she was only glad that he couldn't see it. "I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"True, I'm not." She couldn't help chuckling at her own half-hearted attempt to fool him, and even more at his trenchant ability to see right through her. "But I'll try to focus on the problem now instead of how amazing your hands feel on my skin."

"Robin…" He warned her quietly, but she could still hear the smirk in his voice, and that's when she couldn't help laughing.

"It's really not my fault!" She protested, and almost would've dropped her arms in a grand gesture if she hadn't remembered just why she was holding her dress in place in the very last second. This entire situation was as ridiculous as it was dangerous as it was wonderful. "You try focusing on anything beyond the tingles when your entire body is a goddamn wildfire!"

"I am trying right now, and you're not making it any easier. The sight of you alone is distracting enough."

"Just that little bit of skin is supposedly doing to you what your touch does to me? Sorry, but I sincerely doubt it."

"You shouldn't." He replied entirely seriously now, and the mere tone of his voice was enough to make Robin shiver again. "It does not take naked skin or fancy gowns for me to think of you as far more than simply ‘delectable’. You are nothing short of the most breathtaking creature I have ever been blessed to see, to stay with the trivial matter of physical appearance for once. But indeed, while I could not care less for others' looks and garments, you never fail to enchant me entirely with any of yours, and seeing as I have previously not had the opportunity to see quite so much of your skin, it does affect me quite strongly now at long last."

Robin's heart skipped a beat, then set into a steady gallop that made it delightfully hard to breathe. But for some reason, the words on her lips did not care for that at all. "You make it very difficult for me to focus on the problem at hand when you say things like that." She mirrored his statement, smiling to herself at the thought. "But do you actually mean it or are you just trying to get revenge on me by equal terms?"

"Both, obviously, but the latter is rather a lucky side effect of the former. And since we are discussing it already, you can call me blind if you will, but I do actually find your hair very attractive on any day, especially because it is a perfect mess." He answered easily, while his fingers continued to trace irregular patterns over the injured part of her back that seemed to hurt more and more by the minute. "Even though I very much appreciate the recent absence of the pineapple scent."

Robin found that she didn't mind the pain, especially not when his reference to her words from earlier this evening as well as the dreaded pineapple made her laugh, and the knowledge that he did, in fact, mean all of those things he'd said made her skin tingle pleasantly. He never made shallow compliments; when he deliberately said something nice for once, one could be sure that he meant it to the fullest.

"I think that might be among the loveliest things you have ever said to me." She smiled after a moment, when her soaring heart would let her speak up through the haze of emotions. "Directly said to me, that is. You say a lot of nice things when you don't mean to."

"Don't get used to it. What a crazy world would we be living in if I started saying nice things regularly now… It would entirely destroy the efficiency and purpose of my compliments." He scoffed in obvious sarcasm and tease, while placing his second hand on her shoulder to keep her in place for whatever he was doing.

"You're an idiot, Sev-..." Robin's words and laughter were cut off with a start when Snape placed his other hand directly on the hurting spot on her back, with quite a bit more pressure than before. It caused a pain far too strong for any measure to ripple through her every sense, and a well of tears to spring to her eyes in return. "Ouch! God damn and bloody hell…"

"I might be an idiot, but an idiot who can focus far better when we banter as usual. That seems to have become somewhat of a precondition for me to be able to work efficiently." He returned, then removed his hands from her entirely before he spoke on in a much more tainted tone. "I apologise for having to hurt you, but in order to undo the spell before it became even more dangerous, that unfortunately was inevitable. Now however, the pain should be gone once and for all in just a moment."

"Wait, you… you know what Morgan did to me and just… undid it like that?" Robin turned around to face him with a deep frown creasing her brows in an instant. "Is that what you were doing while we talked?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't bother telling me?! At least a little warning, perhaps?"

"I had the choice between distracting you by making you laugh and thereby forget about the pain I was unfortunately causing in the process, or to further said pain even more by talking about Morgan and his vile doings." He replied so easily that it made perfect sense now, that it appeared to be the most obvious solution ever. "As you see, it wasn't even a choice to be made."

"Thank you. That… was a really clever thing to do, actually." Robin sighed and gave him a soft smile, then took a moment to appreciate how the shadows of the flames danced across his skin before she spoke on. "So… no more pain for now?"

"Not as far as I can tell, at least."

"Let's find out for sure then, shall we?"

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kodzukenscorner · 4 years

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Sakusa falling in love with a robot?

anon asked: can i request hc/scenario? there was this kdrama where the main guy is allergic to human interaction, turns red if he does and takes medication to stop it.one day he buys an android,but got broken so the creator had to ask an actual human being to act as a robot then they touched except he didn't become allergic bc his illness is psychological then he falls inlove w it thinking it is just an android, with sakusa,how would he found out and react?srry if this is too detailed, ignore this if so 💕

a/n: whew ok anon i had not heard of this drama before so you can BET i googled it and watched a couple of scenes from it and wow this is so cute and sakusa is such a good fit for this

wc: 1,361

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

People are gross, they are disgusting and do not understand personal hygiene. Sakusa is fully aware of this fact and does everything he can to avoid human contact. He may be a volleyball player but he specifically picked the sport because there is little to no human contact. Only one person touches the ball at a time and he is more than happy with that. His teammates and fans have learned to keep their distance from him, unfortunately they learned the hard way.

At one of the MSBY fanmeets, a young boy was so excited to meet one of his favorite outside hitters that when he walked up to Sakusa’s intimidatingly large frame, he latched on to one of his legs. Before any of the other Jackals could pry this kid off Sakusa had already started to feel lightheaded. He wandered off somewhere to be alone, his worried teammates trailing behind, watching helplessly as their friend turned a ghastly red and struggled to breathe properly. Thankfully he was able to recover without requiring a trip to a hospital but he skipped out on the rest of the fanmeet. This didn’t go unnoticed by the fans and reporters and word quickly spread about Sakusa Kiyoomi, the athlete who loathed human touch.

Sakusa really didn’t mind it, that just meant that people kept their distance and life actually got easier for him. But, the popular athlete quickly caught the attention of an up and coming tech company that wanted to test out their new life-like android. Sakusa never really figured out why they wanted him to try out their prototype, maybe they pitied him, or maybe they just wanted the endorsement of someone who was notorious for disliking people. Either way he said yes.

Why did he say yes? Deep down Sakusa knew that the pit of loneliness in his stomach was slowly eating away at him and he longed for someone, anyone, to help him break through it, but he’d never admit that, not even to himself.

The tech company was elated and quickly got to work on preparing their new android for delivery until some dumb intern spilled water on it while he was adjusting the hard drive. So now everyone is freaking out because this android is supposed to be delivered today but they need at least a week to replace the hard drive. What else could they do except call up the person the android is modeled after and basically beg you to pretend to be a robot to hang out with some volleyball player for a week. They were offering you a lot of money and if all you had to do was keep some guy company, it couldn’t hurt right? And it’s not like this guy can’t be around people, he just doesn’t like them. Right?

This is genuinely one of the most ridiculous situations you’ve ever been put in, you’re being escorted into some strangers house and he thinks you’re a robot. The android is supposed to be just like a human so at least you don’t have to worry about acting like a robot. When the two of you are finally left alone, you’re just standing in the middle of his apartment unsure of what to do. He’s staring you up and down, hands in the pocket of his jacket, face mask covering most of his face. From what you can tell, he’s fairly handsome and definitely tall and muscular. He catches you checking him out and raises an eyebrow.

“I guess even robots have feelings huh?”

You let that comment go, figuring you would think something similar if you had been presented with an oddly life-like robot. Most of the first day went by with little interaction between the two of you. You sat in his living room, attempting to make conversation with him every now and again, his responses were short and curt but he stayed near you most of the day. It felt like he wanted to talk more with you but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. You made do with simple questions about himself, trying to get to know him better. He obliged you with some light small talk and you actually felt like you were making some headway with him. You learned some of his likes and dislikes and to no one’s surprise, found out he’s very particular about his personal hygiene.

The second day was a welcome change, it almost felt like he was a new person. The first day he was obviously keeping his distance, sitting on the couch opposite yours, face mask still on. Today you were surprised when he sat right next to you on the couch and more importantly he wasn’t wearing a face mask today. He turned his head towards you to ask you a question and oh shit he’s hot, how is he so pretty up close? Holy shit. Oh and his lips are moving, oh wait is he saying something? Oh god he just asked you a question and you were too busy drooling over him to hear it. Oh no, he’s staring, what should you say?

“What?”

Sakusa stared at you quizzically, eyeing you closely. How the hell can he look so attractive even when he’s suspicious?

“I asked if your skin felt real”

And now he spoke and suddenly his voice was sending shivers down your spine.

“You can feel it if you like” You held your palm out to him with this new found confidence and he faltered for a second before he gently took your hand in his.

His hands were rough and calloused but his touch was so tender, like you would break if he squeezed too hard. He caressed your palm with his thumb, eyes trained on your hand.

“Soft...” He mumbled under his breath.

He looked up to your face and made eye contact with you again. You froze and you’re positive he felt your hand tense up in his. Why did he have this effect on you? It’s like you’d never met a handsome guy before, well maybe not someone as good looking as him cause come on now.

While you were busy ogling, Sakusa had lifted his free hand to stroke your cheek. Your breathing hitched and if Sakusa hadn’t noticed how you tensed up before he certainly noticed now.

He could tell, he knew. No matter how life-like a robot could be, there was no way it could mimic human reactions this well. You had to be a real person but he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. How long had it been since he last had human contact like this? And your skin was so soft, it was addicting. And your lips, why were they so plump? Wait, is he touching your lips now? Yeah he definitely is.

Sakusa ghosted a thumb over your lips, his intense gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips. His fingers travelled down to your chin where he lightly gripped your face and brought you closer. Before you could regain whatever composure you had before, his lips were on yours. He was hesitant though, you could tell he wasn’t used to this and something inside of you encouraged you to take the lead. You brought one hand to grip his collar and the other in his hair, which was incredibly soft and silky by the way. You guided his lips against yours, he groaned against your mouth when you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.

You wanted more, so much more and you found yourself kissing him more desperately. It was getting sloppy but Sakusa just grabbed your thighs and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, your hands getting lost in his dark curls. You never wanted to stop, he was intoxicating but you needed to catch your breath before you passed out so you reluctantly pulled away. You were both panting softly, eyes locked onto each other. Sakusa spoke up first.

“You’re not a robot are you?”

You shook your head. “No”

“Good” Sakusa grabbed the back of your head and crashed your lips back onto his.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu writing #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #hq sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you

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hongism · 4 years

Text

two hearts connected - kth (smut)

Pairing: Taehyung x female reader (side Hoseok x reader)

AU: music producer!reader, trainee!taehyung, hanahaki au

type of fic: oneshot

genre: nsfw, 18+, smut, angst

word count: 11.8k

Summary: You said it always made you feel loved and happy and adored and wanted. Then you turned around and said that it still wasn’t enough. He just wants to be enough for someone, and it has to be you.

in which, taehyung is a hopeful trainee, you’re a music producer, and hoseok works at a coffee shop.

Warnings: unprotec secc, angst angst angst, reader has Issues:tm:, ambiguous ending, misunderstood soulmates, spanking, choking, oral sex: both, finger sucking, fingering, dirty talk and degradation, verbal arguments, pining, very unhealthy relationships, blood, sex addiction, talking with therapists

for the FicsWithLuv Luv Library Project~

...

"Got plans tonight?"

You glance up at the man who posed the question, eyes wide from the sudden intrusion of your privacy. Taehyung leans against the door with arms crossed over his chest. A small smile plays at his lips, a slight quirk to his grin, and you know that you're supposed to smile in return but you simply can't bring yourself to. You push your chair back, rolling away from your desk to get a better look at Taehyung.

"I have a lot of work to catch up on," you say with a small sigh.

"That's never stopped us before." Taehyung has a point; in fact, it's never stopped the two of you from getting up to trouble in this very studio or in the dance studio down the hall.

"Sorry, Tae. It's really too much work tonight. There's apparently new plans about the concept of the group...and I'm supposed to work on a debut track for the group." Taehyung's head falls to the side, eyes narrowing at the news.

"A new concept? I thought they were happy with what was chosen?"

"Eh, change in management plans. There's always room for improvement according to the big bosses." You turn back to your computer, glancing over the mess of overlapping tracks and sounds on your screen. A second later, a pair of hands finds your shoulders and begins to rub small circles against the bit of exposed skin near your hoodie. Well - Taehyung's hoodie to be specific, but the details aren't important. The moment his fingers find the tight muscles near your neck, you all but melt under him.

"You're so tense, Y/N..." Taehyung mutters. It's with a surprising gentleness that he touches you, one you aren't used to in your usual encounters and it almost scares you. Still, you lean back into the touch, letting his hands run over your shoulders and massage out the kinks in your neck. Then your phone buzzes, rattling against the desk and shaking you both out of the odd silence that lingers. "Who is it?" You ignore the question as you pull your phone to your body, shielding the screen from Taehyung's sight.

Can I drop by the studio tonight? I have food!!

"Just Hoseok," you answer after a moment. You type out a hasty response before dropping your phone to your lap. Taehyung's hands retract immediately.

"Oh."

You spin in your chair, nearly knocking his chin with the back, and face him. Eyes blank and empty, he looks down at you. You reach out slowly, grip the collar of his shirt, and tug him down so that he's eye level with you.

"I changed my mind," you whisper. Eyes on his lips, you lean closer. Taehyung smirks down at you. The blank hurt on his features disappears as he meets you halfway, plush lips hitting yours with a significant amount of force. You melt under him and tug him closer by the collar. He moans into your mouth, a sound that sends heat straight to your core. "I want you to bend me over the keyboard, Tae."

Taehyung's hands find your hips at that, and he tugs you up. You help him out by wrapping your legs around his waist and latch onto him before he pulls you off the chair. Your phone falls to the ground, forgotten and unneeded.

"I want you against the wall first," he hisses against your mouth. He picks you up with ease, as though you don't weigh a thing, and he pushes you to the wall. You gasp at the force. Your head snaps back and hits the wall. Taehyung's lips leave yours and begin to travel down the edge of your jaw, mouthing at your skin. He nips under your jaw.

"Don't leave marks, Tae," you murmur, but the sensation of his teeth on your skin distracts you far too much. "Ta-Taehyung--" You're cut off by a particularly harsh nip. In the background, you hear the buzz of your phone. His hands are travelling down between your legs before you can think about what Hoseok might've responded with.

"You're not wearing any underwear? How dirty, Y/N." You keep hearing your phone go off - no doubt Hoseok is attempting to call you now - but Taehyung won't let up on his touches and kisses. Honestly, the sound of the phone is distracting you from the pleasure you would normally be feeling in this position. "I bet you were hoping I'd come fuck you, weren't you?"

"When are we going to stop this?" You ask between sighs. Taehyung doesn't provide an answer right away, lips lingering at the juncture of your neck for a moment. He pulls off after leaving you with a harsh suck to the skin there. Eyes find yours, and you can't quite read the emotion in them. He shrugs.

"Probably once I debut. Doesn't really matter, does it?"

You sigh.

"Yea, I guess it doesn't."

Of course it doesn't. Why would it? For Taehyung, you're just a toy he gets to play with whenever he wants.

He pauses, lips hesitating on your neck, and you feel him sigh against your skin. "Well that certainly killed the mood, didn't it?" He pulls away, and the two of you make eye contact a moment later.

"My phone is ringing," you say, tone monotonous and dull as you look at him. Taehyung wordlessly lets you drop to the ground. You move around him to retrieve your phone, no longer in the mood to talk or fuck for that matter. "Hello?" You cut the ringing off with your voice.

"Y/N! You didn't answer my text. Are you busy? I can head over anytime!" Hoseok's voice is bright and clear. You laugh at his enthusiasm, thinking of his precious eye smile, but the smile on your lips is quickly replaced by a sharp pain in your chest.

"Y-Yea, you can co-come over now. I'm not b-busy." The words are hard to get out, the pain keeps you from speaking without a stutter, and you're sure that Taehyung can see your struggle.

"Oh great! I'll be over soon, I just need to get on the bus real quick!" Hoseok hangs up after that, not offering anymore words, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Taehyung lingers at your side.

"Hanging out with him is better than fucking?" He asks. His breath is hot on your neck as he leans over you. Lips ghost your skin and press soft kisses to the exposed area. It doesn't stay soft long, quickly falling into nips and tugs at your neck, and you have to pull away from him before you fall back into the sweet addiction that is Kim Taehyung.

"You should go, Tae. Hoseok will be here any minute. I know the two of you don't really get along all too well." It's not meant to be backhanded or an attack; merely facts. The first time your best friend met your uh, fuck buddy, he was less than thrilled. Even more so after he found out that you work with Taehyung, which led into a long lecture about how he would never sleep with any of his coworkers because it's unprofessional and causes problems left and right. You had to remind Hoseok that he worked at a damn coffee shop and not some high class firm where it really would cause issues.

Taehyung pulls away, but not without giving a particularly hard suck to the juncture of your neck that brings a wanton moan out of you. Your hand flies to cover your lips. A wave of embarrassment washes over you even though Taehyung has heard that exact sound time and time again.

"Let's see how much you think of me while he's here then, princess." The palm of Taehyung's hand comes down against the curve of your ass, and you gasp at the contact. A burning sting blossoms across your skin. You have to bite your lip to keep the moan from slipping out. Taehyung surely knows what effect he has on you and the power he holds over you. "Maybe he'll know exactly what's on your mind the whole time." Taehyung slips away from you with that comment, turning on his heel, and you don't turn around to see him walk out the door. Instead you wait for the quiet click of the door opening and closing, then release the breath you've been holding since he spanked you. Your ass still stings from the contact, a reminder of his touch, and you know that's what he intended.

It takes quite a bit of effort on your part to sit down and get back to work, what with Taehyung on your mind. Part of you regrets telling Hoseok to come over because you know that otherwise, Taehyung would be buried inside you by now. You bring a hand to your neck. There's surely a mark there; Taehyung was a bit too rough even though you told him not to leave marks. The skin is sensitive to the touch. You know it's going to be there awhile, a constant reminder of Taehyung's presence in your life, no matter how much you don't like it. Hoseok will be disappointed. Hoseok won't be happy with me.

"It's always about Hoseok for you, isn't it?" Taehyung had asked you that question a long time ago, somewhat early on in your arrangement. He wasn't wrong, and his words definitely still ring true for you now.

Of course it's always about him. It's been that way for as long as you can remember. He's been your best friend for how long? 10 years?

That sharp pain returns to your chest. You slump further down in your chair, turning the volume on your computer up as though it will help drown out the pain.

It's always about him. Never about me.

...

"Are you listening? Y/N, I've been talking to you for the past five minutes but you stopped responding." Hoseok waves his hand in front of your face. You shake your head, pulling your attention off the window to your left and back to your best friend who sits across from you. An expression of concern paints his features.

"Yea, sorry. Was thinking about work for a second."

"Listen, Y/N, you come here to forget work, not think about it constantly. Besides, I'm on my break right now. I don't want either of us to be thinking about work now of all times." Hoseok purses his lips, and you frown at the pout.

"No yea, I'm sorry. Just... thinking too hard. Repeat what you said? I'll make sure to listen this time."

"Are you sure you're okay, Y/N?" The question catches you off guard.

"What?"

"Are you sure you're okay? Is work really that bad? What's going on? You've been like this for a few weeks now." You fidget in your seat. Hoseok has a point, but you don't really want to acknowledge it because everything is fine and you can't worry him. "Y/N?" He's onto you now, you've been quiet for too long, and he's bound to know that you're holding something back after 10 years of friendship. "Listen, I know you hate it when I bring him up, but does it have to do with Taeh—"

"It's nothing. Not him. Don't worry about it, Hobi. I promise I'm fine."

"You haven't been fine since the last time I came to visit you at the studio."

Yea, of course he would mention that night of all nights. Maybe it's mere coincidence that you haven't seen Taehyung since that night too, or maybe it's that not fucking him for three and a half weeks really is having that bad of an effect on you. It can't be that. Sure you're sexually frustrated and sex is the only stress relief that works for you, but it's not like you actually miss Taehyung. Your hand instinctively moves for your neck and hovers over the place where Taehyung left a mark weeks ago. Hoseok follows your movements with his eyes. He knows.

"How long has it been?"

"W-What?" You stutter through the simple question.

"How long since you last fucked?"

"Excuse me, that's quite an invasive question and I'm not sure I want to be telling you things like that, like I know we're best friends but come on Hoseok that's on another level of pri—"

"Answer the damn question. When did you last see him?"

You sigh. You know you're trapped, he's got you stuck with the question, and you can't avoid it any longer. Still, you really wish you could. Hoseok doesn't know that Taehyung was there minutes before he came to your studio; he saw the hickey and assumed that it had been from a previous visit without looking too hard at the mark.

"A few weeks."

"A few weeks? As in two or more?"

"Three and a half," you spit. You know Hoseok won't quit asking until he gets concrete details, so you're going to just save yourself the trouble and get straight to the point. "The night you came to visit me in the studio. Happy?" Hoseok looks taken aback at your words and the venom behind them. A few strands of his chestnut brown hair fall across his forehead as he shakes his head. You expect shock — in fact, part of you wanted to see shock — and yet he just looks blank. Disappointed. Disappointed.

"Do you want me to be happy?" He asks after a moment. It hurts, seeing him so disappointed because of something you did and it hurts, knowing that your relationship with Taehyung is destroying the best relationship you have. Something else hurts, deep down, something you don't want to think about or confront or even acknowledge in the slightest.

"Of course I want you to be happy," you say under your breath. You know it's not a serious question, or one that Hoseok is expecting an answer from at all but you still answer honestly nonetheless.

"You know nothing about your arrangement with him makes me happy, Y/N. Yet you still continue to go through with it, so what am I supposed to say? Tell you no? I've already tried that time and time again. You never listen, so what's the point?" Hoseok shakes his head. He turns his face away from you, looking out the window of the cafe instead of at you, and you frown at his lack of emotion.

"I can stop it if that's what you really want..."

"You would never be able to. You're too dependent on using him when you're stressed. Don't make empty promises. I've already accepted the fact that he's the most important thing in your life - at least the sex is." Hoseok grips the coffee cup before him, knuckles white from the tight hold he has on it.

Pain blossoms in your chest.

He looks at the table. You look at his hands.

"You need help, Y/N. I can't do anything for you."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I'm fine." Hoseok's head snaps up. He looks you in the eye, the gleam in his eye so sharp and intense that it stops you in your tracks.

"I got the name of a therapist. She specializes in sex addiction. Just give her one call for me? Please?" You can't say no to him. You never could.

"Okay. If it makes you happy, then I'll do it."

"I just want you to be okay, Y/N. It's not about my happiness, it's about your well-being." He leans back, hand going for his pocket, and pulls out his phone. "I'll text you the number. Please just try to call or see her within the next few days. Before you see Taehyung next." You try to ignore the pointed glare Hoseok sends your way.

"Yea, I can manage that." You nod along with the words, but in the back of your mind, you're already thinking about the next phone call you're going to make to Taehyung. Your phone dings as Hoseok sends the message. You don't bother to check the screen, already knowing the contents of his message, and part of you doesn't want to face the reality of the message. Because there's not a problem. There never has been. There never will be. Fuck, you really need to see Taehyung again soon. Your hand twitches at the thought of calling him.

"Thank you, Y/N. I wish it hadn't come to this, but it is what it is."

You don't look at him. There's always been something so... yellow about Hoseok, something bright and shining and gleaming even in the dark. He's always been this light in the darkness for you. Your light. Yours. Except he's not. He's never been yours, and you know he never will be, especially with this damn relationship you have with Taehyung. Everything is yellow with Hoseok. Makes you feel warm, safe, at home. But right now? Everything feels so very cold instead. Your chest hurts again. Hoseok keeps looking at you with those piercing eyes, and you've never felt more out of place in your life. Why does it hurt so much?

It's always about him. It has to be.

...

"F-Fuck, Tae. Fuck!" You arch your back off the bed as Taehyung's tongue curls inside of you, and a loud moan tears through your lips after another cuss hits the air. Taehyung laughs against your folds. The sound reverberates through you, and you can't stop your body from quivering from the impact. Taehyung braces you with his large hands, palms spread across your thighs and pressing them further apart to keep you from moving more.

"Sit still, princess. I have more work to do," he mutters as he pulls back, only to lean forward again and press a kiss to your clit that has you jolting. He sits up, caging his arms around your waist, then presses his lips to your ear. You can feel the wetness on his lips, the evidence of your arousal on him, the burning heat of shame filling your gut. "So pretty and needy, Y/N. Such a slut for me, yea? Do you want me to fill you up? Fill you with my cum? Fuck it into you over and over until my cum is dripping out of you?"

You moan as you dip your head, chin hitting the crook of his neck, and you bury your face against his skin to hit your embarrassment. Taehyung's hand slides down, fingers tracing your stomach before finding your core, then he presses two fingers into you. You gasp at the stretch. His fingers begin to scissor inside you, and you writhe under him, the grasp he has on you being the only thing to keep you grounded.

"Don't act so innocent, slut. We both know how needy and slutty you really are. My dirty little slut. Lets me fuck her and bend her over in her studio. Moans nice and loud for me. Takes my cock so well like a true slut." He pulls his fingers out of your slick heat only to bring them to your lips. "Suck, slut."

You whine but obey, taking his fingers between your lips and licking them clean for Taehyung. You taste yourself on him, a salty sweet taste that now coats the whole interior of your mouth. Taehyung fucks his fingers into your mouth. He chuckles as his fingers hit the back of your throat and you gag around him, a stray line of drool slipping out the corner of your mouth. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them across your cheeks, then slides his hand down to your throat.

"I'm gonna fuck you like the filthy whore you are," he growls against the shell of your ear. Squeezing your throat gently, Taehyung sits back and jerks his dick a few times. "I bet you're so wet that I won't need any lube. Fuck, I wanna fuck you raw, feel your tight little cunt clenching around me so nice."

"Please, fuck me, Ta-Taehyung, please please I need you to fuck me. Ruin me. God, just fuck me senseless please." Taehyung squeezes your neck harder at that, and you feel the breaths getting harder and harder to take.

"Shut up, slut. I didn't give you permission to talk, did I?" Instead of using your words, you shake your head furiously. "Good girl," Taehyung mutters. He guides his cock to your waiting heat and toys with your folds a few times, teasing and prodding your entrance with the head until you're squirming for more friction. "So disgustingly needy." With that, Taehyung pushes forward, bottoming out in one deep thrust that brings a loud whine through you. His hand falls away from your throat and finds the mattress beside your head instead. He gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch of his cock, chest heaving as he waits, and his stare never leaves your face.

It's the same routine you always go through: unabashed roughness turned into patience and waiting for you to get comfortable before fucking you with reckless abandon. It's the same old song and dance, the same routine and pattern, the thing you're used to and expect. Maybe it's showing on your face, because Taehyung doesn't move yet.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?" You ask, patience running thin all the sudden. "You're not here to question your whole existence. You're here to fuck the stress out of me, no?"

"I'll fuck you when you quit thinking about work and Hoseok, how about that?" Taehyung sneers in response.

"That's why you're supposed to fuck me, Tae," you counter, bringing a hand up to jab at his chest. Taehyung jerks back as you hit him even though you didn't hit him with much force. You wrap your arms around his neck and link your fingers to tug him down to you. Your lips smash together with a bruising force. "Now you're the one thinking too hard."

You lick at Taehyung's lips, begging entrance, and he allows it. Your tongue slips between his lips and intertwines with his. He tastes metallic somehow, a taste that's familiar yet you can't quite put your finger on it. He pushes back before you can keep thinking about it though. When he pulls back, his breath fans over your face and an unexpected scent coats your nose. His breath smells good, too good, inexplicably good, and you nearly comment on it. He doesn't give you a chance to, however, because he snaps his hips back against yours. The thrust sends your mind reeling and pushes any thoughts of the scent to the back of your mind. Taehyung's hands quickly shift from the bed to your hips and grip them tight. You're certain that he's going to leave bruises across your skin, but you honestly can't bring yourself to care all too much since his cock is curving against your sweet spot so well. Frankly, you can't even think straight to begin with.

"Fuck, Y/N, how are you still so tight? I've fucked you so many times, and your dirty cunt is still so tight for me." Taehyung slides back into you, and you clench around him, his cock straining against your velvet walls. Your mouth falls open, whines coming out without cease now, and you press your wrist against the opening of your mouth to block the noises. Taehyung doesn't allow it for long though. Still thrusting into you with a bruising pace, he yanks your arm away from your face. "I wanna hear you. Don't you dare cover your mouth." You nod, unable to get any coherent words out. Taehyung mutters a quiet praise and returns to fucking you with all his attention now on his thrusts, hand still pinning yours to the bed.

The angle at which he's fucking you is too good, and you can feel your pleasure beginning to peak. It's only a matter of time before you reach your high. Based on the stutters of Taehyung's hips as he thrusts into you, he's getting close as well.

"Can I cum in you?" He asks, even though he should know the answer by now.

"N-No, Tae — holy shit — you can't," you hiss out between broken moans. You bring your free hand down to your clit, rubbing small circles against the sensitive bud to help you reach your climax faster, and Taehyung groans at the sight. "F-Fuck fuck fuck Taehyung, fuck!" He gives one last harsh thrust before you orgasm. You're still riding out your high, hand working the same small circles against your clit, when Taehyung pulls out and grips the base of his cock. Warmth hits your hand and stomach. You look down to see the evidence of his orgasm painting your skin.

"I'll get a rag." Taehyung says nothing else and climbs off the bed to head for your bathroom. Chest heaving, you sigh and try to catch your breath as you stare at the ceiling. The disgust is quickly creeping in - the self loathing, the stress, the fucking disgust - and you nearly wipe the back of your hand on the bed to get his cum off of you. Taehyung is taking too long in the bathroom. It shouldn't take this long to get a washcloth. You don't have the strength to pull yourself off the bed though, so you keep laying there, head against the pillow with sweat making your neck feel sticky and hot. There are no sounds of the cabinets opening or the water running coming from the bathroom. You expect to hear the toilet flush at least, but after staring at the ceiling for what feels like ten minutes, you still hear nothing.

"What the hell are you doing in there, Kim Taehyung?" You mutter the question to yourself, not nearly loud enough for him to hear you. Finally, you decide enough is enough. Pulling yourself off the bed, you pad over to the bathroom with quiet steps. It's not a far walk but once you get closer, you can hear noises coming from the room at last. Coughs. Quiet coughs, as though Taehyung is trying to conceal the noise. Is he sick? He never mentioned feeling under the weather... and I didn't notice any symptoms of him being sick. The toilet flushes. It jolts you out of your thoughts. You feel out of place all the sudden, like you're intruding on some weird private time that Taehyung is having. The sink begins to run a moment later. You rush back to the bed, hurrying to climb back on and resume your previous position before Taehyung left.

"Sorry, I wanted to wash a bit of the sweat off," Taehyung announces as he steps back into the bedroom. You don't spare him a second glance. A wet washcloth hits your abdomen, and you wordlessly begin to wipe away the drying cum on your skin. Neither of you speak - a thing that's quite normal for the two of you in your post-sex hazes - but for you, it feels different this time.

Maybe it's the stress that's already started seeping back into your bones, maybe it's the sound of Taehyung's coughing in the bathroom that is still ringing in your ears, or maybe it's the bright crimson staining the washcloth in your hands that certainly wasn't there before. Maybe it's nothing at all. Something tells you that it's not that though. Something tells you that Taehyung's heaving chest isn't from the exhaustion of sex, that he really was trying to hide the coughing, and that the sickly sweet scent you smelled on his breath earlier was something far too familiar for your liking.

You want to hurl all the sudden. Empty the remains of dinner into the toilet and whatever the fuck else is in your stomach. You want it gone. That all too familiar pain in your chest is starting up again. Mind is drifting back to work. Back to Hoseok. Back to the yellow.

It's always about him. It has to be him.

...

"You said this started how long ago, Miss L/N?"

"I don't remember." The woman sitting across from you pauses, her pen hovering over the notepad on her desk, and she looks up to glare at you.

"I'm going to need you to try harder than that, Y/N. How long ago did your arrangement with Mr. Kim start?" She asks again. You don't offer an answer. She sighs. "I cannot help you if you aren't honest and open with me, Miss L/N. I need to know the extent of the issue so we can reach a proper diagnosis and as such find the best way to help you. Will you let me do that?"

"Yes, I will," you admit. You refuse to look at her still; instead, you focus your attention on the floor beneath your feet. The white sneakers look out of place against the brown wood.

"Then let's start again. How long ago did this begin?"

"Two years ago. December 31st. New Years party. My best friend introduced me to Taehyung." You don't particularly want to revisit the memory. The stare of the psychologist across from you is compelling in some way, however, and you find yourself letting the memory slip to the forefront of your mind. "Taehyung was a senior college student at the time. I had just graduated earlier in the year. Attraction at first sight I guess? An ex of mine was at the party, and I wanted to avoid him so I made a move on Taehyung to hide from him. My ex saw me, started trying making moves on me, then tried to buy me drinks. Taehyung suggested that we pretend to be a couple to get my ex to quit bothering me. Three drinks later, we were fucking at my place. Four days later I'm showing up to work and Taehyung is there, along with an announcement that he's a new trainee at the company. I'm not sure how things unfolded from there. I didn't intend for it to turn out like this. I didn't want it to."

"What did you want, Y/N?"

"Something else? Someone else? I'm not sure. I think I wanted a relationship, but at the same time I didn't." You pick at a stray thread on the hem of your shirt.

"Would you call what you have with Mr. Kim a relationship?" The woman asks. Her pen scrapes across the notepad on her desk, hand moving fast as she scribbles unknown words on the paper, and you watch the movement with little care. Yes. That's what it is, right? It's a relationship? It has to be. What else would it be?

"I don't know. It should be a relationship, shouldn't it?" It's a theoretical question, and you aren't expecting an answer or any sort of comment from the woman across from you. She proves you wrong with her next words.

"Given the consistently of the sex and how often you see each other, yes. It should be. Do you want it to be, Miss L/N? Relationships are what you make them, every kind of relationship from friendships to marriages. If you don't want it to be, then why do you continue to see him?"

"I need to get my mind off the stress of work somehow. Nothing else I've tried works. I've seen people about it, tried medications, meditation, everything. Sex takes the stress away for long enough."

"You don't want a relationship with him?" The woman continues to poke and prod at the question you're trying to avoid. "Don't dodge the question, Y/N."

"No. I don't. I don't want the commitment or feelings tied to a relationship. And I don't want that with Taehyung. I don't care about the dates or hand holding or anything like that. I don't want that with him." The therapist hesitates. Her pen lingers above the notepad, and she looks up at you. She brings her free hand to her face and pulls her glasses off to place them on the desk.

"Who do you want it with then?" You pause at the question. Your hesitance must be an answer in and of itself, because the therapist continues speaking. "It seems as though there is someone you want that kind of romantic relationship with. The one with hand holding and dates and things like that. What's keeping you from having that kind of relationship with the person you want it with?"

Your chest hurts. Head hurts. Heart hurts. Everything hurts. There's constriction in your throat, a burning sensation flooding your lungs, and you nearly choke on your breath. The back of your throat itches. You need to cough, but you can't let yourself do that. It's too much.

"I see..." The woman trails off, pen returning to that methodical scribbling. The sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears. It drowns out everything else. "What do you want, Y/N?"

To not feel anymore. To get rid of it. For it to be gone. To love someone else for fuck's sake. Why couldn't it have been Taehyung?

"This isn't just about Taehyung anymore, Y/N. That's not the root of the issue, is it?"

I don't want it to be. I don't want it to be about him. It's not about him. It's not about either of them. Why? Why, why, why?

The white of your shoes looks even more out of place against the wood floor. It's hard to breathe. The sound of her scribbling is so loud. Everything is too loud.

The air smells floral. It reminds you of the color yellow. Reminds you of Hoseok.

Sunflowers. There are sunflowers on the desk. You smile softly. Hoseok loves sunflowers.

The pain rips through your chest now. You know you'll be rushing to the bathroom after this. Yellow petals will be crimson in the toilet. They'll just continue to blossom without a care. Then you'll go to the coffee shop and sit in the same booth with the same smile on your lips and the same mask hiding your feelings. He'll sit across from you, smiling and beaming as he always does. Always so yellow. He'll ask you how the appointment went, and you'll lie. You always do. You have to.

It's always about him. Why does it have to be him?

...

"Daffodils?"

"Yea, figured your new place needed a bit of brightness!" Hoseok beams at you as he sets the vase down on the counter. He's right: the space is still quite empty, despite you unpacking all your belongings already. It's dim and bleak, but honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way. It at least represents you. The yellow flowers seem so out of place in the sea of grey around it. "Besides, they're your favorite." Your gaze flits over to Hoseok.

"You remember that?" Your tone is quiet and faint, somewhat weak if you wanted to admit it.

"Of course I do." Hoseok smiles again. Yellow. Oh so yellow. You'll be painting the floor of your bathroom yellow by the end of the day, crimson dusted yellow petals scattering the tile no doubt. "I remember everything about you." The force from the pain in your chest nearly makes you double over. It's such a strong sensation that you forget how to breathe for a moment.

His smile is so bright. Happy and warm too, and you don't want to look away. It should be a relief from the pain in your chest, and yet it's not. It only serves to make the feeling ten times worse.

"Of course..." You mutter, a small smile of your own playing at your lips. Turning away from Hoseok, you glance around the new apartment. It's nothing special, if anything, it's only a bit closer to the studio so you have less of a walk to get to work now. Smaller than your last apartment too, but that's alright since you didn't need so much space anyways. "The bed is huge!" Hoseok had noted when you first moved in. You silently wonder how many times Taehyung is going to fuck you into that very mattress, pressing your face down into it and fucking you with reckless abandon.

"You there, Y/N?" Hoseok's voice pulls you from the thought. "I asked you a question."

"Sorry, I was thinking about all the decorating I need to do to make this place feel more like home." You shake your head, pushing all thoughts of Taehyung to the back of your mind so you can solely focus on Hoseok instead.

"Well, I asked if you want to do anything in particular. I guess decorating would be an option?" Hoseok moves away from the counter and comes to step in front of you. "Or we could christen the place." You blanch at his words, the undeniable implications behind it causing a deep blush to rise on your neck and cheeks. You duck and turn away to hide the evidence of your embarrassment. You hope that Hoseok doesn't see the flush. "Not like that, Y/N, for fuck's sake. I'll leave that to you and Taehyung."

You sigh at his comment.

"We... uh, we didn't break up since we were never together but yea. We stopped, uh, seeing each other." You and Hoseok freeze at the same time.

"You what?"

"We stopped seeing each other?" You repeat, a bit more hesitance in your tone now.

"When?"

"Four and a half weeks ago. Maybe less, maybe more. I haven't been keeping track." You shrug in the hopes that Hoseok won't make this a huge deal. Knowing him though, that's a bit much to ask for.

"Really? You really haven't been keeping track?"

"I've been focused on the move, Hobi. And work. And things that aren't Taehyung so I don't go back to him yet again. I'm determined this time."

It's the truth, at least you feel like it is to some degree. In all honesty, the reason you told Taehyung that your arrangement needed to stop was because of Hoseok. Not necessarily because he told you to, but because you thought maybe it would somehow help get rid of the fucking pain in your chest and the fucking flowers blooming in your lungs. Four weeks and five days later, it's still doing nothing. Of course you've been keeping track. As the therapist told you, it's sex addiction. You need sex to function basically, according to her. And perhaps she's been right all along. Because now (four weeks and five days later) you don't need Taehyung. You need sex.

That realization hit harder than it should have. You always knew that you and Taehyung operated on a no strings attached relationship. The two of you agreed that there would be no feelings, no emotions involved, no nothing. Leaving Taehyung was easier than you thought. Leaving the sex itself wasn’t. Your stress levels are absolutely through the room at the moment, and you know that your work is suffering because of it. Yet you still want to stay strong.

"I'm proud of you, Y/N. Really, really proud." Hoseok moves closer to you, his hand brushes your arm, and you jolt as though a bolt of electricity has shot through your body. Hoseok doesn't comment on it, instead he keeps pressing forward until his hand latches onto your bicep. "Four and a half weeks is a long time. You're doing really well."

"Doesn't feel like it," you mutter. Even this proximity with Hoseok is sending surges of arousal through you. You need to get away from him. You have to get away from him. This isn't good for you. "Still feel stressed as fuck."

"I have an idea," Hoseok says. You know you need to put space between you and him, you know you need to back up and not let him get any closer because for fuck's sake you've made it four and a half weeks without sex. You don't fucking need it. "Do you trust me, Y/N?"

"Of course I do, Hobi. I trust you with my life."

And yet, that familiar pain in your chest isn't present. You can breathe. Unlike every single other time Hoseok has stepped close to you like this, you can breathe. You don't feel as though flower petals are going to surge through your esophagus. It feels fine.

"More than Taehyung?"

There's daffodils on the counter. So yellow, and yet somehow not as bright and yellow as Hoseok. How is that possible?

"This isn't about Taehyung," you argue. Hoseok's touch feels like it's burning your skin. He feels so hot, looks so bright it's like you're looking into the sun.

"Let's make sure it stays that way then, Y/N. Let's make sure this is just about you and me."

"I don't want Taehyung, Hobi. I never have. It's always been about you."

"I know, Y/N, I know." The words dispel all sensations of warmth in your gut. You're suddenly cold, oh so cold, and you yank your arm away from Hoseok. "Don't—Y/N, don't overreact please. I-I know how you feel about me. I've known for a while. I... I couldn't say anything because you were with Taehyung. I do-don't. I don't want this to change anything between us. Please? Don't let this change anything between us."

"Why are you fucking mentioning now of all times then?" You hiss as you take another step back. You can't look at Hoseok anymore, it's too much for you to handle, and that burning sensation is engulfing your lungs again.

"When else was I supposed to mention it? While you preoccupied with Taehyung? I couldn't do it then." You snap your head in Hoseok's direction, eyes blazing as you stare him down. It feels embarrassing and foolish, and you hate that he knows. You hate that he's known for a long time, and you absolutely cannot stand the fact that you've been making a fool of yourself for so long.

You fucking hate that he's known for so long, and your chest has only proceeded to get worse and worse. The flowers have only continued to bloom. You continue to puke sunflowers into the toilet with each passing day. He's known for so long and nothing has changed. That only makes you feel worse. You either need to curl into a ball and cry, jump off a bridge, or fuck it out of your system. With your arrangement with Taehyung on permanent hold and a strange desire to stay alive, you go for the first option.

Tears hit your cheeks before you know what's happening. Hoseok moves towards you, but you go down before he can reach you, squatting on the floor as you cover your eyes. It hurts so fucking much, and you can't do a damn thing about it.

"Shh, Y/N, shh, it's okay. It's okay, I promise. Everything is okay. You're okay. I'm okay. We're okay." Hoseok bends down beside you, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder. He rubs small circles against your back.

"It's not. It's not okay. Nothing is okay. Why the fuck have I been trying so hard for so long? God I'm such a fucking idiot," you rant through your sobs. A few hiccups follow, the cascade of tears on your cheeks continuing as Hoseok attempts to console you.

"It's okay, I promise. You can't decide whether something is okay for me or not. Only I get to decide that, yea? I've never held it against you. I've never thought it would change our relationship. None of that. Nothing has changed." Hoseok presses his cheek against your hair. It should be warm. You should feel the warmth of the action. Yet instead, it's cold. It's so so cold. "It's going to be okay."

Hoseok presses his lips against your forehead. The contact is warm. It blossoms across your skin. You want more. You need to feel it on your lips. You need it like you need oxygen.

You aren't sure how it happens but you end up in the bedroom. Sprawled over that massive bed that Hoseok commented on. Shirt and pants gone, only left clad in your underwear and bra. Hoseok is over you, one leg on either side of your hips. How did I get here? You wonder if this was the prime moment for you to disassociate. This - the moment you've been waiting for, the thing you've been wanting for so long - and your mind decides to go blank now of all times. Hoseok's skin is still so cold. How did we get here?

Lips work their way down your neck, tracing your collarbone and pressing marks against the skin there. Marks you've always wanted. Why does it feel so strange now that you have them? Panic surges through you. Have I reached a point where sex makes me feel nothing? Does it mean nothing? Have I gone too far? You struggle to grasp the reigns of control. Instead, you grab hold of the collar of Hoseok's shirt and use the force of your body to roll on top of him.

"You're taking too long," you mutter before crashing your lips against his. It's searing, burning, a fire in your gut. You need it, you need it, you need it. Fingers dance across the skin of his abdomen, darting under the fabric of his shirt and hooking onto the band of his sweatpants. The evident tent in his pants is proof enough of his arousal, but it makes your mouth nearly water when you tug the band over his restrained cock to release it. He's not wearing underwear, and you shouldn't be surprised because it's Hoseok of all people. He's a free spirit, hell, he'd go fully nude if he had the opportunity to. But now, it just heightens your arousal. You don't want to waste any time.

You don't even bother to take your underwear off or stretch yourself before taking his cock in your hands and pushing it against your slick folds. It's uncomfortable when you sink down on him, the stretch bigger and more painful than you anticipated, but you don't want to stop now. You need to keep going. To keep using. To keep consuming. More more more. It's never enough.

Even as you're building a steady rhythm and bouncing up and down on him, it doesn't feel right. You aren't feeling anything. It doesn't feel bad or good. Just nothing. Numb. You're numb. Hoseok is moaning loudly, and it compels you to mimic the sounds just so that he's not alone. His high is nearing quickly. You still don't feel a thing.

"A-Ah, Y/N, Y/N, stop. I ah I can't cum in you. Fuck, I'm not wearing protec—ah!" You push down particularly hard, and Hoseok lets out a high-pitched whine. You pull off him a moment later, watching blanking as his dick flops out of you still slick with your juices. You don't think twice before dipping down and taking him between your lips. It's sloppy and messy and disgusting but you continue until Hoseok releases a guttural moan and cums down your throat.

He's still recovering from the orgasm when you climb off of him. You immediately head for the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you without a second thought. Bending over the toilet as though it's routine. Clutching blindly at your chest as the pain cascades over you in waves. More crystalline tears fall from your eyes as yellow and crimson fall into the clear water. All you can think about is how it's nothing like how it was with Taehyung. How the stress hasn't left. The feelings haven't left. The pain hasn't left. Nothing has changed.

It's always about him. I don't want it to be.

...

"Tae...hyung." You trail off instead of calling him by the old nickname you gave him.

"Y/N. It's been awhile, huh?"

Yes, you could say that. It's been quite some time. Five months, in fact (not like you've been counting or keeping track). How many days? You shouldn't be keeping track, you told Hoseok you weren't, and you told the therapist that you weren't. Neither of them know that you're here, meeting with Taehyung again, and talking through things with him again five months after the last time you said goodbye.

But the damn flowers in your lungs haven't gotten any better, and seeing Hoseok three or four times a week has only helped accelerate their process of growing and blooming. In the very least, you haven't made it worse by fucking him again, because you're certain that you would be long gone by now. Probably would have keeled over in front of the toilet at some point, face first in a bowl of crimson stained flower petals. Instead, you're here. Sitting in some random ass dingy diner near the building where you both work, and yet this is the first time you've seen each other in months. You told Hoseok it had been final. You would not see Taehyung again, and certainly would not have sex with him anymore.

"Yea, you could say that again..." You trail off, dragging your nails across the table. Across from you, Taehyung coughs, his whole body suddenly struck by a wave of heaves. He covers his mouth, and you watch him slowly try to stop the heaves from continuing to no avail. "Are you sick, Tae?"

"No, no, no. Just a little cold. I'm fine." Taehyung waves his hand and quickly dismisses your question.

"How is...how is debut coming along?" You ask. To be honest, you're unsure where to start a conversation with him, seeing as anytime the two of you were together, there was little to no conversation going on. At least, no talk of this nature. Your cheeks nearly flush at the thought of the dirty things Taehyung would hiss in your ear during sex, strange seeing as you never had any shame with him before.

"Just fine." Taehyung drags his thumb over the cup beside him, condensation sliding off to land on the pads of his fingers. "It won't be long until the big day. How is—" Taehyung cuts off with another cough, this one less violent than before but still concerning nonetheless. "How, uh, how is Hoseok doing? And work? I saw your name on a few tracks."

"Are you gonna be able to debut?" You ask all the sudden. Taehyung was not expecting the question either, from what you can tell, because his hand smacks the drink near him and spills it all over the table. The two of you jolt, both reaching for the same napkin. As soon as your skin touches his, Taehyung flinches away from you as though burned and slides out of the booth.

"I-I, uh, I need to g-go to the restroom re-real quick. Be, um, be right back." He's coughing as he goes, one hand over his mouth as he rushes to the bathroom, and something tells you that it isn't merely a cold he's suffering from. You blink at the place where Taehyung just was, eyes glued to the booth as water and ice continue to spill over the side of the table. A waitress rushes to the table, rag in hand, and she swiftly cleans up the mess without a word. Leaving as though you aren't even there. You count the seconds until Taehyung comes back until they blend into minutes and you start to lose track of the time when you look out the window. At the sky and the trees covered in deep yellow sunlight. Subconsciously, a smile finds its way to your lips and overcomes you.

"S-Sorry about that, I thought I was gonna be sick for a second." Taehyung startles you out of your reverie. The smile droops and slips into a frown within an instant. Taehyung must notice, because he comments on it a moment later. "Do you have to go meet him soon?"

"What?"

"Hoseok. You only ever smile like that when you're thinking about him." It's a poignant accusation, one that is quite accurate actually, but you despise it nonetheless.

"What kind of flowers?" You ask instead of answering him. Taehyung blanches, hands trembling again.

"Huh? For what?"

"The ones you threw up in the bathroom. What kind?" You continue. Leaning forward, you try to catch Taehyung's gaze with your own. "I know, Tae…"

"No you don't," he hisses back.

"You can't lie to me about this Taehyung."

"You don't know anything."

"Tae… is it daffodils?" His hesitance and the fear in his eyes tells you all you need to know. You aren't sure what you're expecting. "I-Is it m-me, Tae?" Again, he doesn't answer. His expression morphs, however, shifting into something unreadable, and yet it gives you all the answers you need. You shouldn't have been expecting anything to be honest. You should have known better. "I see…" Is this how Hoseok felt when he found out?

"Y/N, I-I'm—listen, it's not—you, it's just—"

"Me. It's me. Yea, I understand. I guess I got what I deserved with the sunflowers then." You expect Taehyung to question you now, ask what you mean by that, wonder why you're bringing up sunflowers all the sudden. He doesn't do any of those things. Just… stares at you sadly, as though he knows. He knows. "It's Hoseok. H-How could I no-not fall for him?" You could have phrased that better, in fact you probably should have not said that at all.

"How could I not fall for you?" Taehyung replies, smile sad when it comes to his lips a moment later. "Who else could I have chosen?"

"Someone better."

"There is no one better, Y/N."

"Someone who could fucking love you back and not leave you with fucking hanahaki disease."

"I don't need you to love me back. I'm just lucky enough to love you as it is."

"That's not fair to you," you hiss through grit teeth. The tears are beginning to come to your eyes, stinging the corners of your eyes, and before you can stop it, they're spilling down your cheeks.

"I'm the only person who gets to decide what's fair to me and what's not. I'm happy with the way things are. Well, I mean I was happier when we were sleeping together, but that's not much of an option anymore, is it?"

"It's not—"

"If you say it's not right or fair one more time, I'll leave."

"You fucking deserve better than me!"

"I deserve a whole hell of a lot worse than you, Y/N. But it isn't about what I deserve, I can't change the fact that I love you. Otherwise I would never have agreed to the deal in the first place and started sleeping with you. There wouldn't be flowers growing in my lungs, or I would have had a damn procedure a long time ago. I won't stop loving you or caring about you or anything like that. It's not that easy, is it?" You sit in silence as you digest his words.

"It wasn't supposed to turn out like this for us, was it?" He laughs under his breath.

…never would have agreed to the deal in the first place…

You freeze. The two of you never made a deal. There was no deal. It was just about you and Taehyung and sexual urges. You clench your fists against the table.

"What deal?"

Taehyung cocks his head to the side. "I-I, uh, I didn't mention a deal?"

"Yes you did. What deal, Taehyung?"

"N-Nothing." Taehyung looks down at the table, avoiding your gaze. Your fists uncurl to lay flat against the table.

"Why can't you just be honest with me, Taehyung?"

"You aren't going to like my answer..." The man across from you trails off, and he finally looks up at you. "I can't hurt you, Y/N. Please don't ask me to hurt you. I can't do that to you."

You narrow your eyes at Taehyung. "I don't understand why not since it's about me."

For a moment, everything is so yellow that it overwhelms you. Blinding you, seeping into your skin and filling you with warmth, lining your skin with it's touch. You should be thinking of Hoseok. He's so yellow, so perfect, so wonderful, and yet. And yet the only thing on your mind is Taehyung. Taehyung, whose touch is so warm and smile so bright. It's all Taehyung, all you can feel and breathe, he's your everything in that brief moment.

"I can't be the one to tell you. It's not my place. I'm sorry, Y/N."

Your chest still hurts. It burns, your throat stings and feels as though it's closing on itself, and you know that soon you'll be rushing to the bathroom and fighting the urge to throw up more sunflowers.

It's always about him. I'm so tired of it being him.

...

"Hoseok."

The mood is bleak when he steps through the door, and the first thing he sees in the apartment is yellow. Everywhere around him, so bright and yellow that it almost blinds him. There are vases upon vases spread over every counter, table, surface after surface covered in flowers. He didn't pinpoint Taehyung as the type to decorate, especially not with bright yellow flowers like this, but he supposes that he doesn't know Taehyung well enough to understand his methods of interior design.

Daffodils.

"Taehyung. You asked for me?"

He should've known it would be daffodils. Hoseok turns away from the flowers, hands pressed into his pockets, and looks over to where Taehyung is standing by the door frame.

"She asked about the deal."

Hoseok pauses, eyes flitting up to meet Taehyung's. "W-What did you say?" He can't hold back the quiver in his tone. "Did you te—"

"That it's not my place to tell her. I didn't mention you at all, but that doesn't mean she can't put two and two together. Just you know... in case she comes to you. So you can be ready to explain things."

"How bad is it, Taehyung?" Hoseok asks. He doesn't specify, but the obvious glances around at the flowers and vases littering the apartment are enough to give Taehyung clues as to what he's asking about. Taehyung glances over at a vase. Eyes are glassy, crystalline tears swelled in the corners.

"You know… I'm supposed to debut in less than three months."

Hoseok drops his chin.

"I won't make it past one apparently."

"Fuck, Taehyung." He doesn't know what to say in response, and to be frank, there isn't much he can say at the end of the day.

"Doctors want to go ahead and do the procedure. At least let me have a career for awhile, even if it doesn't end well. Have one thing going for me, right?"

"But you don't want to," Hoseok states, adding a small nod to accentuate his words.

"Of course not," Taehyung laughs. It doesn't change the mood at all, the lingering sadness remains, the tears ready to fall at any second now. It won't change anything, and Hoseok was a fool to think it would.

"I'm so sorry, Tae."

"Why? You've done nothing wrong." Taehyung's smile is too bright. He seems too happy about this whole situation, but maybe it's just the overwhelming scent of daffodils filling his senses.

"If I hadn't asked you… if I had just been honest with her… you wouldn't—you might—" Hoseok cuts himself off. The words are too hard to get out in all honesty, even though he knows they're the truth. Taehyung seems to know exactly what's on his mind.

"I agreed to the deal because I already loved her. You didn't do anything. Didn't change anything. Didn't make it any different. I was doomed from the second I saw her. At least... at least I got to have her for a time. I'll always be grateful for that, and that was all thanks to you. Without you, I wouldn't have done anything. Probably died a lot sooner since she barely knew who I was. Who knows. It doesn't matter what you did, Hoseok. You did a good thing. Tried your best to, at least. I just didn't stand a chance."

"It was supposed to work. I was supposed to fix things. The deal wasn't for me. It was for you. It was for her."

"Love is a funny thing," Taehyung mutters. He walks over to the counter, grabbing hold of one of the daffodils and twirling it between his fingers. "Especially when it's unrequited. Can't love anyone else even if you want to."

"Do you want to love someone else, Taehyung?"

"No, never. I could never want that. I know she does though. She told me that once after sex. "I wish I loved you but I can't". You tried your best, Hoseok. You can't blame yourself anymore. We just… couldn't change her mind, and that's okay."

"She's going to die, Tae. That's not okay."

"Does she want the procedure?"

"No, of course not. I haven't even bothered asking, I know what her answer would be. It sounds wrong… but if she doesn't want the procedure, I don't want to make her get it. As much as I want her to live… I want her to be happy more. If she's happy like this, then I can't take that away from her. I just can't let her die." Hoseok pauses, eyes lingering on the daffodil in Taehyung's hands. Thinking of the stray sunflower petals he found on the bathroom floor the morning after having sex with you. The ones even before that, the way he could smell the sunflowers on your skin every time he was with you. The way he knew, and yet in the end he was unable to do anything.

"I can't either. I'd rather go out myself, but I guess that's already happening."

"Tae…”

"What can you do, Hoseok? What could you have done?"

"Make sure things end differently." Hoseok turns on his heel, hands falling out of his pockets to grab hold of the jacket he dropped on the counter beside a vase of flowers.

"Hoseok, you can't—there's nothing you can do!"

"Fucking watch me," he hisses back at Taehyung without bothering to look back at him.

It's always about him. Why can't it be me?

...

It's cold.

You should be used to the sensation by now, but something about it is different this time. It isn't coming from inside of you, rather it's the air around you that's suffocating and chilly. It seeps through your skin, digging it's way into you until it occupies your veins. The white tile under your feet radiates cold as well. Everything about this place is cold. The mood. The people. The air.

Warmth reaches your arm. A hand closes around your forearm, and you look to the man on your left. Yellow. He's so yellow. You wonder how much longer it's going to last.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. You press your lips into a smile. It's forced, and that much is evident, but you aren't sure what else to do. There isn't much you can do in this situation, the decision has already been made, and you don't think there is any going back now. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

"It's okay," you reassure, placing your own hand over the one on your arm. "I don't blame you for any of this, Hoseok. It's not your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

"I know. I'm telling you that you don't have to be."

"I can't…c-can't not be."

"It'll be better this way."

"You won't be happy."

"I'll manage." Another smile, this one even more forced than the last, and you hope that he doesn't see the wavering confidence in your expression. "I always do."

"Miss L/N? We're ready for you."

"Guess that's my sign to leave." You sigh and retract your hand from Hoseok's arm.

"Y/N—" Hoseok cuts off and clears his throat. He looks up as you stand, joining the woman clad in a white coat and pale blue scrubs. "I-I'll see you when you're done?"

"Hoseok…” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, you shake your head slightly.

"I can tell you about the deal when you're done?"

"I think it's best if I just don't know any more details about that."

"Right…"

"Actually, I-I think it's best if you—if you just go home. I'll be fine."

"I'm sorry," Hoseok mutters yet again.

"I said don't be, Hoseok. I'm doing this for you, but I don't think you want to see the aftermath." The nurse at your side seems to notice the spike in tension between you and Hoseok. She steps between you and his line of sight.

"Sir, we ask that you respect her wishes. We promise to take good care of her, you don't need to worry about that."

"Of course, of course." Hoseok nods a few times before standing up and glancing around the nurse to see you. "Good luck, Y/N. I… I'm sorry things turned out like this."

He doesn't say anything more than that. Turns on his heel and heads down the hallway the same direction you came, and soon he's completely out of your sight.

"Let's go ahead and get started, Miss L/N. I promise we'll make this process as painless as possible. You're in good hands."

As painless as possible. Yeah. It won't hurt one bit.

Funny how watching Hoseok walk down the hall and disappear from your sight didn't hurt one bit. It's as though the flowers are already withering up inside you, dying and taking your feelings for him with them. Each step into the cold hospital room is like another petal falling. You wonder how long it would take for them all to wither up and die.

"Right this way, Miss L/N."

Not long enough or too long?

It's always about him. I'd do anything for him.

...

The apartment is an absolute disaster, and Hoseok cannot take his eyes off the mess for one second. Glass everywhere, shards covering the floor so much that he wouldn't even dream of taking his shoes off before stepping further in. Shattered vases left and right with their water spilled all over the floor. And flowers. Bright yellow flowers scattered across the room. Those damn daffodils.

"Taehyung?"

Maybe he shouldn't have come today, but after you asked him to leave the hospital, he couldn't just go home and be left alone with his thoughts. He needed to come here and see Taehyung. Maybe convince him to get help too. Try to do something since he royally fucked everything else up.

Yea, wouldn't that be fantastic? Fix things? A cruel joke, if anything.

Hoseok steps forward, trying to ignore the crunch of glass under his shoes, and bends down to pick up the first daffodil in sight.

A hint of red of the spotless yellow petals.

Hoseok's blood runs cold. He picks up another flower.

Another touch of red on the underside of the petals.

"Oh god Taehyung…" Hoseok doesn't stop to check any more flowers. Perhaps two isn't enough to make a proper assumption, but Hoseok is certain he doesn't need more evidence to know why Taehyung had so many flowers and why the apartment is in the state it is now. "Taehyung?"

"You know… I'm supposed to debut in less than three months."

Worse than he thought. Hoseok thought that the last time he came by Taehyung's apartment. The ridiculous amount of flowers in the room was enough to show him that something was horribly wrong. No one has so many flowers, even when plagued by the damn disease.

"I won't make it past one apparently."

And how long has it been since then? Not long enough.

More glass crunches under Hoseok's shoes as he moves forward, an awkward jog to the bedroom where he knows Taehyung has to be. The door is either locked or barricaded with something when he reaches it. Hoseok slams his shoulder against the wood once, twice, three times before it bursts open. A chair falls to the floor, nearly tripping Hoseok as he moves into the bedroom. He doesn't waste time in looking around the room much; instead, he rushes for the bathroom.

Yellow light filters under the door, cascading crude shadows across the carpet. Hoseok forces himself to slow down and walk to the door as calmly as he can. A slight twist of the handle. It clicks. Odd how Taehyung took the time to barricade his bedroom door but didn't bother locking the bathroom.

Part of Hoseok doesn't want to open the door. Part of him knows exactly what's behind it. He doesn't want the confirmation, and yet — and yet he needs it. Needs to see the consequences of his own actions and choices with his own two eyes.

The door clicks open.

Bloomed in a garden of loneliness

He smells daffodils and blood. The scent overwhelms him in an instant. In fact, it's so strong that he has to bring a hand to his nose to block it from overwhelming him any further.

A flower that resembles you

Flower petals across the counter and in the sink, trailing their way down to the toilet and floor. The seat's up, yellow and red filling the toilet until it overflows.

I wanted to give it to you…

And there, in the bathtub, curled into himself so tightly that Hoseok can barely tell who he is, lies Taehyung.

Someone tell me why it had to be you?

...

a/n: whew thank you for sticking around for the long ride if you made it to the end! please give me some feedback and let me know what you think of the fic! the three lines before the end (Bloomed in a garden of loneliness, a flower that resembles you, I wanted to give it to you) are from the truth untold by bts :D

forever tags: @hotnoodle @nmjcn

thanks to @franklytae and @thinksshesawolf for entertaining me and my ideas throughout the process of this fic, i luv u all very very much :3

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flashbackharry · 4 years

Text

Prompt #74

“you’re my sanity”

Recommended song:

“Our way to fall” by Yo La Tengo.

Trigger Warning: Addiction

You weren't entirely sure where the buzzing sound came from. You had thought someone was knocking on the door but it didn’t quite sound like it. You adjusted yourself on the mattress before sitting up and realizing it was your phone. You had recently got into the habit of turning your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ cause you were having trouble sleeping lately and your phone was certainly a big distraction. It was moments like these that having your phone on “Do Not Disturb’ was a bad idea.

You picked up your phone which was lying underneath your pillow, the glare from your screen causing you to squint. You saw you had 9 miscalls from Harry and 3 miscalls from Mitch. Your heart sped up and your mind went to the worst case scenario. It was a little past 2am and Harry had sent you a text right before you went to bed saying he was going to be staying a little late at the studio. You didn't mind, writing music was definitely a long tedious process and you couldn't really control what times he got inspired to write and record, so you understood it was a very arbitrary process. You decided to call Harry back first. It rang twice before going to voicemail. You tried again and the same thing happened. You swore under your breath while calling mitch.

“Heyyyyy” He said, sounding very drunk.

“Hey Mitch what's going on? Is everything alright?” You said, your voice hushed and worried. Your voice still raspy from sleep.

“Everythings great Y/n, just peachy actually.” Mitch was a very serious guy and didn’t talk much, he especially didn’t randomly call you so he most likely had to be under some sort of influence.

“Mitch, where is Harry?”

“Ohhhh, Harry, that's why I called you. His phone died but he's like totally freaking out right now, asking if you could pick him up.”

“What? Why? What happened Mitch?” You asked. Your anxiety growing fuller by the second.

“We might have tried some acid. Yeah he was like fine the first couple hours then he stopped talking and next thing you know he's like crying in the corner, now he's just sitting, kinda silent.” Mitch said, his words slurred and you couldn't hear most of what he was saying cause the background was so loud. Your heart sank once you heard he was experimenting with drugs. This was not like Harry and especially considering everything he knows about your past concerning drugs, a small part of you was angry and confused.

“I’m on my way Mitch.” and with that you hung up. Putting on a pair of sweats and one of Harry's hoodies.

You grabbed your phone and car keys and left your apartment. On the way there, your mind couldn't help but wonder towards all the awful things that could've happened. You lost your brother about 3 years ago, he struggled on and off with addiction. When you found out about his death, you and Harry were only friends. He drove you to the hospital, consoled you while you wept. Sat in his car with you for about an hour in silence while you hesitated going into your empty apartment.

You were only friends then but when Harry offered to sleep over you nodded your head before he even finished his sentence. You slept in the same bed and he held you until you fell asleep. Nothing sexaul, but it definitely was a transformative moment in your friendship. A moment that made you both realize you couldn't not be in each other's lives. You made him swear that night he would never get into drugs ever. He shifted in the sheets, turned the lamp on beside your bed and made you look up at him as he promised you he never would.

Fast forward to now, you were on your way to pick up your boyfriend who was having a bad trip at two am. Before you realized it you were crying, the street lights were turning into a blurry haze. The studio was relatively close to you and Harrys flat, so you got there in about 7 minutes, also because it was 2am so no one was on the roads. There weren't many people there, it probably just sounded like there was on the phone call with Mitch because of the loud music. Excluding Harry, it was just Mitch and Sarah there really. Everyone else must have left.

“Oh heyyy Y/n is here” Mitch called from the couch where he sat with Sarah.

You found Harry crouched down on the floor. He had a pair of headphones in and he looked...awful. His eyes were red and drooping. There was a thin line of sweat on his upper lip, his entire face was flushed. You crouched down in front of him and took his headphones off. He got startled before meeting your eyes and calming down.

“It's me honey.” You said, swinging his arm around your neck before trying to lift him gradually off the floor.

“Are we going home?” He asked you, his words low and slurred.

“Yeah, we're going home bub.” You whispered in his ear.

With Harry on your side you stumbled out the studio doors, bearing most of Harry's weight.

You opened the backseat of your car and buckled Harry in. You took his face in your hands once you were done buckling him in, his eyes looked exhausted.

“How do you feel?” You asked him.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his eyes watering up. Your heart hurt a little as he said that. You didn't quite know what to say. Obviously he knew the extent of his actions, he knew he hurt you tonight. But yet you still couldn't say anything. This was a conversation you had to have in the morning. You kissed him on the cheek and closed the car door, walking over to the driver's seat and driving home.

The whole ride home you kept stealing glances at him through the rear view mirror. Making sure he was still breathing. He seemed to be dozing off. You pulled into your driveway. Getting out of the driver's seat and walking over to Harry in the backseat.

You opened his door and unbuckled him, you heard soft snores escape him.

“Hey bub, we're home.” You whispered, shaking his shoulder a little bit to get him to open his eyes.

Once you made it inside you helped him strip his clothes off, putting a clean t-shirt on him and giving him a pair of sweats to sleep in. You went downstairs and filled a glass of water up, as well as grabbing two tabs of tylenol for the headache he was bound to get. When you made it back upstairs, Harry was already in bed, the covers up to his neck.

“Here, drink this.” You said sitting on the bed and handing him the glass of water and a one of the tabs of tylenol. He gently took it from you and downed the entire glass in about 3 seconds. Swallowing the tablet after.

You took the glass from him once he was done.

He held onto your hand for a little longer and that made you meet his gaze. He had sad eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad Harry, I’m just a little disappointed. Don’t worry about it right now though. Cmon, let's go to bed.” You said, pulling the sheets back and sliding in. You turned the lamp off and you felt Harry slide an arm around your waist. You fell asleep easily, your entire body aching. Your thoughts didn't stop, even when you were asleep. Your mind kept returning to all the possible outcomes of tonight, all the bad ones mostly. You knew getting a little high for creative inspo, especially when it concerns the making of music was not a new thing. All the great artists have done it. It was the stars who used even while not making music that stuck with you.

Sure it was just acid now, but it was also just a little weed and alcohol for your brother in the beginning as well and look where he ended up.You feared seeing “Harry Styles:Dead at 26” on the front page. Your heart clenched at the thought of it. Memories of your brother came flooding. You didn’t want the same circumstances happening to the love of your life as well. Tears soaked your pillow. Harry pulled you to his chest, catching you off guard. You took a deep breath, jolting awake and found you were crying even harder now.

“You promised...you promised..” You said, clenching fistfuls of his shirt in your hands.

“I know, I know I’m so sorry.” Harry cooed into your ear as he rubbed circles on your back.

***

Morning: Harry's Pov:

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt two things. A pounding fucking headache. And a dull ache in his chest. He woke up to see the love of his life peacefully sleeping beside him. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind and he was reminded of how major he fucked up. He watched as she breathed in and out, soft snores escaping her. Her eyes were puffy and a little red from all the crying. It hurt him so much knowing how deeply he hurt her. He planted a kiss to her temple before slowly getting out of bed. He hopped in the shower, wanting so badly to turn back the hands of time. He knew last night she was thinking of her brother, of the promise she made him make 3 years ago.

Once he was out of the shower, he went back to change into some actual clothes and found she wasn't in bed. He went down stairs and found she was brewing a cup of coffee. There was some cut up fruit on the table and some yoghurt with granola. Even when she didn’t have to, when he completely expected her not to, she was still caring for him. His heart swelled, he was completely undeserving. He tried to sneak in without making any noise but as he walked in she was turning towards the door, catching his eye. They made eye contact briefly before she looked away. Ouch.

He didn’t want to say anything at first, wanted to give her time to think, but it took everything in him to not go over there and scoop her up in his arms and apologize 1000 times.

He sat down at the table, as did she. She sipped at her coffee while opening up her journal and began writing. He didn’t even try hiding the fact that he was staring at her from across the table. She was so full of love and light.

Fuck not saying anything.

Harry walked over to her, grabbing her hand, instructing her to stand up. She hesitated first before doing so. They stood in the middle of the kitchen, a few inches apart.

“What are you thinking about right now?” He said, reaching out to grab her hand.

“Honestly? I’m thinking about how my coffee needs a little more sugar.” She said, completely deadpan. Only when Harry chuckled did she give him a small smile. That smile disappeared before she spoke again, this time in a lower, cautious voice.

“I’m thinking you need to realize you aren't doing this alone anymore. That your life isn’t just centered around you, that I would be devastated if anything happened to you.That you are my sanity “

Harry cupped her face. Meeting her eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry I broke your promise. I’m not gonna make excuses for why I did what I did last night, I did it, and I can't change that. I just want you to forgive me.”

She lifted her chin, standing on her tippy toes for a minute to plant a small kiss to his cheek.

“I forgive you Harry.” She whispered. .

Harry wrapped his arms around her. He hurt the one he loves the most and he wouldn’t make that mistake again, a promise he made to himself.

“Might have to have a word with Mitch though.” She said smiling.

A laugh rumbled through Harry's chest.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #one direction #writing #solo harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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masked-buffoon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4: To exist (Part 6)

Warnings: mention of drugs

Author notes: debate about how I depicted Yōko’s condition in the 4th part is opened! More seriously, this is one long part, but I hope you’ll like it. To be honest, that part was the one which made me so nervous about the chapter... Don’t hesitate to give me your opinion! Also, I realised I liked reblogs too! ^^

It was night when I woke up. The first thing I noticed in the darkness was the thing pressed onto my face. An oxygen mask. It was not there before. Had my body tried to give up on me again? After all, I was not supposed to be alive... And Lord was I thirsty. The tips of my fingers moved and I looked for the pager to call the nurse, who fortunately was never far from the infirmary. She turned on a small light and came to the side of my bed. I pointed to the breathing machine.

"Your oxygen saturation suddenly dropped while you were sleeping… Your body still needs to recover from the overdose, after all... Not to mention that nasty pneumonia… Hopefully, you are fine." She explained.

"I..." My voice was husky, but I could talk "What…?"

Morphine overdose…? Pneumonia…? What about my ability…?

"I'll bring you some water." She smiled "You are recovering just fine. Your body is trying to hold on."

I requested to sit up by myself, and slowly raised my back from the mattress to take the cup of water in my shaking hands. Feebly, I brought it to my mouth, and drank, absolutely relishing in the sensation of hydration.

"That's good." She complimented me "You should have some rest now."

"Wait…" I still had some trouble breathing "What exactly… What exactly killed me…?"

"Although it is clear your ability made you suffer, Ogawa-san, the thing that almost took your life today was morphine…" She sighed "And I even told you to be careful…"

"I don't understand…"

"It caused a severe respiratory depression." She explained "It means you could not breathe anymore, which made your oxygen saturation drop tremendously…"

"But… My headache… My fatigue… The pain… The coughing, even…!"

"Muscle pains and intracranial hypertension — your headache — are after effects of morphine. The fact you could not sleep first caused your headache, of course, but also made you weak, which is why you somehow caught pneumonia. That explains the coughing. As I said, we can't deny your ability was highly involved, but all that pain was increased by the drug." She explained "Only, you were never diagnosed because… You would never come for anything other than being stitched up like a ragged cloth…"

"... I see…" I looked down "I see…"

"Ogawa-san…" She took my hand into her "It isn't your fault…"

"No, indeed… I… I was just stupid… I caused this… I'm such a fool…"

Tears fell onto the sheets but I did not mind. All that pain… I had inflicted it myself.

"And… Dazai-san..." I exhaled "Is he... Is he alright...?"

The few words and reactions I could have witnessed when being awake had clearly indicated he did feel some guilt, inside. I did not want him to think it was his fault I was dying; it was all just a mistake I had committed.

"That stubborn child refused to leave..." She sighed "He constantly kept an eye on you and was the first one to notice the drop of your saturation. I... Think this accident made him reflect on himself."

"I don't know..." I looked down, only to finally notice he was still there, asleep with his head on the bed.

"That's only my opinion..." The nurse shrugged "He never let go of you, fearing you would wake up if his ability did not cancel yours."

"It's untrue..." I refused to believe it "He... He doesn't care... He is just putting on an act... As soon as I get better, he will... Again..."

Just imagining him beating me up again was enough to stress me out, and the monitor's rhythm increased with my heartbeat. Waking him up.

"Nurse, there is a —"

He saw me, and did not finish his sentence.

"You must calm down..." The nurse advised, laying me back "We will talk it out after your recovery. For now, you must not be anxious about anything."

"What's the point in recovering if I have to come back after...?" I murmured.

"What's going on...?" My superior looked at the nurse.

"Nothing you should care about for the moment. But, understand her nervousness... And I share her concern. Why are you suddenly nice toward Ogawa-san?" She frowned "It is not my business, but the bruises I wrapped up for her speak for themselves."

"... My hand must have slipped while I was dozing off..." He dodged the matter "I'll cancel your ability again, Ogawa-kun."

"Why...?" I avoided his touch "Why now? Why are you even here? What are you trying to make me believe?"

"... Is that how you see me? A liar...?" He looked upset.

"Not a liar. A puppeteer." I confessed, sincerely terrified "I can't understand what you think... I can only think about your ulterior motives, always, always... I am afraid of being played with..."

"I've never tried to manipulate your feelings to gain your loyalty..." He defended.

"Stop this nonsense, please… Manipulating… You do that all too well…! You do that all the time…"

"Ogawa-kun… Not with you…"

"Why did you praise me so randomly once, just to beat the crap out of me the next day, then?" I started sobbing "I don't understand... Do you just hate me...?"

"I don't hate you...! Obviously I don't hate you..."

"Then, am I too weak...?"

"That's not it..."

The nurse had left, most certainly to let us talk alone.

"What is it, then? Are you just bipolar...?! Or am I insane...?"

"I just wanted to train you... I wanted to make you stronger so you did not die... I honestly never noticed I was the one killing you." Dazai-san lowered his head "It's embarrassing, but I did not know about your pain, about your addiction... Until yesterday. Am I not a useless executive...? Had I done something… Had I done something, perhaps you never would have ended in such a state."

"... Right now..." I gripped onto the sheets "I am not sure whether you are acting or being sincere... I'm sorry, Dazai-san..."

"I don't want you to die!" He said, more willingly "I don't want you to die... Being tough and merciless was the actual act... I wanted you to grow accustomed to the Mafia... I wanted you to cast away your emotions, not to be morally struggling with decisions... I wanted to toughen you up, so you would resist against the enemies, so you would be mentally strong... But the only thing I managed to create was a machine, expert in torture and assassination, who does the job without a glance behind, who sheds blood with no hesitation, who looks down on pain... In a way, I obtained what I wanted, but... It isn't you. It isn't the girl who cried for attention that I first met. When I look at you and see fear, hatred, disgust and resentment in your eyes, I can't help thinking I did something wrong... But I could not understand what... Until you told me you wanted me to kill you. At this moment, I knew that nothing I had attempted with you would work. I've recently come to realise I was only hurting you... Forcefully making you face such violence, trying to mould you into the perfect subordinate... I have to admit it was a mistake. I can't believe I am the one who turned off that flickering yet bright flame of life in your eyes, whereas... Whereas it shone so warmly..."

It was understandable that someone who yearned to end his life would be fascinated by someone willing to live. That I was the one he was drawn to, however, was surprising. His words made me doubt as well. Indeed, since when had I become such a cold-hearted person? Since when had I killed without even a thought for the victim? Since when had I looked so eagerly for the worst methods of torture? I suddenly remembered how reluctant I had been to join the Port Mafia, how I had pretended to prefer dying... Since when had I lost my will to stay alive?

"You always repeat that the weak must die… I am weak, then why won't you let me leave? I questioned, curtly.

"Because... Because I want you to fetch me a cup of coffee, I want you to classify the paperwork for me...!" He sounded like a child about to throw a tantrum "The office... It felt less empty with you inside..."

"Now, you're just being difficult…" I looked away "I want to believe you, Dazai-san, I really want to. However… You've so often changed your mind and I am tired. I can't afford to be deceived anymore… I don't want to be disappointed in someone anymore…"

"... I know..." Dazai-san's eyes focused on his feet "I understand... It leaves an empty hole in your chest, you don't know what to think anymore... I know that... I didn't think I would make you feel that way, nonetheless..."

"You... You understand my point...?" I frowned.

"Of course... People are never what they seem. You, for example, look strong, determined, yet you are so sick you could die at any moment. People tell sweet lies in front of you, yet curse you when you are not looking. I know that..." He chuckled bitterly "Perhaps the problem comes from me... Perhaps am I a failure of a human being, tired of living, but mostly —"

"Afraid of your fellows…" I stared at him, finally understanding "You're afraid of us… And you don't know how to behave around me… That's why you seem so lunatic…"

"Do you hate me for that...? No, such a question... It is obvious you would hate me..."

"I've already told you… There are many people who do that better than me…" I paused to catch my breath "I don't hate you, Dazai-san. In fact, I pity you… And I feel… A bit stupid…"

I had believed Dazai-san was purposely rough and contemptuous toward me, because he did not like me, because I was too weak, because I was worthless. In fact... In fact, whereas he did not like me, he did not loathe me either, and that alone was enough to appease me. There was some place for me by his side, as a subordinate. I could keep serving him, obeying his commands, and he would not mind. If only I would not die... I could have strived to understand the pain gnawing at him from the inside, I could have tried to comprehend his feelings, instead of detesting him as I had done. At the very least, toughening me up had permitted me to survive in the cruel world of darkness the Port Mafia belonged to.

"What you did was undeniably wrong… You can't teach one if you use violence… Hitting me, abusing me, harassing me… Nothing can ever erase this fact… If I cannot forget, then, at least, I can try to forgive. You are the reason I survived so far, and for that I am grateful."

"You shouldn't be grateful that I treated you so brutally..."

"To be honest…" I recalled my time by his side, not without a tinge of bitterness "I really wanted to strive, to be a proper subordinate, worthy of being the protege of the infamous Demon Prodigy's… I guess I wanted to be useful, somehow, for once in my life. I wanted to exist, to be acknowledged as a human being. You did that, though… You treated me as a human being, although it was not ideal. You did not ignore me, at least. Thank you, Dazai-san, for making me feel alive, even if it was short."

"I don't deserve your thanks… But you're welcome…" He avoided my look.

"What are you afraid of? From me, I mean?"

"Huh…?"

"What could I do to harm you? What could I say to hurt you? Scheming against you? You would find out immediately. Talking behind your back? Many people do that. Besides, I've always been honest about you; I can't stand you. Well, I couldn't…" I mumbled "So… Why?"

"Why, indeed… It's not just about you…"

"I know… I'm not asking you to trust me… I just want to know that, if you need a loyal subordinate, you have one."

"Ogawa-kun… You can't mean it, not after everything I've done…"

"Oh but I do mean it. It is my way to redeem myself, too."

"... What do you mean…?"

I avoided his eyes for a moment, strangely unable to face the inquisitive and somewhat hopeful expression he wore. Why did he have to look so childish? So harmless? Although… He had not always acted like a cold adult man… All the times he had bickered with Nakahara-san, all the times he had dropped the mask of toughness to smile at me, even faintly, and that one time he had sounded relieved when I had recovered from the wounds inflicted by Gustavo Cosola… In fact, I had never paid attention to him, despite the warning Oda-san had given me. I did not understand him, nor did I know him. Dazai-san had troubles and I had forgotten that under the armour of the Demon Prodigy was hidden a small, terrified sixteen years old child, who strangely resembled me. Behind a wall of mercilessness, we were just teenagers who had grown up too quickly and had been thrown without concern in a world of adults, forced to become adults ourselves and to carry the immense burden of death upon our shoulders.

"I was too selfish…" I muttered "Too centered on myself. I did not see that it wasn't easy for you either…"

"Ogawa-kun…" He sighed "I have to confess something, since you're honest with me; everything I did was to train you… But I would lie if I said I never took my frustration out on you. On bad days, or only to hide my weakness, I beat you up without caring about your improvement. The light that shone in your eyes… Yes, there were times I wanted to turn it off. How dared you hold onto life? How could you believe in tomorrow? Break, cry, fall into despair or die being worthless, these were my actual thoughts."

"What do you hope to achieve by telling this to me?" I asked simply.

"I wanted to see if you would loathe me, now."

"Dazai-san… I knew all that. I mean, it was obvious you had some stress to let out." I tilted my head "The only thing I really resent you for is not teaching me to control my ability properly… For the rest… Now that I am going to die, anyway, there is no point in holding a grudge against you. I'd rather leave peacefully…"

"But I don't want you to leave…" A sort of pout formed on his lips "I don't want to lose you…"

"Losing me…?" I huffed, amused "I am not a toy for you to play with… I can't be lost. Besides, you merely need me to serve as furniture for your office. I may have given you my loyalty, Dazai-san, but I haven't given up on my pride as a human being. Do remember that, please."

He sighed. Heavily. Was he annoyed? Was he tired of me?

"I am ready to take my responsibilities. Weak people die, but you don't belong to them. You are my subordinate and you know I don't allow my men to be weak." He stood up, crossing his arms "You won't die, because I decided so."

"My body is in no state to fight…" I argued "I have pneumonia and I am a morphine addict. I can't sleep and my immune system has already collapsed a long time ago. What do you expect me to do? Besides, you have another protege… From what I heard, he is much more useful than me."

"I expect you to recover." He faced me, the usual Port Mafia executive replacing the distressed child "And, about Akutagawa-kun… He has no idea what his ability is made for, don't compare the two of you. You two have different strengths."

"But he succeeds where I am powerless." I stated "He —"

"He is a blade without a sheath. I need to control him in order to make him the most powerful ability user of the Port Mafia. When that day comes, he will be, without a doubt, the organisation's greatest asset. For now, however, he is nothing but an untamed dog."

"Dazai-san… You hate dogs…" I remarked, feeling sorry for Akutagawa-kun.

"What you lack in physical strength, you compensate with that." He pressed a finger to my forehead without paying attention to my words "You learnt what I taught you, what I could never teach him. That is why you are a valuable subordinate in my squadron, because I can trust your wit, because I know that you are able to replace me."

"I could never, Dazai-san…!" I protested "I am nowhere near you…!"

"That's right. But you are above the others, and that is all that matters. You can lead in my stead if needed. Mmh, it's actually better to keep you alive." He seemed to think aloud "There are more pros than cons…"

"I am not a tool…" I reminded him, vexed.

"No, you are my subordinate." He agreed.

In his mouth, it did not sound too different…

"Oh~ It could be interesting, giving you Yamada-san's seat…~" He mumbled, walking around the bed in deep thought "But then you couldn't be on the field anymore… What to do~? I want to see that idiot's disappointed face…~"

"What does it matter, anyway? Can I even fight again with that body? Just give me paperwork if all you need is my brain…" I groaned.

"You will fight again." He declared "Why couldn't you? Just rest and take your treatment. It is a matter of time before you are physically back on your feet, anyway. And give up on morphine; I'll grant you sleep from now on."

"Dazai-san!" I burst, unable to hold it in any longer "Did… Did you even pay attention when we were talking…? Were you even sincere…?!"

His fist hit the wall, suddenly, and I jumped in fear. I had given him my loyalty, I had been honest with him… Had he manipulated me again…? He did not move. His back was toward me. I was about to say something when a small detail caught my attention. His hand, the one that had punched the wall, was trembling. He let it fall to his side.

"You must be useful…" He hissed between his teeth "I have to find some use in you, even while you are recovering…"

The bandage covering his skin was slowly reddening as he muttered incoherent words and I sighed. I understood, although too late again.

"There is… There is a position I can occupy, even in this bed…" I spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence "If my presence serves a purpose, the Port Mafia won't need to get rid of me."

"What is it…?" He slowly turned around.

"I believe a lieutenant is still missing in your squadron, Dazai-san. Until I recover, I could lead the men from afar and take care of lower missions for you. Then, once I am better and able to fight, I can accompany them directly." I suggested "Besides, it will drastically decrease your paperwork… Which is at your advantage, isn't it?"

I cracked a small smile and waited for his response. He really did not want me to die, that I was sure of. However, the organisation did not care about damaged goods. If I did not prove myself to be more than a disposable pawn, an order to abandon me would be given, forcing my superior to either eliminate me or let me rot somewhere. In both cases, I would die.

"A lieutenant… It is true that I don't have that." He held his chin a second "Very well, I shall promote you. After all, I never got to reward you properly for your contribution to the fight against the Sicilian Mafia."

He gave me an understanding smirk, and I nodded, accepting the offer.

"Thank you, Dazai-san. I will strive not to disappoint you."

"Good. Take a week off for your initial recovery, then I will send the first piles of paperwork to you."

"Thank you for your consideration."

"Also… Odasaku may or may not visit you later… I remember he knows a cheap yet clean place not far from the headquarters." He added, heading toward the door "Ask him about it, I'm sure he'll be glad to answer you. Dust is bad for your lungs."

I chuckled once he exited the infirmary, and laid back on the bed. There I was, alive, already impatient to discover the paperwork he had promised. It was a good feeling, breathing, even if I still felt uncomfortable. I did not want to die anymore. There were still things I needed to do and a superior somehow counting on me. I could not let him down… And I wanted to see the sun set on Yokohama once again.

It was wonderful to exist again.

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#bsd #bsd oc #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #dazai osamu

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pllandcompany · 4 years

Text

I Choose You

Summary: Hospital AU! A look into how Roman and Logan’s relationship developed.

Pairings: Pre-romantic into Romantic Logince, background QPP Moxiety

Warnings: discussion of medical procedures, blood mention, violence/shooting mention, mention of drug use/addiction, anxiety, crying, a (and one almost) kiss

Tagged: @shxtxpp @apologieslogan @crofters-jam @asylia5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable@flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein @insufferablegayastronaut

Notes: Guess who’s back at it again after months of writer’s block?? I’ve wanted to write this story for a while. It does reference a few other fics I’ve written in this AU so here, here, and here are the links for those stories if you want more context as the events of this story are not in order of how they happened based on the established timeline. Also, heads up that I’ve only linked the first part of Out Loud (last link) and Don’t You Remember (second link) but If you want full details (or if you just love my writing so much, insert eye roll here), go to my masterlist and read all of the parts. Still, it should be fairly clear even without reading the previous stories. Okay! Enough talking! Enjoy!

Why wasn’t he awake?

That deadly, nerve-wracking, gut-twisting question had been bouncing around Dr. Roman Courtland’s mind for five days now. The deadline of the withdrawal of care date loomed over his head like a terrorizing and expansive storm ready to break open at any moment. Fourteen days was just simply not enough time. Did the man have no hope?

Note to self: Remind Logan to change that stupidly short time period when he wakes up.

In all actuality, Logan being in a coma was not the expected outcome. It was a nearly perfect surgery. The bleeding was minimal and deftly controlled by his swift hand when it occurred. There was no sign of post-operative stroke or brain death. He should be awake. Yet there Logan lay as still and pale as driven snow, the steady beep of the machines being the only sign of life in the room. It shouldn’t be the case, but it was and Roman was damned determined to find out why. This wasn’t just any patient. No, this was a colleague and a gifted one at that; Logan was quite possibly the most brilliant cardio-thoracic surgeons this hospital had ever seen. Not only was this a professional point of pride, Logan was also the man who saved his brother’s life while simultaneously putting up with his relentless torment the entire time Remy was hospitalized. Roman knew he had been unfair to the surgeon, cruel even and he has certainly spent an exorbitant amount of energy trying to make up for that fact since, including personally taking on his case when Logan turned up with a brain tumor. Shortly before his diagnosis, the two finally found themselves on better terms and Roman was…looking forward to getting to know the doctor more, figure out what truly makes him tick. Now he was potentially the surgeon responsible for destroying that precious of a mind, for squandering the opportunity to…learn more about Logan? Roman refused to accept that reality. Logan Taylor was going to wake up if he had any say in it. He had to; Roman wasn’t ready to lose him-

“Roman? What are you still doing here?”

Patton. Damn it. “Looking over Logan’s post-op scans.” Roman felt the deep sigh more than he heard it.

“For the hundredth time, I bet. Roman, take a break, please. You have to step away at least for a moment. Have you even eaten anything?”

“Have I figured this out yet? Then the answer is no and I’m not leaving until that changes.” A small pang of guilt tightened Roman’s chest briefly. Yelling at Patton was like kicking a puppy, a completely undeserved action. As usual, Patton didn’t even seem fazed which only served to make the neurosurgeon feel worse. Instead, he simply sat across from the distraught doctor, empathy shining in his eyes.

“Roman, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Then what the hell else am I supposed to do?!” Roman flailed his arms in sheer frustration, the force of action flinging the scans everywhere. He roughly ran a shaky hand through his hair and breathed deeply, trying to control himself while Patton quietly picked up the discarded films.

“I wish I could tell you what to do, Roman. I don’t know how to fix Logan. But I do know you’re not going to find the answer like this. Please take a break. Get some sleep. Come at this again in the morning.”

Roman buried his head into his hands. “What if something happens when I walk away? What if he gets worse and I’m not here to stop it? What if I can’t figure this out and I…and we lose him?” Patton gently took Roman’s hands out of his hair and smoothed the wavy locks down, a solemn yet knowing smile playing on his lips.

“I know you’re scared. I am too. But we don’t get to know what’s going to happen sometimes. All we can do is our best. Which you can’t do if you’re exhausted. So, come with me. We’re going to have dinner and then you’re going to an on-call room to lie down. You don’t have to sleep. You can ramble all the medicine at me that you want, every detail. Maybe then we can come up with something together. How does that sound?” Roman nodded silently, allowing Patton to lead him out of his office.

An hour and a sandwich later, Roman was out like a light and Patton was quietly sneaking out of the on-call room.

Mission successful.

****

“Good morning, nerd!”

God, Roman was insufferable. Logan let out a soul-exiting sigh. “Dr. Courtland, must you insist on calling me that?”

“Oh, don’t get your briefs in a twist, Dr. Taylor; you know I tease only out of love.” Logan hoped the tenseness in his shoulders wasn’t noticeable.

There he was using that word around him again.

“You cannot possibly love me. We’ve only known each other a few months. Besides, I seem to recall you having a certain disdain for me when I first arrived here. It would be impossible for that to have resolved itself in totality so soon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roman stop and turn back to him. Suddenly, Logan was grateful they were the only two in the lounge.

“Logan…you still think so ill of me?” The cardiologist barely held back the gasp that bubbled in his throat at the hurt look on the neurosurgeon’s face.

“No…not of you?”

“Then of yourself?” Roman sat next to Logan, setting his thigh ablaze when they brushed against each other. Logan hesitated for a moment as his mind struggled to find the best way to answer.

“That’s not it either. I simply meant that we are very different people with not much in common. I’m not certain as to how we will coalesce outside of being coworkers.” If we will.

“Well, that isn’t always a negative thing. I like that we’re different. Means there’s much we can learn from each other.”

“Of course. Our specialties differ greatly; there’s bound to be new information learned between us.” Roman chuckled warmly.

“While I find your habit of taking things literally quite refreshing, in this case it led you astray. You’re so much more than the job, Lo. You are strong and wise, brilliant and beautifully complicated in ways I’d like to know more about. If you’d let me that is.” The neurosurgeon’s face held so much hope, it metaphorically made Logan’s heart just…stop. How ironic that he, the cardio-thoracic surgeon would be the one to need pulmonary resuscitation from just one look from the towheaded neurosurgeon. It just wasn’t reasonable how one person could be so disarming, so confounding, so attractive…

Logan had to get out of there.

“Ah! Yes, well, then I concede to your point, Dr. Courtland. Fare-farewell.” The older doctor jumped up like a jack in the box and practically sprinted out of the room, the edge of his white coat narrowly missing Roman’s face.

It didn’t bother him too much once he realized that Logan hadn’t said no.

****

“Okay, Logan. Let’s try this again. Pick up the pencil and write your name.” Logan stared at the yellow No. 2 as if it would jump up and slap him at any moment. “Can we go back to the ball?”

Roman almost chuckled. “You’ve already done that portion. Your grip strength is greatly improved. Now we need to build your prehensile strength back. Go ahead, pick up the pencil. Just try.”

After a few tense moments, Logan finally held the writing instrument. His heart pounded with anticipation as he gingerly placed the tip to the paper in front of him. He pressed down ever so slightly and began to write his name.

He didn’t make it through the ‘g’ before the force of his tremor snapped the graphite.

In a fit of pure rage, Logan swiftly grabbed the pencil in his left hand and threw it across the room. It sailed past Roman’s ear so close he felt the wind move his hair. Before he could react, Logan was standing and tossing his chair across the room. A loud clattering sound stunned Roman into stock still reticence, not daring to test the cardiologist in this state.

“Damn it! Damn it all to hell!”

“Logan, just try to stay calm- “

“No, you said this would work! Yet it’s been a month and I still can’t use my hand! An entire month and I still can’t operate because you make promises you can’t keep!” Silence. “I’m sorry. That was…an unbecoming display.” He moved to restore the room to its original order but Roman intercepted him. He placed two warm hands on Logan’s shoulders, drawing a gasp from the sudden contact.

“You don’t have to apologize, Logan. I understand. I’m surprised you’ve held it together this long.”

Logan refused to make eye contact with Roman. “I still should not have behaved in that manner. Especially after everything you’ve done for me, I shouldn’t be lashing out at you, I am alive because of you, I should just be grateful for that- “

“Dr. Taylor, will you please look at me?” When Logan didn’t move, Roman took his hand under the surgeon’s chin and gently lifted his head. His heart nearly broke at the shattered look on Logan’s face. “See? I’m not mad. What you’re feeling is normal because what you’re going through is hard. It’s okay to get frustrated.” Roman pushed back a lock of the cardiologist’s dark hair and Logan’s eyes closed, leaning into the touch. His head dropped alarmingly close to Roman’s forehead and the neurosurgeon shifted to hold his face with both hands. Logan’s lips parted and his gaze suddenly changed to something…insistent, almost desperate. The question he was asking was obvious and oh, how Roman wanted to acquiesce. Maybe he could, maybe it would be okay…no, it wouldn’t be right; Logan was his very vulnerable patient right now and his coworker. Complicated wouldn’t even begin to describe the nature of their involvement. Roman took a step back and cleared his throat, turning to grab the chair and returned it to the table.

“Look, your hand works. You just have to remind your brilliant brain that it does. And it takes time to build new neural pathways so…try again. Write your name, as much as you can.” Logan swallowed tensely, seating himself once again in the chair. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer, willing the pressure in his chest to release. He looked when he felt velvet skin against the back of his hand: Roman was holding it. Smiling gently at the supportive touch, he picked up the second pencil Roman had conjured from his white coat.

This time, he made it through the ‘g.’

****

“Tell me a secret.”

“…what?”

“We’re getting to know each other. Setting aside our differences, becoming…friends. Friends tell each other things so…tell me a secret.”

“We are sitting on a bench on our lunch break in the middle of our workday. What about this setting makes you suddenly want to have an intimate conversation?”

“Deflecting…”

“Oh, for heavens’ sake, fine!”

“…Paging Dr. Taylor? Are you actually going to say something?”

“I…I want children. Or at least a child. I want to be a father.”

“Well, that’s a mighty forward proposition.”

“Dr. Courtland…”

“Oh, hush now, you know I’m kidding! But why is that such a secret?”

“Because no one expects it of me. People see me as cold and emotionless; no one would think me fit to be a father, much less have a desire to raise children. I’m not like Patton; I don’t seem like ‘the type,’ if you will.”

“I don’t agree with that at all. I think you’d make an excellent father. You’re very practical and you’re extremely dedicated to your patients. There’s no way that wouldn’t translate over into being a parent.”

“Oh…well, uh, thank you. I, uh, believe it is your turn.”

“…I have a twin.”

“In addition to your four other brothers?”

“No, he’s one of the five of us. His name is…was Remus.”

“Was?”

“Truth be told, I don’t know if I should be saying is or was about him. I don’t even know if he’s alive or not.”

“Roman…”

“He was a surgeon in the military. Reconstructive surgery was technically his specialty but over there he functioned mostly as a trauma surgeon. He loved it; he was never phased by gruesome injuries or the horrors of combat. He just did his job saving as many lives as he could so they could go on to keep ours back home safe. One day, their compound was raided and…he was never heard from again. A lot of soldiers died that day but…they never found his body.”

“Oh, Roman…you have my deepest condolences. The amount of grief you’ve had to endure…it’s quite unfair.”

“Don’t worry, Specs. I’m all right. I know it may sound…completely ridiculous but he could still be alive. It’s one of the few things I still hope for…that one day I’ll see my brother again.”

“I understand even more why you’re so protective of the brothers you have here now.”

“Congratulations, Doctor. You just figured out why we tell each other secrets.”

****

The first thing Roman felt when he woke up was pain. Pain in his chest, pain in his throat, God, it felt like he was choking on something-

“Roman? Roman, calm down, don’t fight the intubation, okay? We’ll get it out, just hold on.” That sounded like Virgil, why was Virgil taking him off a vent?

Oh. Right. He got shot.

He got shot and almost died.

He got shot and needed surgery. He had just had surgery to take a bullet out of his chest. Chest…cardiovascular…where was Logan?

Roman knew he wouldn’t be able to get much out at first, but he had to try. He took a breath that rattled in his throat and attempted to speak. “Lo…Lo-”

“Shh, shh, don’t try to talk, Ro. I know who you want; I’ll go get him.” Virgil turned to leave, not even making it one step before he was stopped short by a vice-like grip on his wrist. He turned back to see Roman staring at him with wide eyes, almost pleading with him to understand. Virgil nodded; the message clearly received.

“I know you’re grateful. I’m not hurt. I’m just…really glad to see you make it, man.” Virgil left before anyone could acknowledge the tears threatening to stain his face and Roman found that being alone was scarier than it should be. After all, he had no idea where the shooter was; Logan could have hidden him away to fix him, he could still be here somewhere, lurking, waiting to take another shot that would surely end his life this time-

“Roman? Calm down, your heart rate is way too high. Just breathe, you’re safe.” The neurosurgeon’s eyes met with two dark pools of worry and he locked onto them, Logan urging him to match his breathing. “That’s right; breathe with me. You’re safe. We’re safe right now.” Once Roman’s chest evened out, Logan reached over and grabbed a paper cup full of lukewarm water and handed it to the eager patient.

“Don’t drink too fast, Roman. Slow sips. There you go.” A moment of silence passed. “I’m sorry it’s not cold, I couldn’t seem to locate any ice.”

“The…the shooter-”

“Dead.” Logan’s tone was abrupt and cold. “The shooter is dead; you don’t have to worry about him any longer.”

Roman nodded slowly to not aggravate his already sore body any further. “You saved me.”

Logan nodded absently, staring a hole into the linoleum floor. “I know.”

“Then you know…you know I cannot thank you enough- “

“How dare you?” Logan whispered softly.

“Wh- what?”

“How dare you! How dare you just…waltz into my life and torture me and make me hate you then apologize and befriend me and make me respect you?”

Roman’s eyes widened in shock. “I-I’m sorry- “

“No! No, you do not get to apologize because…because you don’t even leave it there; I can’t just respect you, you then start to make me like you and want you around and want to be near you and then, oh God, you even go as far as to make me fall for you! And just when I figure that out, just when I’m finally able to admit the depth of my feelings for you to myself, just when I finally muster up the courage to even consider telling you about how I…feel, then you decide to go and almost die on me?! And on top of it, you make me be the one to have to save you! How DARE YOU?!”

The entire room stuttered to a halt, save for Logan’s ragged breathing. He was outright crying at this point and quite honestly, Roman wasn’t far behind him. “Logan…I’m so sorry- “

“Shut up! Just shut up! Please just…just tell me you want me too. Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me that I don’t ever have to live without you because today I learned that losing you feels far too similarly to dying myself so if that is not the case…tell me now so I can figure out how to survive.” A long, tense, quiet moment passed before either of them spoke again.

“Logan,” Roman coughed abruptly, wincing as the motion sent shockwaves of pain through his ribs. He cleared his abused throat and tried again. “Logan, look at me.” The dark-haired surgeon looked up into the soulful eyes of the injured man laying in the hospital bed below him.

“Roman, please,” he pleaded, his voice impossibly soft.

“You can survive without me…but I promise you, as long as I am alive, you will not ever have to.” Logan’s head shot up and before he could control himself, he launched into the bed with Roman, just barely remembering to avoid his ribs and all the wires attached to him. He mumbled a hushed prayer of thank you, thank you, thank you as he curled himself into the space between Roman’s body and the railing of the bed. Roman took a moment to settle before he rested his head against the taller man’s shoulder, exhaustion beginning to blur out the edges of his vision. Logan kissed the crown of his head and wrapped his arms around his newfound love in the gentlest protective hold he could muster, allowing the neurosurgeon to succumb to sleep.

“Rest, Roman. I have you. You are safe. You’re safe with me.”

****

Dr. Picani was a typically patient man but this? This argument he was deeply tired of.

“What I fail to understand is how I continually prove myself to be trustworthy over and over again and you continually shut me out!”

“It is not about you, Roman.”

“Then what is it about? Why wouldn’t you tell me about something like this?”

“I’m telling you now!”

“Yeah, two weeks after the fact and I technically had to hear about it from Virgil!”

“Have you considered that. just maybe, I felt some shame? I had achieved six months of solid sobriety and I nearly threw all of that away in mere minutes!”

“You were obviously triggered by something.”

“I was weak! I failed to keep myself together yet again! And if it weren’t for Virgil dragging me to a meeting and convincing me to tell you, I’d probably still be failing.” Struggling doesn’t make you weak, Logan. The therapist scribbled the thought in his notebook, making a reminder to bring that point up later. He was about to interject when he realized that for the first time in a few minutes, there was silence. Dr. Picani’s head snapped up at the sudden quiet to see Roman’s eyes rapidly filling with tears. Well, this is unexpected.

“Roman? What’s wrong? Say what you’re thinking.”

“I…am I the trigger? Have I pushed you too far?” Good job, Roman, the therapist praised silently, way to take ownership!

Logan’s stomach churned guiltily at the tentative question. “No. You have gotten so much better about that. You did nothing wrong, you are perfect, it’s me, I am…broken.” Logan cursed himself internally for how his voice cracked at the end of his sentence, but he had to keep going. “I want to be good enough for you, but I constantly fail you and I don’t want you to see it. But I fear that one day you will and the fact that I love you won’t be enough to make you stay.” And good job being honest about your fears, Logan. These two have come so far.

While Roman knew just how necessary it was for Logan to admit how he felt, God, how it broke Roman’s heart. He reached out slowly and touched Logan’s hand, chest tightening even more when he felt the muscles jump under his palm. He breathed a sigh of relief when the brunette managed to make eye contact with him, the shared gaze giving him the courage to continue.

“Logan, you’re forgetting one very important thing. I love you too. I don’t want you to be perfect. I want you to be you. Yes, you are strong and brilliant, and I love when you are confident and at your best. But I don’t just love you then. I also love you when you’re hurt, when you’re scared, when you’re less than perfect. Lord knows that I am all those things and you don’t shy away from any of that with me. We’re all a little bit broken but we need each other to keep ourselves together. So, yes, I want you to be strong and healthy but if you can’t be? If it gets hard for you to be that? I still want you.”

“All of me?” Logan whispered.

“The whole damn thing.” Roman paused suddenly, a moment of deliberation passing through his eyes. Logan watched as he seemed to come to some sort of internal decision. He felt the grip on his hand tighten into a gentle squeeze…and then gasped as he watched Roman slide off the couch they shared and drop to one knee.

“Oh my God,” Logan choked out. A loud clatter sounded in front of them as Emile dropped his notebook, both hands flying up to either side of his face,

“Oh my God!” Roman chuckled damply at the poorly contained squeal.

“Save it for the end, Picani.” He pulled out a small black box from his pocket, relishing in the way Logan’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. “I’ve been carrying around this thing for weeks wondering when the right time to ask you was, but truth be told, I could have done it anytime. I didn’t have to wait for some perfect moment because every moment is perfect with you. An appropriate time period in our relationship didn’t need to pass because every minute that goes by is another minute that I am undoubtedly grateful to have spent with you. I didn’t need a counselor to tell me if I’m making the right decision. I just need to look at you and see that all my futures, all my forevers and tomorrows live in your eyes. You are the answer to every question I’ve ever had, even the ones I didn’t know I was asking. So today, I am not proposing marriage. I am affirming my sure commitment to you for the rest of my life. The ring is yours today, tomorrow, and for years to come. There’s no time limit, no expiration date. All you have to do is take it when you’re ready.”

Logan sat in stunned silence as his mind turned over every word of Roman’s confession. Slowly taking the sapphire studded ring from the now open box, he turned it over in his fingers and watched as the light danced with the gems, searching the depths of his heart for any hesitation. He handed the ring back to Roman and slowly turned his hand over, palm facing down.

“Put it on me. I’m ready.”

The squeal that Dr. Picani let out threatened to break glass.

****

“Patton, I must insist that you let go of me before you completely cut off my oxygen supply!"

Patton somehow managed to squeeze Logan even tighter for the briefest of seconds before releasing him.

“Sorry, Doc, I’m just so darned excited for you both! Virgil, isn’t it just amazing? They’re getting married!” Virgil chuckled at the giddy look on Patton’s face.

“I swear, you are a living heart eyes emoji. And yeah, it’s pretty damn cool considering you guys hated each other when you met.”

“My God, you would bring that up,” Roman rolled his eyes as Logan and Patton collectively groaned. Patton delivered a playful smack to Virgil’s arm.

“Virgil! Leave them alone, they’re in love now.” Virgil raised an eyebrow down at his partner’s glossy eyes, almost feverish with excitement and something close to…envy? He elected not to comment as turned to embrace the newly engaged pair one more time.

“Whatever, I know the truth. But seriously, congratulations. I’m sorry I’ve gotta run, I’m assisting on a general surgery case and I’ve gotta change out of chief attire. I’ll see you both later this week, celebratory sushi? Friday night?”

“You bet, Tickle-Me-Emo!” Virgil glared at the nickname as he disappeared into the bathroom of the attendings’ lounge. Patton went in for the hundredth hug and jumped as his pager suddenly went off.

“Uh oh, gotta run, looks like a crash C-section. Congrats to you both again! Bye!” he shouted boisterously as he ran down the hallway.

“I’m afraid I must depart as well, my love. It does not inspire respect in my residents if I’m late for rounds.” Roman beamed at the cardiac surgeon, seemingly unaware of anything he just said. “What?” Logan asked hotly.

“You called me your love. You claimed me.” Embarrassment curled up Logan’s neck as he shook his head fondly and leaned in to kiss his now fiancée.

“You are so endearingly sentimental. I will see you at home, my love.” He smirked as he walked out of the door at the way Roman’s knees seemed to buckle just the smallest amount. The neurosurgeon stood in the middle of the room chuckling to himself when he heard a low, smooth voice speak up behind him.

“You’re engaged?” Roman turned around, his face falling in sympathy at the person behind him.

“Oh, Declan…yes. Yes, I am.” The fellow surgeon turned his face to the side to hide his tears, displaying the long scar that ran down the left side of his face. Without warning, he was suddenly being embraced by Roman who seemed to be unable to stop his own tears as they soaked the corner of his scrubs.

“You know, if Remus were here and we weren’t already married by now, we could have planned a double wedding,” Declan murmured.

“He would have loved that. He loved you so much.” Declan pulled away, his glance suddenly dropping to the floor.

“I wish I could tell you what happened to him.” Roman placed a hand on the orthopedic surgeon’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. I know you weren’t there. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.” Declan smiled weakly, nodding a silent goodbye before leaving the room. He paused at the doorway facing the empty hallway.

“Congratulations. Really, you deserve to be happy.” Roman let out a small sob as Declan left, swiftly brushing the tears away before heading to his own rounds.

Neither of them remembered that Virgil was in the bathroom, listening to their entire conversation…and absolutely seething with fury.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides au #tw:/anxiety #tw:/violence #logince #romantic logince #moxiety #queerplatonic moxiety #deceit sanders #sanders sides surgeon au #my writing #pllandco

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part nine) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5050 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part nine: Everyone deals with the aftermath of the fight differently. Worried about Dean, Y/N goes out to look for him, but doesn’t find the man she got to know in the past weeks. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Save Yourself - KALEO (Y/N and Dean scene), Burden - Foy Vance (end scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

The evening has set in completely, a clouded sky obstructing a view of the galaxy above. Normally, a dark blue would stretch out above the ranch, blending into a lighter tone at the horizon in the west where the sun sank down hours ago. But today the sky is black. No moon nor stars decorate the night’s ceiling. Almost as if the weather knows that it’s not the time to be breathtaking. No one will look up to appreciate her anyway.

Y/N vacuumed the bunkhouse, then gave the kitchen a good once over, just to keep busy. Jo took her example and scrubbed the bathroom. At least the therapeutical cleanup isn’t for nothing, because there was enough sand between the floorboards for the footing of a new arena, and there were several organisms living on leftovers in the refrigerator. Wranglers are a bunch of swines, that much Y/N knows. She neatly folds the wrung out the cloth that she used, leaves it in the sink, and stares through the four-squared window. Still no sign of Dean. Honestly, she’s not sure if it would be reasonable to expect Ash back tonight, since he doesn’t have to show up for work in the morning. But Dean isn’t going to stay away, is he?

While she is cleaning the faucet until she’s able to see her own reflection in the copper, she moves past denying how worried she is about him. Staying here and letting him be, as Jo put it, feels wrong. A breath of air rolls from her lips when she eyes the wall clock again. Ten minutes to nine; he’s been gone for almost two hours. For a moment she contemplates what to do next. She can still ride Meadow, even though she intended to give her the day off. It will keep her busy, for sure, her horse will probably offer some comfort, too. But she cannot take away the concern she carries for the head wrangler, only he can do that. With three determined steps she’s by the door opening, and is about to push away the fly curtain, when she hears stumbling, coming from behind. Jo just exited the bathroom, almost tripping over the stick of the mop while holding up a bucket of water. She has purple rubber gloves on, her blonde hair looks quite similar to the rag she is holding, and her shirt is pulled into a knot above her belly button. It’s quite a peculiar sight.

“Where are you going?” she asks, perplexed. Surely, Y/N isn’t going to leave her friend to scrub the floor alone. “I’m gonna go to the stables. I think we did enough cleaning for one day, or a week,” she excuses. “To the stables, my ass. You’re going after Dean, ain’t ya?” Y/N opens her mouth to counter Jo with a firm ‘no’, but when she looks at her friend, she drops the act. One cocked eyebrow, that same judgemental grin she gave the intern when she commented on her boots being too clean for a ranch hand, the day the cowgirl picked her up from the airport. Darn, Jo is on to her. And so she presses her lips together and sighs. “He seemed upset,” she utters. “He’s a dude, he’ll live. Men are mad for a minute, walk it off and by the time they turn around, they have forgotten what the whole thing was about. They’re like goldfish,” her friend scoffs. Y/N snorts at that comparison. Clearly the ranch owner’s daughter has a strong opinion of the other gender. “I’m just going to check on him, alright?” she promises. “Do what you gotta do,” Jo replies. “You know where I’ll be.” Thankful Y/N smiles at her friend, then moves the fly curtain out of the way and steps outside. Jo might think it’s stupid of her to let Dean get under her skin, but that doesn’t mean she will leave her to struggle with it alone, in case it backfires. Odds are that the wrangler is going to hurt her feelings somewhere down the line, the numbers are not exactly in his favor. But knowing that Jo will be there with a safety net ready to catch her, is reassuring. After a mocking ‘hate to say I told you so’, she will be her friend.

Grateful, Y/N walks down in the direction she saw Dean disappear hours ago. The air is thick, as if another thunderstorm is about to break out. The wind died down completely, leaving the lands in silence. The only sound she can detect, is a rhythmical pound every so many seconds, much like a pile-driver. Y/N isn’t far off, because when she reaches the cattle pens, she finds Dean, slamming a post into the ground with a sledgehammer. Seems like she wasn’t the only one who kept her hands busy to get through the evening. Clearly still worked up over the fight he had with Ash, Dean swings the hammer over his head with everything that he’s got and hits the pole on the head. His grey shirt sticks to his torso, sweat shimmering on his skin, brought out by the lampposts that light the driveway. Veins lay thick on his forearms, dust and dirt smudges add to the shades in his dark features. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so caught up in the work that he fails to hear her footsteps. In silence, she watches, both intrigued and intimidated, but eventually gathers the courage to announce herself. “Dean?”

He pauses his action for a brief second and looks at the timid woman, bewildered. Out of breath, he takes her in, but decides not to respond and heaves the hammer again in order to smash it down, driving the post deeper into the ground. “It’s getting pretty late,” she adds, hoping to get some kind of response that is more than just a look. “I have to finish this fence,” he returns, his voice monotone, as if he is trying to restrain every emotion. “The fence will still be there tomorrow,” Y/N returns. “I’d rather fix it now.” He hits the pole again. “At least this fucking fence –” and again, “– I can fix.” Oh, yeah; this is definitely a good way to deal with things. Y/N watches him jam the sledgehammer down a couple of more times, overworking his body. “You’ve been going at it since 4 AM,” she counters, trying to convince him. “Please come inside?” “I’m fine,” he replies bluntly, between swings. Y/N huffs, sarcasm evident. “Yeah, I can see that.” The head wrangler doesn’t respond, yet keeps grinding. He feels the young woman’s eyes on him, though. She is reading into his actions, his words, his behavior, and it’s bugging the hell out of him.

Cautiously, she moves in a few steps closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” He drops the sledgehammer on the ground with a loud thump and turns to her, chest heaving and clearly annoyed. “Do I look like I wanna talk about it?” he scolds between breaths. “I told you I’m fine!” Taken aback by the hostility in his voice, Y/N stares at him. This is a side of Dean she has never seen before. Sure, he gave her a cold shoulder when she turned him down on her first night at the ranch, but the darkness that clouds his eyes now is different. He has closed himself off and as he was rebuilding the fence, he pulled up a wall as well. She understands that he’s hurt, but he is the second friend to lash out at her tonight and it’s more than she can handle. “You know what? I won’t waste your time then. I’m certainly not going to waste any more of my time on you,” she spits, acrimony on her tongue. “Good luck with your damn fence.”

Angry, Y/N turns on her heels before he can spot the tears burning in her eyes. Hurried steps take her away from the man that gets to her more than she should let him. You dumb goose. How could you have been so naive? Jo was right to warn her every single time she did. She has known her cousin her entire life and still Y/N begged to differ. For hours, she’s been worried about the guy who is only nice to his intern when he thinks he can seize the opportunity to get her into his bed. She empathized with him, and this is what she gets in return. A snarl from that selfish dick when she tries to help him. The cowgirl can hear him call out for her, but she ignores it. It’s not until she hears her name again close behind her, that she hesitates. “Y/N…” Strong yet tender fingers lock around her wrist and stop the woman who tries to flee from him. The action spins her around, but she avoids Dean’s eyes. When Y/N does glance up into those green orbs bouncing over her features, she can detect the dismay in his expression. If there is anything that she does not want him to see, it’s the tears that threaten to roll down her cheeks. The bitterness that affected his temper a moment ago is gone and guilt replaces it. Shit, what has he done? “I’m sorry,” he says, not a trace of swallowed pride. “You’ve been blamed for things that ain’t your fault enough today. You didn’t deserve that.” He loosens the grip on her wrist a little and lets his fingers slide down her smooth skin until he holds her hand, squeezing it gently. There are so many emotions from both sides of the spectrum coursing through Y/N, but the most evident is the sensation that races up and down every nerve like a racetrack, the start and finish where he touches her. She looks down at their entwined fingers, at how her hand, soft from the all-purpose cleaner, fits in his palm. This is the first time that there is intentional physical contact and it shuts down her brain and sends her heart into overdrive.

“You’re not fine,” she manages to say. “I’m not a simpleton, Dean.” “I know you’re not,” he acknowledges. “It’s just that…” He pauses, hesitant about his next step. Opening up about the things that occupy his mind and keep him up at night is not something he’s comfortable with. His entire life he only had a few of those conversations, a few with Bobby, the others with Ellen. He only talked to them because they already knew a thing or two about his past and the issues that it brought along. But apparently the newest member of the crew is able to pierce through that veil and see behind the mask he thought he wore so well. “Dean… I know this isn’t all about Ash, and whatever it is that is bothering you, it’s okay. You can talk to me.” Y/N squeezes his hand, ensuring, letting him know she’s ready to listen. The anger she felt a moment ago when he shut down on her has disappeared as the ice on the lakes at the end of winter, back in Freeport. She isn’t even sure how this happened, but standing here in the wide-open spaces, lingering in his touch, it feels so good and so safe. It brings a calm over her she didn’t realize she longed for.

“I - I don’t really talk about this stuff,” the head wrangler admits. “I dunno, it feels like when I do, I just rattle shit up… It wouldn’t do anyone good.” He lets go of her, before the girl he feels attracted to starts to wonder what the connection means, but runs his thumb over her knuckles gently before her fingers slip from his. The moment he pulls away, the wrangler already aches for her touch. Uneasy, he turns away and rests both his hands on the mid rail of the fence, his hunched shoulders blocking a clear view of his face. He cannot let her see it. He cannot let her see him. “So that’s your strategy? When something bad happens, you bury it?” Y/N isn’t judging him, he can tell by the way she asks the question and is looking at him, curious and sympathetic. What she is doing, though, is trying to understand how his mind works. What if she’s able to decipher his code? What if she can speak this foreign language that he made his? What if she figures me out? Just the thought of letting it all rise to the surface scares Dean to death. Knowing that the one person he wants to impress, who he wants to do good by, will be able to tell how broken he truly is. And yet, despite the fear that is eating him up inside, he cannot pretend. He cannot lie to her. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he admits. “Usually it works for me.” “But not always,” she knows. “No, not always.”

He’s quiet now, his gaze locked on the soil that has become solid again after this morning’s rain. Y/N observes his body language; how he’s turned slightly away from her, head tipped down, resting his arms on the fence as if he needs something to lean on. It’s a stark contrast to the confident smile and bright eyes that she got used to. This is a part of him people rarely get to see, Y/N is very much aware of that. What she’s also aware of, is how delicate the situation is. Pushing him to talk will only trigger the opposite, and so she lets him be. The words she leaves between the two of them have only one purpose: to make him feel better. “If you don’t feel like talking, that’s alright. But what happened to Ash, you know he was wrong to take it out on you, right? This is not your fault.” Even in the dim light she can see his jaw flex, confirming her suspicion that he does, indeed, blames himself for his friend’s departure. “It was my decision. One I had to make, but still. At least I should’ve been honest with him. He had a hunch that something wasn’t right and I could have eased him into it. Instead, I told him everything was going to be alright. Who does that?” the handsome wrangler ponders, able to kick himself in the head for his tactic. “He’s family, he deserves better.” “You tried to protect him,” Y/N soothes. The cowboy scoffs and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “And look how that turned out…”

Dean appreciates the cowgirl’s efforts. Hell, he admires her for them, because she could have walked off and let him rot after that snarl he gave her, and it would have done him justice. The thing is, Y/N wasn’t far off when she assumed that he wasn’t just upset about Ash. His whole life he has tried to protect the people he loved at the expense of himself, without question. One person stands out from all the others. A boy with hazel hair, bangs hanging in front of his eyes which used to look up to Dean admiringly. Always carrying some book around, always reading and studying. Quiet, observant, smart, a will of his own, even at a young age. A boy Dean fought for to keep safe, tried to make sure he would land on his feet alright, and be given all the opportunities he deserved. A boy who he took the hit for, every single time. A boy who would call Dean his big brother. A boy called Sam. He failed him, just like he failed Ash today.

“Hey…” The woman who is breaking down his walls brings him out of the trance he was stuck in, her voice alone having that effect. He turns to her again as she steps closer and looks up at him. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but sometimes it’s easier to open up to an outsider.” She’s not done with her pledge, but Dean interrupts her either way. “You’re not an outsider,” he makes clear. “I know you’re not from here, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong. In fact, I think you are exactly where you should be.” The words quiet her, leaving a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart. Feeling accepted and welcome, she lets her eyes glide over the dark desert lands on her right. Her surroundings look exactly the same as it did on the evening she arrived on the property. She remembers how alien this world seemed, witnessing a landscape like she had never seen. Her gaze captures the overhead sign above the driveway, ‘Gold Canyon Ranch’ carved out of the worn pinewood. Maybe Dean is right; maybe she is exactly where she needs to be. “Well, outsider or not…” She restores eye contact, a calm exuding from her that soothes him. “You can always knock on my door.” For the first time tonight, she can spot a glint of relief in his expression. It’s almost unnoticeable, but it’s there. Dean is not going to make any promises, though. Not because he doesn’t want to get close to her; on the contrary. But revealing what he’s truly about, what has inflicted the scars which haven’t healed even after all those years, it will scare her away. “Thank you,” he responds, grateful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a good enough answer for Y/N and she smiles back, glancing up into his eyes. There she is again, trapped like a butterfly in a spider’s web, unable to move or look away. His breathing has slowed and is back to normal after the exertion, but beads of sweat are still forming on his forehead, a drop rolling down his temple. He wipes his brow with his forearm, barely breaking eye contact. They both sense it, the change in the atmosphere, just like when the two had a moment under the Joshua tree. God, he wants to kiss her so bad that lust almost wins the battle it’s fighting with his confidence. He is offered another chance to make a move, but he’s not going to take it. This smart, kind, and strong woman deserves much better than the damaged man that he is. He breaks the tension by glancing down briefly while clearing his throat. When he looks back at her, he could swear he sees disappointment in her gorgeous eyes and regret stabs him in the gut. “I’m, uh - I’m gonna finish up that fence,” he stammers, making a fist and pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Need a hand?” she asks, recovering quickly from the letdown. Dean seems stunned by her offer, because he frowns at the intern after a double-take. “You want to help me fix the fence?” “I’m only offering once,” she warns jokingly. The head wrangler grins, amused. “Well, in that case. Yeah, I could use a hand,” he accepts.

The cowgirl walks past him, eyeing him over her shoulder as she parades away. He stares for a second, smiling at the sight of her picking up the sledgehammer along the way, which apparently is heavier than she anticipated. The clumsy way she handles the large tool makes him chuckle, joyful for the first time tonight. No wonder, because without trying, she is absolutely stunning. A warmth spreads through him in waves, and he is highly aware of it. He recognizes the sensation. It has washed over him several times already, always when he laid his eyes on her. The girl with bright eyes and messy hair after a hard day’s work, despite her efforts to contain her locks. The girl who cares for others, who is kind to every living creature on this planet. She is beautiful in every way, inside and out. Under the yellow ray that falls down on her from the lantern above, she turns around. The spotlight creates dark shadows on the ground, but at the same time, it illuminates her features with a warm glow.

“Are you coming or what? That fence isn’t gonna fix itself,” she challenges. Dean scoffs with a laugh, appreciating the attitude. Then he heads her way, stopping her when she almost loses her balance after heaving the large hammer above her head. “Why don’t you give the sledgehammer to me, before someone gets hurt,” he mocks, holding out his hand. “I can handle a hammer,” she returns, huffing defensive. Doubtful, the wrangler looks back at her. “I think the fence is gonna disagree with you there.” “Do you want my help, or not?” she recalls, letting out a laugh. “Yeah, I want your help,” he admits.

The words lay deeper than would appear on first notice. It’s not intentional and Dean is worried for a second that she will pick up on what he really wants; he wants her to help him. Help him to heal, help him breathe, help him to love. No one has ever come through to him like she has already, and that’s exactly why he won’t make a move. He is beginning to understand what this all means, what is happening to him. How he feels about the newest member of the crew, is different. It’s mind-blowing and exciting, yet at the same time, it scares the shit out of him. The space she has occupied in his heart is growing steadily, but he can’t allow himself to act on it, because he simply can’t be selfish with her. That’s okay, though. Having her around as a colleague and a friend for the limited time she will stay with him trumps not having her in his life at all. “I’m gonna give this pole a couple more knocks on the head. Can you fetch the new woodwork?” He nods at the wooden planks, stacked up in the back of his truck, a little further on the driveway.

Reluctantly, Y/N lets go of the hammer and turns to get the new material for the fence. By the time she brings three new rails over, he has leveled the post with the others still standing. While she holds the board in place, Dean nails it to the post. In order to hold still, Y/N stands close to the head wrangler as he secures the fence. She fixates on the plank she’s holding, trying to ignore the fact that she is seriously invading his personal space. He smells like the damp earth below their feet and a hint of deodorant mixed with hard work; it’s the opposite of a turn-off. Trying to distract herself, she listens to the ticking sound of the head on the pin, until all the new woodwork is mounted to the posts. Sometimes he pauses for just a short second, his gaze burning her skin. Once he’s done, Y/N picks up the broken pieces left by the cattle when they stormed through, and carries them to Dean’s Chevrolet, where she lays the wood down in the cargo bed. Now that she and the handsome wrangler are a few more feet apart, she feels like she can breathe again, missing him close by at the same time. As she leans against the truck, he loads up the last of the wood that he didn’t use for the restoration. Again, his eyes linger on her briefly; the poor guy just cannot help himself, can he? Suddenly she feels bold.

“Ash was right about one thing, though.” “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he wonders, as he dusts off his hands. She grins cheeky, biting her bottom lip. “You are desperate to get in my pants.” Dean stares at the cowgirl flabbergasted, eyebrows shooting up. Whoa, where the hell did the shy girl go? One question surfaces in the sea of thoughts that her remark triggered; what is her angle? Does she want him to get in her pants? The handsome wrangler scoffs nervously and looks down flustered, as he rubs the back of his neck. But he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. “What, no comeback?” she nags, expecting either a smart or flirty return. “There are some things I just can’t argue with,” he chuckles, a blush pushing past the freckles on his cheeks. “Ain’t no reason to get cocky, though.”

He winks at her flirtatiously, his bright green eyes joined by a smug grin and Y/N cannot help but laugh. Who would have known that she missed Cowboy Casanova? It’s good to see he got his wit back, because he had her worried there for a second. She has spotted the pattern, though. Whenever he is forced to deal with an issue he wants to steer clear of, he dodges the matter by either making fun of the situation or by shutting down completely. So this is his defense mechanism, this is his armor. But beneath all the silence and the horse crap, he admitted straight up that he wants her. Ash might have implied that the head wrangler is only following her like a lost puppy because he wants to keep counting the girls he had in fives, but Y/N knows that’s not all that there is to it. With nothing more than a look, he made it pretty clear he feels something for her that Friday evening after training when they had a moment under the Joshua tree. Now that assumption has been confirmed.

As the gears in her head are turning, she begins to walk across the gravel parking lot back to the bunkhouse, but it’s not just her grey matter that is doing overtime. Contemplating his own words, Dean gets behind the wheel of his Chevrolet. The fact is, he wasn’t just flirting. He’s simply telling the truth. But hasn’t that been the case the entire time? The wrangler is hungry for the new ranch hand, he’s pining so bad that selflessness alone is stopping him from running up the driveway and closing her in his arms. Strangely enough, it has nothing to do with sex, or greed, or any other sin, despite what others might think. For a moment, he worries if she might have read into his words just now. He doesn’t want to give her hope, or does he? Fighting his mind, he sighs; he’s so tired he can’t even think straight.

With a flip of the key, the engine comes alive, only to drive a couple of hundred yards. After steering the black pickup to a spot next to the shed, Dean leaves the transmission in park. He will unload tomorrow, today he’s calling it quits. A grunt passes his lips when he hoists himself out of the car again. Damn, if his muscles are sore now, he doesn’t want to picture how bad it’s going to hurt in the morning. Maybe a long hot shower will do him good, he definitely needs one to rid himself from the filth he’s covered in. The head wrangler strolls up the trail that leads to his bed and finds the girl he’s losing himself to, watching the bunkhouse from some distance. When Dean levels with her, he sees why she stopped. On the bottom steps of the porch, two figures sit and talk: one of them is Jo, the other is Ash. “Well, what do ya know,” Dean huffs, surprised. Relieved, Y/N smiles. “Seems like he came around. Go talk to him.”

His chest constricts a little with the thought of the confrontation alone and he hesitates. His friend is most likely still mad at him. What if doesn’t want to settle this? What if he screws it up again? When Y/N detects that the man next to her is in two minds, she nudges him reassuringly with her shoulder, smiling at him before he gathers enough courage to step forward. The pair are walking up to the steps, when Jo spots them. The cattle worker next to her looks up now too, shame and uneasiness draping his features when he sees the head wrangler. The blonde cowgirl gets to her feet, picking up her hat that she had put down next to her. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” she says. “Comin’, Yankee?” Y/N nods and passes Dean, shortly squeezing his arm supportingly as she does. “Good luck,” she whispers, as she glances over her shoulder. He nods at her thankfully and takes Jo’s spot on the porch stairs, as the two girls retreat inside. An awkwardness fills the air within seconds, thick and suffocating, yet neither of the men say anything in order to break it. After what feels like minutes of going over what has been said and still needs to be, Ash gets up. Motionless, Dean sits on the step, forearms on his knees, fingers forked together. He hears his friend’s footsteps on the floorboards, followed by the rattling of the bamboo fly curtain and then the eerie silence; Ash has walked away.

Pained, Dean closes his eyes and presses the knuckles of his clasped hands against the bridge of his nose. The tightness in his chest that he felt when he realized he had to face his friend has turned into an uncomfortable ache now. It seems to be a recurring theme in his life, people walking out on him. Fuck, why is it so hard to do this? Why can’t he just tell Ash he’s sorry? He takes a breath and lifts his head, staring at the lights coming from the neighbors property, several miles up the road. Then something moves into his peripheral vision and he turns to find a can of PBR beer handed to him. Dean’s eyes move up to see who is holding the beverage, the weight falling off his shoulders when he sees the guy who rocks the mullet. The head wrangler takes the cold refreshment while Ash sits down next to him again. They both open their cans and take a slug of the golden brew. The silence returns, but it’s a much more pleasant one this time. Without saying a word, they’ve made peace. That does not mean, though, that nothing should be said.

“Ash?” “Hmm?” “I - uh… I’m-–” “– Yeah, brother. Me too.”

Thank you for reading! I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part ten here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester series #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x Y/N #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester reader insert #Supernatural AU #SPN AU #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural #SPN #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Kate Huntington

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syntaxeme · 4 years

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One Good Turn ch. 3

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss.

— — –

Some part of Alastor knew it wasn’t entirely fair to judge a person—or a demon, as the case may be—by the company he keeps. That is, the fact that Valentino chose to associate with that tasteless hack Vox did not necessarily mean that he too was uncultured vermin. It was damning, certainly, but not definitive. This was a moot point, however, as there was already sufficient evidence to prove Valentino was trash, his friendship with Vox notwithstanding.

“It looks like after several months supposedly on the straight and narrow, adult film star and well-known coke whore Angel Dust has finally fallen completely off the wagon!” Katie Killjoy’s aggressively cheerful voice blared from the television set up in the hotel’s lobby, where all the hotel’s residents had gathered for news of their missing compatriot. Alastor could just imagine that vicious smile plastered on her face as she commentated over a video of Angel in a darkened club drinking himself to sickness, Angel doing lines and laughing coldly as a demon at his side passed out, Angel knelt in the darkened interior of a limousine and flipping off paparazzi while Valentino held him close with a ubiquitous grin.

Valentino was a common factor in all these scenarios, in fact, whether pouring liquor down Angel’s throat, handing him off to a…client, or simply watching in amusement while he drowned himself in sin. It had been three weeks, nearly four, since that limo had arrived and whisked Angel back to his old life of leisure and pleasure, and it seemed clear that Valentino was intent on keeping him there. Perhaps all the drugs and alcohol were meant to keep him compliant. And it seemed to be working a treat.

“It just goes to show that every soul here in Hell is here for a reason,” the reporter went on, “and that no misguided attempts at redeeming them will ever bear fruit. Looking at you, Princess Charlotte!”

Charlie’s eyes were locked on the TV, both hands covering her mouth, and Alastor could see tears starting to well in her eyes. Vaggie tried to console her, but she simply shut her eyes tight and dropped her head, withdrawing into herself rather than showing all the pain she must be feeling. That was a smart move, strategic, but not at all aligned with her personality.

“Damn it, Angel was here longer than any of us,” one of the other patrons complained loudly. “If he couldn’t hack it, what chance do the rest of us have?”

“Oh, come now, my good fellow, that’s hardly the spirit of self-improvement we strive for here at the Hazbin,” Alastor crowed, waltzing over to drape his arm over the pessimistic demon’s shoulders. “Have some confidence! Have some fortitude! Why, I assure you no one is more distraught over our dear friend Angel’s defection than I, but I refuse to allow my melancholy to keep me from progressing toward—”

“Alastor, will you just…save it?” Charlie barked, surprising everyone in the room into silence (other than the television, unfortunately). She looked up at him with a tearful snarl, fingers curling into helpless claws. “I know you don’t care about any of this, I know you think of it as a joke, but losing Angel isn’t something to laugh about. He was doing so well. I really thought he…” She took a deep, shuddering breath and shut her eyes. “I feel stupid enough already. You don’t have to rub it in.” She left the room with her head down, and as usual, the others followed her lead, dispersing to their respective rooms and leaving Alastor alone with 666 News’s mocking jingle.

Well. That certainly hadn’t gone to plan. If Charlie thought he was intentionally digging at her for Angel’s unfortunate regression, she was sorely mistaken. Much to his own surprise, he truly was quite bothered by Angel’s absence, either because he disliked the hotel’s naysayers having any further ammunition against them or because none of their other patrons had such a defined and entertaining personality. He also didn’t much care for the knowledge that the very independent and unfettered Angel Dust was evidently being toted about like a marionette, with Valentino holding the strings.

With some reluctance, Vaggie had shared with him the stories Angel had told of his relationship with Val. There was no secret in the fact that Valentino used him for sex and money, no pretense of fair play or equality between them. It was with far more trepidation that Angel admitted exactly how imbalanced in power they were, how insistent Valentino could be on controlling his every move. And if he disobeyed, if he rebelled, if he refused any order, the Overlord wouldn’t hesitate to ‘lay down the law.’ Alastor could only guess, based on how frightened Angel had seemed when they’d last seen each other, exactly what that implied.

He had since done some further research on exactly who Valentino was and what function he served in Hell. How many associates he had. Who might seek revenge if some unfortunate accident were to befall him. That was, of course, how his association with Vox had become clear, which complicated matters a bit more. Slaughtering one Overlord for the sake of bringing Angel back into the fold and restoring his autonomy was one thing; Alastor had killed people for less. Murdering an Overlord to whom Vox had some ostensible connection was another entirely. Was Alastor willing to risk a genuine threat for the sake of this farce, this naïve, hellish sitcom Charlie was staging?

Difficult to say.

…

Later in the evening, while Alastor sat awake in bed contemplating his options, a faint scratching from downstairs caught his ear. It was unlikely any of the others would hear it, but being so attuned to the sounds of his surroundings as he was, it didn’t escape his notice. He sat a few moments longer, wondering if it might be another drunken imp crawling home after a few shots too many. But the sound persisted, a scratch scratch scratch, as if of claws scraping the front door’s flawless enamel.

With a sigh, he slipped through the shadows and down the stairs to open the door, shocked to find a disheveled Angel Dust collapsed on the doorstep. Or maybe ‘disheveled’ was too mild a word. His face was bruised and smudged with blood, his torn clothing even more revealing than usual, his breathing shallow as if every inhale caused him further pain. To be plain, he looked rather like shit. And his condition was utterly fascinating.

“Angel?” Alastor knelt to observe him more closely: his hazy eyes, the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, the way his hand still absently scrabbled toward the door. He almost seemed unaware that he was no longer alone. When Alastor rested a hand on his shoulder, he flinched away.

“No!” he said weakly. “No, I’ll be…I’ll…” He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision, and the fear on his face faded into confusion. “Alastor?”

“That is my name; don’t wear it out,” Alastor chuckled, unsure of how to approach this situation with anything other than his usual nonchalance. “Are you all right? I’ll be honest: you aren’t looking your best.”

“Yeah, thanks, jackass,” Angel grumbled, struggling to push himself up, all four arms shaking under his slight weight.

“May I ask what happened?” He was terribly curious. It must have something to do with Valentino, but what? It was clear Angel had been beaten, but by whom?

“Doesn’t matter. Just help me get to my room, will ya?”

Alastor remained exactly where he was, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, are you back to stay? Is this a pattern you’re developing, spending some time ‘clean’ before relapsing and leaving us without a word for months or longer? A classic cycle for addicts, I’m told.” If Valentino had truly been holding him against his will, these accusations would hardly be fair, but Alastor got the feeling that wasn’t exactly what had happened.

“Fine, don’t help me then.” Angel managed to force himself to his feet—which were bare—and clung to the door to take one shaking step inside. As he tried to take another, he wavered and collapsed. By reflex, Alastor moved to support him. But Angel surprised him by shoving away, so roughly that he threw himself to the ground.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands off me!” he shouted, leaving the lobby in charged silence thereafter. Despite the unexpected reaction, or maybe because of it, Alastor’s smile widened slightly at the edges. He did enjoy a good surprise, if he was honest, and it was interesting to imagine what might have happened to make Angel of all people averse to being touched. After a moment of stillness, the tension melted from Angel’s body, and he lowered his head slowly. “Sorry. I ain’t had the best luck with men lately.”

Oh, do I fall under that category? “Think nothing of it. Though it’ll be harder to help you upstairs if you don’t want me touching you.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t get fuckin’ handsy,” Angel muttered, holding out one hand and allowing Alastor to take it to help him up.

“I’m sure you know already that I wouldn’t dream of it.” Again, he laughed, helping Angel slowly and cumbersomely across the lobby to enter the elevator.

“Ya know, for once, I appreciate that about you.” Angel had chosen a room at the very top of the hotel on his initial arrival, determined to be as far from the others as possible, citing ‘beauty rest’ and ‘mind your business’ as his reasoning. Regardless of his absence, Niffty had still included the room in her usual cleaning schedule, possibly in the hopes that he would be back. When they reached room 723 and he managed to locate his key, he swung the door open to a room decorated in shades of pink rather like Angel himself. While he stumbled inside to seat himself on the bed and let out a sigh of relief, Alastor lingered in the doorway, his curiosity unsatisfied.

“Where have you been?” he asked, making a conscious effort at sincerity in his tone.

“Ain’t you been watchin’ the news?” Angel scoffed. “I been everywhere. Didn’t even fuckin’ know half the time, Val kept me so—” He stopped himself, wrapping his arms around his lengthy body and staring down at his lap. “I bet Charlie’s pissed.”

“Now, I’m sure you know her better than that.”

“Yeah. But ‘disappointed’ is even worse. I didn’t want…” He shook his head in frustration. “It’s Val. I can’t think straight when he’s around. He gets in your head, y’know?”

“In your head, maybe,” Alastor agreed. “Yes, that’s how it seems.”

“You wanna talk about ‘cycles’? You wanna talk about ‘patterns’? It’s him. It’s always fuckin’ him.” Even with his mouth set in a furious sneer, a tear streaked down his face, and he quickly brushed it away. “He’s been real careful about keepin’ his eye on me this time. Keepin’ me happy or strung-out or shitfaced enough that I can’t argue with him. Guess he slipped up tonight.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, then went to lean against the wall opposite Angel and watch him closely. It almost sounded as if he wanted to talk about what he’d just gone through at Valentino’s hands, and if that was the case, Alastor was happy to listen. “What happened tonight?” he prompted. “If Valentino has made such an effort to keep you under control, how did you come to be back here at the hotel?”

“Luck, maybe? I mean, if you can call it lucky to get the shit kicked outta you,” Angel said with a mirthless laugh. His eyes lingered on Alastor, studying him as if trying to guess what ulterior motives he might have for staying in the room. “I dunno. Val had some business to take care of tonight. The kinda business he doesn’t like me gettin’ involved in. So he…loaned me out to a buddy of his. Vox. He—”

Angel’s tale cut off with a cringe as the usual ambient buzzing about Alastor’s person jumped into a harsh screech of static. His sharp smile stayed fixed as firmly as ever, his eyes wide as he tried to process this new information. He hadn’t realized that Vox was personally involved in all this, but the knowledge muddied his feelings on the entire subject somewhat. Where was all this anger coming from, he wondered? Was it the idea of Vox enjoying anything that he so resented? Was it the concept of Angel Dust being passed around between Overlords without any say in the matter? Maybe it was the thought that he was somehow enabling Vox to take advantage of Angel by not confronting Valentino sooner.

Very difficult to say.

After several seconds of tension, he managed to subdue the scratch and static back to its typical lingering presence. “I’m sorry, please continue,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve been…involved with Vox, then?”

“Sorta.” Angel was still watching him warily, like he expected another sudden outburst at any moment. “You know him?”

“We’re acquainted.” Another brief crackle of static. “We’re of different minds on a few issues. I didn’t know he was a part of Valentino’s business.”

“He’s not exactly. Doesn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty; he just likes to watch,” Angel explained. Yes, that fit the understanding of Vox’s character that Alastor had developed over the years. Always watching, observing, storing information for later use. Parasite. “It’s not like anything was different this time. It’s how he always is. Him and his guys. Usually four or five of ‘em. But I guess he didn’t like Val’s plan to keep me drugged and drunk all the time. What’s the point if I don’t scream, right?” His voice had turned hard, cold, and his clawed fingers dug into the bedspread beneath him.

Realizing that this topic had become an unpleasant one for both of them, Alastor began, “Angel, if you’d rather not—”

“Oh no, you started this,” Angel snapped back, shooting him a glare. “You wanted to know. The least you can do is let me finish.” He was right, of course. Alastor inclined his head and gestured for Angel to go on. “Anyway, those demons that work for him ain’t really the gentle type. And I was comin’ down from like, three different highs at once, so I already felt like garbage before they got their hands on me. Guess I complained one time too many.” He absently reached up to touch the bruise on his cheekbone, wincing slightly at the pressure.

“Once they were done with me, once Vox looked the other way, I snuck out. I got a cab, but I didn’t have any cash on me, so…” He shrugged, leaving it up to Alastor’s imagination as to how he paid for the ride. This may have been the first time he’d seen Angel so blasé toward—even uncomfortable with—the subject of sex. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Don’t worry, Val’s probably gonna send one of his guys to pick me up once he realizes I’m gone, so I won’t be here causin’ trouble for long.”

Alastor pushed off the wall and strode over to the bed to stand in front of Angel. Recalling how badly he had responded to being touched earlier, he made sure to move slowly and carefully as he trailed his fingertips up the edge of Angel’s chin to make him look up. “Is that what you want? To go back to Valentino?”

“Wh-what?” Angel was apparently having difficulty following the turn this conversation had just taken, his face flushed as he stared up at the Radio Demon with wide eyes.

“Do you want to go back to him?” Alastor repeated, absently licking the pad of his thumb to wipe the dried blood away from the corner of Angel’s mouth. Such a waste. Angel started to lean into the touch, but it ended before he could do so. “If and when he sends an escort to retrieve you, do you plan to cooperate?”

“What else am I gonna do?” Shaking his head, leaning back slightly, Angel pointed out, “You don’t know what he’s like, Al. He doesn’t like bein’ told ‘no,’ and he doesn’t like lettin’ go of shit that belongs to him. I ain’t got much choice.”

“Just humor me for a moment and suppose that you do,” Alastor insisted, gesturing airily as he spoke. “Suppose you had the option to either go back to his studio and live a relatively comfortable and indulgent life with few personal freedoms or stay here, focus on your rehabilitation, and work with us to support the hotel’s efforts. Which would you prefer?”

The answer was almost immediate. “If there was a way for me to not be Val’s little fuckin’ boy toy anymore, sure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

Alastor’s smile widened considerably. “That is exactly what I was hoping to hear. And as co-manager of the hotel, it’s my duty to eliminate any and all obstacles to our patrons’ recovery, is it not? Consider your account with Valentino settled, my friend, and try to get some rest. We’ll be expecting you back in sessions tomorrow.”

“Wait. Wait a minute!” Angel grabbed his wrist as he started to leave, and although he wrenched away from the touch, he did pause. “What’re you sayin’? You’re not gonna go after him, are ya?”

“I plan to have a conversation with him,” Alastor said honestly. “I’m hoping he’s a reasonable fellow and will understand the situation without the need for things to get messy. If he doesn’t, however…” The room darkened slightly, highlighting the glow of his eyes. “I̶ ̢w̸i̷l͡l m͞ak̸e ͘h͜i͏m ͝uǹd҉e̶rst҉an͠d.”

“Don’t.” Angel was visibly unnerved by seeing his cheerful demeanor slip, but it didn’t stop him from protesting. “Seriously. I know you’re supposed to be this big powerful Overlord and all, but Val is no joke. Whatever you think you’re gonna get out of threatening him—”

“Are you trying to protect him?”

“No. I’m tryin’ to protect—” He ran a hand through his hair with an irritated groan. “It’s not worth it. I’m sayin’ if he’s pissed at me, I should be the one dealing with it. I don’t want you or Charlie or anybody here to get hurt cuz of my personal bullshit.” As the words were coming out of his mouth, he seemed to slowly realize what he was saying, just as Alastor did the same.

“Why Angel Dust,” the Radio Demon purred, surprised but delighted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounded very much like the virtue of Kindness. Maybe even Humility. You might be closer to redemption than I thought.” What an interesting development!

“Oh, shut the hell up!” Angel hissed, flushing even darker now and grabbing a heart-shaped throw pillow from the bed to toss it at Alastor. “Get outta my room, you dick.”

“Hmm, and just when we were starting to get along.” He dodged another pillow and swept out of the room, stealing one last glance at the blush on Angel’s cheeks before pulling the door shut behind him. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, he planned to ignore the advice not to approach Valentino.

It’s not worth it, Angel had said. I’m not worth it, was what he meant. That was likely another lingering effect of Valentino’s influence, one he would be better off without. Beyond that, Alastor had already said that he would take care of the problem, and he had a firm policy against the breaking of promises.

#RadioDust #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #ooh he bout to DO IT #finally getting some actual RadioDust content in this fucking RadioDust fic #it only took 4000 words #>_>#anyway! enjoy! and stay tuned for the next chapter~#One Good Turn #Hazbin Hotel #Radio Dust

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smkkbert · 5 years

Text

Do you remember (1/13)

Eight years after Oliver and Felicity became teenage parents, they have everything they could have ever hoped for and more. They have a good life in a nice house. Their marriage is happy, and a second baby is on its way. The calm they have settled in is interrupted abruptly when a stalker starts terrorizing Felicity.

Previous installments in this series: - The best mistake - In my daughter’s eyes

- To make you feel my love

Rating: Teen

Author’s note: This fic is different than any other I have written. There are a lot of ups and downs. It’s not as even in pacing as you might be used to from my stories. Chapters will hopefully be posted every Sunday. Enjoy the ride!

The moment she stepped through the door and saw the sign with the smiling cloud of smoke that was carrying a crown, the pleasant feeling of being home spread in Felicity’s chest.

It was Oliver, who saw her first. A warm expression showed in his eyes, and it was mirrored in the smile that formed on his lips. Felicity felt her stomach starting to tingle in the way it always did when Oliver looked at her with that special smile that she knew was reserved just for his two girls – his wife and his daughter.

Felicity’s hand moved to her rounded belly on its own accord. She could feel her unborn baby moving under the palm of her hand, kicking against her fingers with much more strength than you thought such a tiny human being could have, and she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling. Soon, this baby would enjoy that special smile of Oliver’s too.

As Felicity took a few steps forward, clearing the doorway for the other passengers, she watched Oliver bending down until his eyes were on one level with Mae’s. He squeezed her small shoulders and nodded towards Felicity as soon as Mae was able to look away from the puppy at the other end of the hall. He whispered something into her ear, and only a second later Mae turned her head towards Felicity. It took her another three seconds to find her mother in the crowd, but, as soon as their eyes locked, a wide smile spread on Mae’s face.

“Mommy!”

Chuckling, Felicity took a few more steps forward, making sure she wasn’t standing in the way of anyone. Just as she had spread her arms, Mae reached her. She didn’t stop soon enough, so Felicity actually stumbled three steps back when her daughter just threw herself at her, but she already wrapped her arms around her little girl and held her to her tightly.

“God, I am so glad to be back home.”

“But you are not home yet,” Mae said, angling her head back to look at her mother with an amused grin. “You are still at the airport.”

Felicity chuckled. Her daughter was a little smartass, something Oliver insisted she had inherited from her rather than him. Felicity didn’t mind.

“Is it the baby that makes you forget these things again?”

Chuckling wholeheartedly, Felicity let her head fall back for a moment. She tightened her arms around Mae, keeping her as close as possible to her.

At the beginning of her pregnancy, she had indeed been a little forgetful. Well, actually she had been more than just a little forgetful. She had been so forgetful that she and Oliver had made an appointment with a neurologist to make sure there weren’t any medical reasons for that. It had indeed just been the pregnancy though.

“No, the baby is not making me forget anything right now because you are right. We still are at the airport,” Felicity said, “but I am with you and daddy, and that is all that makes a home for me.”

“Not our house?”

“Not as much as you and daddy,” Felicity replied.

Mae seemed to struggle with that answer. For an eight-year-old, Felicity guessed it was hard to understand that home didn’t have to be a place. Sometimes, home was just where the people you loved were.

Still not saying a word, Mae tried to make her arms as long as possible. Felicity knew she trying to let her fingertips brush together behind her mother’s back. Since Mae had learned about the pregnancy, she had eagerly waited for the moment her arms weren’t long enough to encompass her mother’s belly anymore. Now she checked every day possible if the span between her fingers had increased since the last time she had hugged Felicity.

“Did you bring me something?”

Felicity chuckled at the sudden change of topic. She rubbed her hands over her daughter’s back for a moment before she leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. With a sigh, she let go of her and nodded towards her suitcase then.

“Of course I did,” she replied with a smile. “It’s in the front pocket.”

“I wanna see it,” Mae said, the excitement audible in her voice. “Please.”

Felicity smiled and nodded her head. She pulled her suitcase closer and unzipped the front pocket. She pulled the neatly wrapped gift she had stuffed inside out and handed it to Mae, who started ripping away the paper quickly. As she held the unwrapped gift in her hands, Mae frowned and lifted her gaze to her mother.

“Mommy, what is that?”

“It’s a kite,” Felicity explained. “The toy you can let fly when there is wind, you know? Grandpa gave you one last year before he and grandma got on their world cruise, but a gust of wind took it away.”

“That was fun.”

Mae chuckled, turning the gift around in her hands a couple of times. When she saw the photo that showed what the kite would look like once it would fly, her eyes started sparkling. Felicity smiled. She had been sure that, if the kite itself might not be the best gift for her, it’s form would certainly thrill her daughter.

“Does it look like a shark?”

“Exactly,” Felicity told her. “I thought you’d like that.”

“I love it.”

The enthusiasm in Mae’s voice left no doubt that she really meant it. With a wide smile on her lips, she threw herself back at her mother and hugged her so tightly that Felicity almost stumbled back another step. She managed to keep her balance though and just wrapped her arms back around Mae just as tightly.

It was crazy. She had only been in Gotham City for three days, but it almost felt like it had been forever. Being away from her family, even if it was just for a couple of days, always felt weird. Having her unborn baby to take with her wherever she went did offer a little comfort, but it hadn’t made her miss her husband and daughter any less.

The thought made Felicity tighten her arms around Mae’s small frame once more. She angled her head forward and kissed the crown of her daughter’s head. Pushing her nose against her hairline, she breathed her daughter in.

The sound of a voice being cleared very close made Felicity finally look up again. Her eyes met Oliver’s gaze, and she felt a warm shiver running down her spine. Her stomach started to tingle and her heart skipped a beat before it started racing in her chest.

How was it possible to still be so madly in love with someone you had shared almost a decade of your life with?

“I think it’s my turn to welcome mommy back home now.”

Mae chuckled. ��What if I just never let go of her?”

“Oh, you are going to get to know a really different side of daddy then,” Oliver growled teasingly. “A much darker side.”

Mae laughed, not believing her dad. Oliver didn’t hesitate to prove how serious he was about that though. With a little growl, he lifted Mae into his arms upside down. Her head was resting against his hip and her feet were dangling over his shoulder. Mae screeched with amusement, holding her kite against her safely. Oliver turned around from Felicity briefly. He set Mae back down on the floor then standing between Mae and her now, he turned back around to Felicity.

“My turn,” he whispered.

With that, he lifted his hands and cupped Felicity’s cheek. Smiling, he leaned in and captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Felicity sighed into it, leaning against Oliver and wrapping her arms around his chest.

Sometimes, in moments like these, she felt like she was addicted to kissing Oliver. The way his lips moved against hers in the perfect rhythm and the way the taste of his tongue made her forget everything around her just felt like a high she didn’t want to come down from.

“Dad, did you see the gift mommy brought me?”

With an inaudible sigh falling from his lips, Oliver broke the kiss. He shot Felicity a brief glance that made her chuckle and drop her forehead against his chest for a moment. She knew how much he loved being a daddy, but she also knew how frustrated he could get when he was interrupted while kissing her.

“No,” he said eventually. “Show me. What did mommy bring you?”

“A kite!” Mae said, her voice full of excitement. “It looks like a shark. Can we let it fly today, daddy? Please!”

Oliver chuckled. “Let’s delay that till tomorrow. We gotta make sure mommy gets some rest before our big event this evening.”

Mae didn’t seem exactly pleased about the answer. She pushed her bottom lip forward and scrunched up her nose. With sadness in her eyes, she looked at the kite in her hands.

“It’s just one day, Mae,” Oliver told her. “Do you want to push mommy’s suitcase to the car?”

“Okay.”

Felicity pressed her lips together, biting back a chuckle. Luckily, Mae was distracted pretty easily so far. She could only hope that it would stay like that for a while longer. It made their life a lot easier.

“Do you want me to take your kite?”

Oliver had already reached out his hand for the gift, but Mae held it out of his reach quickly. She tightened her hold on it, pressing it close to her chest. Pushing it under her left arm, she grabbed her mother’s suitcase and shot her father a pointed glare then.

“I can do both, daddy. I am not a baby anymore.”

“Well, excuse me,” Oliver said pointedly.

Mae got the hint that her behavior hadn’t been exactly the best because she quickly put on an apologetic smile. Luckily, Oliver was never unforgiving when it came to her. He winked, letting her know that it was all forgotten already, and tousled her blonde hair briefly. When Mae giggled, trying to duck away, Oliver nodded towards the exit. Mae quickly tightened her grip on her mother’s suitcase and walked ahead. Meanwhile Oliver rested his arm around Felicity’s shoulder to pull her closer to his side and followed their daughter. Felicity rested her head against her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

“How did your appointment go?” Oliver asked eventually and kissed Felicity’s temple. “Was your trip at least worth it?”

“It was. Everything went well.” Smiling, Felicity stroked her hand up and down his abs and smiled at her husband. “Don’t be mad at me for going on that trip.”

Oliver grumbled some words Felicity didn’t understand, but she was sure that he hadn’t meant for her to hear them anyway. He had probably just expressed his dislike for her business trip once more.

She knew that he had been anything but delighted when Felicity had told him that she was going to go on one last business trip before the baby was born. Given the bad luck they had had during their first years together, though mostly a result of bad decisions they had made because they had just been too young, Felicity had understood his reluctance. She had managed to convince him that everything was going to be okay though, so he had agreed to let her go to Gotham. Otherwise, Felicity wouldn’t have gone.

“The flight was okay too?”

“Let’s say I was shaken thoroughly, but it’s okay.”

From the corner of her eyes, Felicity could see Oliver watching her. She turned her head, observing his face. She could see the worry in his eyes, and quickly leaned more against him. Smiling at him comfortingly, she moved her hand higher on his chest and spread her fingers over his heart.

“I am fine,” she promised, “and the baby is too. Remember what the doctor said. I am a perfectly healthy woman at the perfect age to have a baby, and the baby is just the right size and just the right weight too. We are perfect.”

Felicity could feel Oliver taking in a deep breath and holding it in his lungs for a couple of seconds. When he released the breath with a little sigh, he nodded his head. Angling his head forward, he brushed his lips against her temple and tightened his arm around her shoulders.

For Oliver, the fear of things going wrong was much more omnipresent than it was for Felicity. He had missed so much time with Mae while Felicity had been pregnant and during the first two years of her life. The baby they would have in a couple of weeks was Oliver’s second chance. He didn’t want to miss a single moment with this baby. At the same time, he was so very scared that history would just repeat itself again and bring the same or new troubles that threatened to rip their family apart.

Of course Felicity understood why he was feeling again. Life had thrown quite the hurdles at them, and they had been too young to deal with that the right way. She knew that was different now though. She and Oliver had both grown as individuals and as a couple. They could take whatever struggles would come their way.

Hopefully, life would also help and just be a little kinder to them.

“Do you want to grab some lunch on our way home?” Oliver asked when they left the building and headed to the parking lot. “We could go to the supermarket, so you can pick everything you would like, and I will cook you something nice with that.”

“No, I had lunch on the flight.”

Oliver looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face. Felicity pressed her lips together and rolled them into her mouth, shooting Oliver an innocent and yet apologetic glance. She had known that he wouldn’t be pleased if he heard about it.

“Really?” he asked, “You are married to one of the best chefs on the west coast and you just eat on your flight?”

“Since I am sure that you will spoil me with all of the best food in the world for the next few months, I thought that eating on the flight was a good way to say goodbye to bad food for a while.”

Frowning, Felicity turned her head and rested her chin against Oliver’s shoulder. She watched his face thoroughly, trying to find out what he was thinking. The muscles in his face were relaxed. There was no sadness or even tension. He really looked peaceful.

“Are you sure you really want to close the restaurant and reject all orders for show-cooking for the next few months?” Felicity asked, rubbing her hand over his heart. “I know how much you love cooking and creating new dishes. It challenges you, and it relaxes you. It’s who you are.”

“Hey, I will still cook a lot the following months,” Oliver replied, smiling at Felicity. “Someone’s gotta spoil our family with all the good food after all.”

“It’s not going to be the same though.”

Oliver nodded slowly. He turned his head and looked ahead of him for a long moment. His eyes were focused on the back of Mae’s head, and Felicity could see the corners of his lips twitching at whatever he was thinking.

“I love cooking,” Oliver said after a while, a content smile on his lips, “but I am really, really looking forward to being a stay-at-home dad. I can’t imagine any better way to spend the next few months than being at home and taking care of my family. That is if you don’t mind keeping me.”

There was no doubt in Oliver’s eyes. Actually, there was a deep contentedness in there, showing that he really meant it. He really couldn’t think of anything better to do with his life than letting everything he did revolve around his family. He really wanted that. No objections. No doubts. Nothing.

Felicity smiled warmly. “I think I am able to deal with that.”

*****

“We are too late, mommy,” Mae said with a sigh. “Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Laurel and Uncle Tommy are already there. You see?”

Felicity’s gaze followed the direction Mae’s forefinger pointed to. Through the large glass windows, she could look inside Oliver’s restaurant and see that her daughter was actually right. Everyone else, at least all the special guests Oliver had invited for the evening, were already gathered together.

“We might be a little late, but we are not too late,” Felicity explained. She stroked her hand over her belly. “Besides, everyone will forgive us anyway.”

“Because we are Queens and the Queens are never late?” Mae asked. “Everyone else is just early?”

“I know your dad told you that Queen Clarisse said so because of us, but, really, dad was just using that as an excuse because he is always late, Mae,” Felicity replied and tapped her forefinger against the tip of her daughter’s nose. “You know you can take after your dad as much as you want, but please don’t take after him in that.”

Mae giggled.

“We will be forgiven because mommy’s carrying a baby, and nobody is angry at women who are having a baby soon.”

Without another word, Mae opened the door to the restaurant. She was holding it open for Felicity despite the heavy weight, so Felicity slipped into the restaurant quickly. Well, she stepped into it as quickly as she could given all the weight she had gained in the pregnancy.

“We are here!”

Everyone turned around to them, and Moira approached them immediately. With spread arms and a warm smile on her lips, she hugged Felicity and kissed her cheek.

“Felicity, my dear,” she said and held her hands when she pulled out of the hug. “I am so relieved to see you are back. How are you?”

“I am fine.” Felicity squeezed Moira’s hands comfortingly. “I told you not to let Oliver make you feel guilty for asking me to go on that business trip to Gotham.”

“Easier said than done.” Moira sighed before she smiled and linked her arm with Felicity’s and beckoned for someone to come closer. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Perking up her eyebrows, Felicity looked back over her shoulder. A tall man with broad shoulders and a really handsome face was approaching them. With the serious look in his eyes and the tense body posture, she was almost sure that she knew why Moira wanted to introduce him. Besides, the gun in the holster at his hip was quite helpful to give her an idea too.

“Felicity, this is Adrian Chase,” Moira explained. “Mr. Chase took over the position as the head of security for our family.”

Moira had been looking for an appropriate candidate to replace their last head of security for months now. Since the last head of security had handed in his resignation because as a father-to-be he had wanted a job with more regular working hours and safer work conditions, she had interviewed at least fifteen applicants, but neither had met her requirements. If she had finally found someone for the job, he had had to be a really skilled person.

“It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Smoak-Queen.”

Felicity smiled and shook Mr. Chase’s hand. “It’s a responsible task that you have taken on here, Mr. Chase.”

“Please just call me Adrian,” he asked, “and I will do my best to keep you and your family safe.”

“That’s all you can do.” Felicity smiled. “Luckily, you won’t have much to do there.”

Admittedly, Felicity had no idea if the last head of security had really felt unsafe in his job or if maybe meeting Moira’s high requirements had just been a little bit too much for him. In all the years Felicity had known the Queens, they had never been attacked. The most a head of security had to do for them was managing the working hours of the other security staff, making sure the alarm system was checked regularly and keeping paparazzi away. The job was much more about driving Moira through the city than about taking a bullet for anyone.

Adrian smiled. When he turned his head slightly, his smile widened, and he lifted his fingers for a little wave. Felicity followed his gaze to see Mae, who was leaning back against Walter’s legs, was smiling and waving at him. Felicity guessed that she had already met Adrian while Felicity had been in Gotham, since she had certainly spent a lot of time at the Queens’ mansion with her Grandmother.

“Thank you, Mr. Chase. You can take the rest of the night off now,” Moira told him. “I just wanted to introduce you to my daughter-in-law. My husband and I will take a cab home.”

“Alright, Mrs. Queen.” Adrian nodded. “Have a nice evening.”

“You too.”

Felicity waited until Adrian was out of reach before she leaned against her mother-in-law a little and whispered, “He’s handsome.”

“Indeed.”

Moira looked at Felicity, and they both started chuckling.

As Adrian Chase left the restaurant, Moira led Felicity to where the others were waiting for them. Felicity was welcomed with warm hugs and brief kisses to the cheek, almost like she had been gone for a month. She didn’t mind though. It was always a good feeling to know you were missed. When she stepped back next to Moira, her mother-in-law linked their arms once more. Felicity squeezed her hand and shot her a comforting smile.

Felicity knew that, just like for Oliver, this baby was also a second chance for Moira. The bond between her and Felicity had become a lot stronger over the years, especially during the year they had thought Oliver was dead and now that Thea was off to a boarding school in Europe. Still, Moira regretted thoroughly that she had once offered Felicity money to take Mae and disappear from Oliver’s life. She wanted to make things better this time around even though that incident was long forgotten for Felicity already.

“You look really great by the way.”

After smiling at her mother-in-law briefly, Felicity lowered her eyes to look down at herself. She was wearing a red dress that fitted around her round belly perfectly. It was an off-shoulder-dress because she knew Oliver had a thing for shoulders, and she loved the look on his face when he saw her wearing something that he knew she was wearing just for him. From what she had seen in the mirror before leaving, Moira was probably right and she did look great or at least okay.

“I feel like I am going to explode any second.”

“Which is why you are no longer allowed in my car,” Tommy said and pointed at her pregnant belly with his glass of whiskey. “Until this baby is born, you are not even going anywhere close to my car.”

While Laurel slapped his chest playfully, telling him not to speak to her sister that way, Felicity just rolled her eyes. She doubted Tommy would ever get over the expensive Porsche that had been ruined when Felicity’s water had broke while she had been sitting on the passenger seat. Instead of taking Oliver’s offer to just let him pay the cleansing of the car, Tommy had actually given the car to them as a gift for Mae’s birth. That two-seater might not have been the best gift to give to young parents hadn’t occurred to him.

“Is that because I was almost born in your car, Uncle Tommy?”

“Exactly.”

Tommy beckoned for Mae to come to him, and she let go of Walter’s hand quickly to grab Tommy’s instead. With a little pirouette, she leaned against him and looked at him with her big, blue eyes.

“You look really beautiful tonight, you know that?” he told her. “You are without any doubt the most beautiful woman in this room.”

“Well, you should have proposed to me.”

Everyone around chuckled. It was no secret that Mae had been a little disappointed when Tommy had announced that he was getting married to Laurel. She had known that he would propose to her since he had actually practiced for the proposal by proposing to Mae. Still, Mae hadn’t been too fond of the news at the end. She just loved her uncle a lot, and she didn’t like sharing him.

She’d get over it as soon as Laurel would ask her to help picking a wedding dress though. Felicity knew her daughter.

“Wanna know a secret?” Tommy crouched down in front of Mae and leaned in very close, so the words he whispered next were barely audible for anyone but her. “You have actually been my first choice. I would have proposed to you, but I was sure your dad would kill me if I did.”

“Very true.”

At the sound of Oliver’s voice, Felicity turned around. Oliver stepped right behind her and kissed her shoulder before he put his hands on her hips and smiled at her softly.

“You look beautiful.”

Felicity smiled, feeling herself blush. No matter how many times Oliver had said this to her yet, she would never get tired of hearing it. Coming from him, it would always mean the most to her. When she turned around in his arms, Oliver brushed his fingertips over her cheek, only increasing her blush more. It made him smile because he just loved seeing her blush.

“Are you nervous?” Felicity asked.

Oliver took in a deep breath and looked away for a moment. His eyes were shining with love when he looked back at her though. It was weird how it still surprised him at times that Felicity could read almost everything he felt from his face.

“A little,” he admitted eventually, nodding his head, “but it’s already better now that you are here.”

Felicity smiled and straightened up onto the tip of her toes to brush her lips against Oliver’s. She knew a kiss was more encouraging than anything she could say. Lowering herself back onto her heels, she saw that she had been right. Oliver’s face did look a little bit more relaxed. Maybe, it was just because his fingers were spread on the side of her belly, feeling the soft kicks of their baby against the palm of his hand.

“He is falling asleep,” Felicity told him, putting her hand over his.

“That’s good.” Oliver smiled. “It means she will let you enjoy your dinner instead of playing football with your organs.”

“He already played football with my bladder, so Mae and I were almost late for dinner. I had to pee at least fifteen times in thirty minutes.”

“Almost being the keyword.” Oliver kissed the tip of Felicity’s nose playfully. “Come on, I will lead my three girls to the table.”

Oliver laced his fingers with Felicity’s and tugged at her hand to make him follow. Felicity went with him willingly, smiling to herself. She already knew that she and Oliver would continue playing this game where she’d insist on the baby being a boy and he’d object to it for the rest of the pregnancy. She just hoped Oliver wouldn’t be too disappointed when the baby was going to be a boy at the end. Felicity had a feeling that it really was going to be a boy.

When they reached a table in the middle of the room, Oliver held out the chair for her. Soon after her, everyone else was taking their seats. Apart from the family, Oliver had invited around twenty of their closest friends and his most loyal clients. It was a nice group, perfect for the occasion.

With one last kiss to her lips, Oliver stepped in front of the bar. He made a simple gesture, but it was enough to cause silence to spread in the room.

“Is daddy going to give a speech now?” Mae asked.

Felicity nodded her head. “I think so.”

Mae pulled her legs onto the chair, sitting back on her heels. She straightened up as much as possible, trying to get a better look at her daddy. For a brief moment, she glanced at Felicity’s thighs like she considered climbing onto her lap. With the pregnant belly in the way, she probably knew that there wouldn’t be room for her though.

“Thanks everyone for coming,” Oliver said. “I am very grateful to get the chance of celebrating with you today. These last three years since I opened this restaurant was a lot of fun. I love this place. I love my work here. I love the people here.”

Saying that, his eyes met Felicity’s. She smiled, encouraging him without saying a word the same way he had done all those times she had given a speech at Queen Consolidated.

“This place has become a second home for me, a place I can really be myself at,” he continued. “I will miss being here at five out of seven days each week. I know that I won’t have much time to wallow in any self-pity though because the restaurant will only be closed for less than a year. Besides, I am already sure that my time away from this place will be filled with new tasks and new responsibilities since, as you all know, Felicity and I are expecting our second child.”

Everyone that was present applauded. Moira reached out a hand and squeezed Felicity’s shoulder, making her smile.

“I cannot wait to meet the newest family member, and I cannot wait to spend every single minute of every single day with her.”

“Him,” Felicity shouted, making everyone chuckle.

“Or him,” Oliver said, winking at her. “I couldn’t have built up Verdant without the support and the love of my family. They had a lot of understanding for the amount of time I put into this project, and they always had my back. Now I cannot wait to give this love and support back and spend more time with my family again. So, please raise your glasses to my family, who made these last three years possible, and to this evening that won’t be a goodbye forever. It’s just a temporary goodbye, and I will be happy to invite you all back here for the reopening in a few months. Until then, I will enjoy the happiest time of being a stay-at-home dad. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” everyone said in chorus, raising their glasses.

Felicity sipped at her ice tea, watching Oliver over the rim of her glass. He blew her a kiss, making her smile, before he disappeared into the kitchen.

“For the record,” Tommy said, “I will invite myself over to dinner at your place at least five times each week from now on.”

Felicity chuckled. “You are always welcome at our place. I am sure we can use the help when this little nugget here is born.”

“Oh, I am not coming to help,” Tommy said. “I am just coming for Oliver’s cooking.”

He took the menu card and read it thoroughly. Felicity didn’t need to read it to know what it said. Oliver had thought about which dishes to serve for dinner today thoroughly, and he had asked for her opinion at least ten times. When Oliver did something, he didn’t do it half-heartedly. He always put all his energy and all his heart into it.

The thought made her smile since Felicity already knew it would be the same when he was a stay-at-home dad. He would be the perfect father and husband, well, even more perfect than he already was if that was possible at all.

*****

With a content smile on his lips, Oliver watched Mae sleeping. Her chest rose and fell in a slow but even rhythm. The corners of her lips twitched slightly like she was trying to smile in her sleep, and it made Oliver’s smile widen.

He remembered a time, the first two years after he had come back from the island actually, that he had sat at Mae’s bedside and watched her sleeping for hours every night. Back then, he hadn’t been able to understand how he had been so lucky to get a second chance with his family. Sometimes, in moments like these, he still had trouble understanding.

Oliver shook his head quickly, taking in a deep breath. He had had a great time tonight, filled with love and wonderful memories. Those memories of the island, memories of cold nights and hunger, had taken too many wonderful moments and covered them with a feeling of sorrow. That wouldn’t happen to this night. He wouldn’t allow the dark memories he carried with him every day to ruin this day for him.

Brushing some strands of her hair out of her face, Oliver leaned down and kissed Mae’s temple. Usually, she would whisper that she loved him in her sleep, but she seemed to be too tired for that tonight. Oliver wasn’t worried though. It had been a long night for her, and she had actually fallen asleep on the way home from Verdant already.

“Sleep tight, Sweetie.”

Just when Oliver was about to pull away, Mae grabbed his hand. When he looked at her face, he saw that she was looking at him with her big, blue eyes. There was a little bit of sadness or fear or maybe something else there. Whatever it was made Oliver frown and stroke his hand over her hair though.

“Daddy?”

“What’s wrong, Mae?” Oliver asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”

For a long moment, Mae didn’t answer. She just looked at Oliver, making him only worry more.

“Daddy, are you going to love the baby more than me?”

For a split second, Oliver’s frown deepened. He had expected a lot of different answers, but he hadn’t expected this. Mae had been looking forward to have a sibling even before Felicity had been pregnant. Since she knew that her dream was coming true, she had told everyone everything she knew about the baby. She had been as excited as he and Felicity had been, so this seemed to come out of nowhere.

Stroking his hand over Mae’s hair once more, Oliver thought about it a little bit more thoroughly. He remembered that, when Felicity had surprised him with the news during his last birthday, he had started crying. He just been so overwhelmed since there had been a time that he had thought he was going to die. Mae hadn’t understood this reaction since she herself had been so excited about the news already. Felicity had told her that he just hoped that everything would be alright this time because he had missed so much time when Mae had been a baby or a toddler.

Of course that had been a lot for a girl her age to understand, but Oliver and Felicity had always played with open cards. Mae couldn’t remember that he hadn’t been actively in her life between her first and her second birthday. She had been too young to remember. Felicity and Oliver had made sure that Mae understood that there had been a time like that though. They didn’t keep that from her because it was an important truth that still had ramifications on their life now.

Oliver smiled at Mae softly.

“Why do you think that?” he asked her with a low whisper. “Is it because mommy and I told you that I am really excited about this baby because I will get to spend a lot more time with her or with him than I got to spend with you?”

Mae hesitated briefly before she nodded her head. “Yes.”

With a low sigh, Oliver lay down in bed next to Mae. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her safely like he never wanted to let her go again, and kissed the crown of her head. Mae giggled as her hair got caught in his stubble a little bit. She angled her head back, looking at him with much more joy in her eyes again.

“I am really excited about this baby,” Oliver explained to her, “because mommy and I talked about having another baby for really long before we decided that we are really ready to have one. I know I will spend a lot more time with this baby than I got to spend with when you were that tiny. Just because I get to spend more time with this baby now, it doesn’t mean that this baby will be more important to me than you are though.”

Mae looked up at him for a long moment. He knew her words had reached her, but she still needed a little bit more encouragement.

“I love you, Mae,” he whispered and kissed her forehead. “I love you so much, and I love this baby so much too. No matter what happens, I will love you and the baby and every possible sibling that might come after that just the same – not more, but also not less.”

He looked at her urgently, making sure she really understood that he meant it just like that. Eventually, Mae nodded her head. With a smile on her lips, she snuggled closer to him, rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Oliver released a breath of relief and tightened his arms around her once more.

Sometimes, most of the time actually, it was hard for Oliver to believe that he and Mae hadn’t been close once upon a time. These days, they were almost like inseparable, and Oliver knew their bond would only become stronger when he was going to be a stay-at-home dad now.

It took less than three minutes for Mae to fall back asleep in his arms. Oliver kissed Mae’s forehead before he slipped his arms away from under her body as carefully as possible and climbed out of bed. At the door, he turned around once more and only left Mae’s room once he was sure that she was fast asleep.

Rolling his shoulders, Oliver went towards the stairs. He hadn’t known how tense he had been at the prospect of the dinner tonight. Now that all the tension had fallen off, he noticed how tense he had really been through.

Oliver had just reached the foot of the stairs when he heard a distinctly familiar sound coming from the living room. A warm feeling settled in his chest though he still didn’t know where he knew that melody from. There was just some subconscious memory linked to it that made him feel so comfortable.

He walked towards the living room quietly. Peaking a look into the room through the open door, a wide smile spread on his lips. Without making a sound, so Felicity wouldn’t notice him, he leaned into the frame of the door and just took in the scene in front of him.

Felicity was lying stretched-out on the couch. She was using her right hand as a pillow. Her left hand was stroking up and down her belly slowly. Her phone was resting on the top of her baby bump, playing the soft melody. Only now Oliver remembered where he had heard it before as it had been the melody of a Hebrew lullaby that Donna had sung when Mae had been a baby.

His heart filled with so much love. Just seeing Felicity lying there and relaxing was enough to make a thousand butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach. In almost ten years, there hadn’t been a day that Oliver hadn’t fallen in love with Felicity all over again. It seemed like every single day there was a new part of him that fell in love with her.

“Instead of standing there and watching me, you could make yourself useful and massage my feet,” Felicity said without opening her eyes. “They are carrying two people now after all, and one of them is your son.”

“The feet that carry my daughter,” Oliver replied and only now Felicity blinked at him through one eye, “are feet I just have to massage.”

Chuckling, Oliver crossed the distance towards the couch. He sat down at the end of the couch and pulled her feet into his lap. Without hesitation, he started massaging her right foot. Felicity responded to it with a content smile.

A long moment passed in silence. Oliver just massaged Felicity’s feet and watched her face. She probably looked relaxed to someone who didn’t know her that well. Since Oliver knew her better than anyone else did, he didn’t miss that she was doing that thing with her eyebrows that she always did when she wasn’t relaxed.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Felicity sighed. “Just exhausted.”

Oliver puckered his lips. He told himself not to say it out loud, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“One more reason why you shouldn’t have gone on that business trip.”

Felicity opened her eyes and shot him a pointed glared. When she kicked his chest lightly, Oliver gasped for breath. He was already chuckling in the next moment though.

“You shouldn’t have made your mother feel guilty for asking me to go on that trip to Gotham?”

“Oh really?” Oliver asked. “You are pregnant. What’s her excuse?”

“Maybe her wedding anniversary with your father,” Felicity replied, “that she wanted to spent as home with Walter at her side rather than a foreign city.”

Oliver felt a pain in his chest. He hadn’t known about that wedding anniversary, or maybe he had known but completely forgotten. All he had been able to think of was that Felicity, his pregnant wife, was going to leave her home for a business trip that could have easily been done by anyone else than her.

Sometimes her forgot that he hadn’t been the only one who had been traumatized by what had happened. He knew that seeing his father shooting himself in front of his eyes and spending one year just trying to survive had been traumatizing for him. There were just times that it was the only way he could see the sinking of the Gambit when, actually, he knew that his mother and Felicity had been just as deeply hurt by what had happened. They had lost the men they had loved, and it had been hard for them to pick themselves up after that even though Felicity had gotten him back a year later.

“Okay, I would really like to hug you now, but I can’t get up,” Felicity said and reached out her hands for him. “Please help me up.”

Despite knowing how badly he had screwed up, Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle. He grabbed Felicity’s hands and pulled her into a sitting position. Felicity sighed, rubbing her hands over her back for a moment before she climbed onto his lap as much as possible. Her baby bump pressed against his abs, and Oliver could feel their baby kicking. He wrapped his arms around her waist, angling his head back to look at her face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Felicity told him. “Your mother knows that you have other things on your mind right now.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. Her head rested on his shoulder as she rocked him from side to side slowly. Oliver sighed and closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him.

“I still shouldn’t have blamed her.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Felicity whispered and kissed the shell of his ear. “You can right this later.”

With another sigh, Oliver closed his eyes. He rested his head against her shoulder and pressed his nose to the side of Felicity’s neck. He couldn’t get enough from the scent of her skin. It was something to get addicted to since it always reminded him of home, and, hence, calmed him down.

The longer they sat in silence, holding onto each other and just swinging from side to side, the more comfortable Oliver felt. He felt calm and relaxed, a feeling he only ever had at home.

Opening his eyes, Oliver looked around the room. He still remembered when he and Felicity had bought this home. It had been shortly after Mae’s forth birthday. Felicity had just graduated from MIT after she had raced through her Master’s degree in no time. They had known that they wanted to go back to Starling, so they had hired a realtor. She had shown them at least a dozen houses before they had found this and immediately felt home. Oliver couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

When Felicity’s phone beeped, Oliver reached into the edge of the couch where it had slipped to when she had climbed onto his lap. With a smile, he handed it to her and watched the amused smile spreading on her lips when she looked at the display.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“Someone seems to miss me,” Felicity replied with a chuckle and turned her phone around for Oliver to read the text she had received from an unknown number. “Look.”

UN: I miss you.

“What, you got a lover now?”

Felicity chuckled. “When would I have time for a lover?”

“Never,” Oliver replied and tightened his arms around her. His lips brushed against the underside of her jaw. “Luckily.”

“Someone must have the wrong number.”

She texted back quickly and put the phone on the couch table. With a little sigh, she turned back towards him then. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned forward and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. A soft smile was playing on her lips when she pulled back, looking at Oliver with so much love in her eyes.

“When will you have to leave?”

Oliver sighed, tightening his hold on Felicity once more. “Early tomorrow. You will probably still be asleep when I leave. Don’t argue with me about it. You need your sleep.”

Felicity released a quiet grumble, telling him that she would have most likely fought him on that if he hadn’t objected to it already. Oliver chuckled, kissing the side of Felicity’s neck. He was really grateful for the fact that she wanted to get up and say goodbye although he knew that she just needed every minute of sleep she got right now.

“I am going to miss you,” she said eventually, releasing a sigh. “I just got you back, and I already have to say goodbye to you again.”

“I know,” Oliver whispered, “but it’s just for a few hours. I will be back tomorrow night.”

“Still,” Felicity replied with a sigh. She pressed a kiss to his pulse point. “I won’t be able to pick you up from the airport by the way. I’m going shopping with Laurel.”

“Good because I didn’t want you to drive anywhere.”

Oliver couldn’t see it, but he was sure that Felicity was rolling her eyes. He knew that she didn’t want him to be overprotective, but Oliver just couldn’t help himself.

“You know that means that we will be separated for a few hours more, right?”

Oliver smiled at the grumpiness in her voice. Rubbing his hands over her back soothingly, he whispered, “It’s the last order for show cooking. After that, I am all yours.”

Felicity chuckled, pulling back a little. Her hands massaged his tensed neck while she was looking at him. Amusement sparkled in her eyes, and Oliver was almost sure that it was mirrored in his eyes too.

“Oliver, your ass has been mine for years now,” she told him and poked her forefinger against his chest. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Oliver smiled. He knew she was right. From the moment she had spilled her coffee over him and his laptop at Queen Consolidated, he had been all hers. He might have not seen it back then already, but he had been hopelessly in love with her from that moment on. Nothing had ever changed that.

“I love you,” Oliver whispered. “I love you so much.”

Felicity smiled. She framed his face with her hands and moved her fingertips through his stubble slowly. Taking in a deep breath, Felicity leaned in. Her lips brushed against his briefly before she closed the distance completely. It was a slow and gentle kiss, one that knew no hurry and consisted of so much love.

As their lips parted now and Felicity pulled back, Oliver opened his eyes to look at her. Her pupils were blown wide, her iris darkened. Hunger was written into her eyes, and Oliver could feel it in the way her hips shifted slightly too.

“I think we should use tonight to” – Felicity cleared her throat – “be together.”

Oliver smiled. “Yeah?”

Felicity nodded, and no other words were needed. Their lips met in another kiss, and their bodies just took over from there.

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#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #do you remember #there goes my life

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cuddleswithphan · 7 years

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The Glue Fic - Phanfic

Exactly what it sounds like. | smut | disclaimer: this is all in good fun and just a crazy idea i came up with. please don’t take this seriously.

Dan couldn’t help but be curious.

He had heard Phil recording this video in his bedroom, but hadn’t actually seen him make the glitter-filled and sticky mess that was his new ball of slime. Wonder how much Phil is gonna fuck this up. He thought, but with a sense of fondness even in his mind.

He began watching the video, with his laptop propped up by his legs in his normal sitting position. The video began just like any other AmazingPhil video, but something at around a minute and fourteen seconds caught his attention. He felt as though Phil was speaking directly to him, despite it being something that millions of people could see.

“I always had a dream of when I became an adult just buying some of this and just covering my body in it and slowly peeling it off. Is that weird? I might do that later...after I film this video”.

Holy shit.

Dan paused and rewound the video just to be sure that he heard that right. Surely enough, he did.

Because of the longevity of their relationship, Dan and Phil had dabbled a bit into the kinky side of sex. Not to say that having normal sex with Phil wasn’t amazing, because dear god it was. Sometimes Dan finds himself staring off into space, recounting the noises he made the previous night before snapping back into reality with the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. If they were going to stay together forever - and that was their intention by all means - it was good for them to change things up sometimes.

This is what prompted Dan’s idea.

It didn’t take long for him to put his shoes on and go to a local store that sells craft supplies. He bought seven containers of school glue, earning a suspicious look from the cashier. Once he got home, he was relieved to discover that his boyfriend was sitting on the couch, headphones plugged in and completely zoned out on a Youtube video.

He dug around in the drawers beside Phil’s Youtube set, also known as his “bedroom”. Once he found the remaining glitter, he had his plan all set up for him. Now to bait his lover.

“I liked your new video, love.” Dan began, plopping himself on the sofa beside the other man. Phil took an earbud out. “Huh? Oh. Thanks, Bear.” He decided to set his laptop down for a moment to allow Dan to lay across his lap. The younger man’s head was now resting on the armrest of their old, puffy sofa. Phil was playing with the former’s curls.

“What you thinking about?” He questioned.

Dan smirked playfully.

“I figured we could try something different tonight. That is, if you’re up for it.”

Phil chuckled. “You know I always am.”

“I get to take control tonight.”

“Deal.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you agreed so quickly.”

Phil shrugged. “You seem to have a plan, so I’ll just go with the plan. I’m intrigued.”

“Good. You should be.”

The pair of them decided on a quick dinner of pasta, all while making flirtatious remarks at each other the entire time they cooked and ate their food.

For some reason, Phil felt nervous. He didn’t know what Dan had planned, and he certainly wasn’t used to being the submissive. His boyfriend, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He could hardly contain his grin as he led Phil to the bathroom.

“Shower sex?” Phil asked.

“Nope. Even better. Do I have your consent?”

Phil glanced over at the shower before turning to Dan. “You do indeed.”

“Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

They kissed softly, Dan placing his hand on the back of Phil’s head. The anticipation of this new kind of sex was enough to get them going much faster. Before either of them realized, Dan had Phil pressed up against the shower wall, peppering the other man with neck kisses. Their kisses turned hungrier, and the younger man began unbuttoning the older man’s shirt. Phil met him halfway down the fabric with his own fingers and yanked the material off of his shoulders.

Dan let one of his hands fall in the direction of Phil’s crotch, squeezing the jean material over it gently. His boyfriend let out a quiet whine. “Juftst… take them owff…” Phil struggled to speak against Dan’s mouth. Hesitantly, Dan did as Phil told him. So much for the dominant part of this.

Phil was already half hard underneath his boxers. “Here, let me give you some help.” Dan whispered. He began to peel away at the material on his boyfriend’s waist, painstakingly so that Phil rolled his eyes in annoyance. “This isn’t fair.” He commented. “You’re still fully clothed.” “Not for long.” Dan whispered, finally removing the final article of clothing from his lover’s body. His eyes fell upon Phil’s recently exposed member. “Delicious.” He whispered. Phil chuckled. “You did not just call my dick ‘delicious.” “I did indeed.”

“You know, being someone about to suck my dick, you don’t look very dominant to me.” Dan laughed. “Just you wait, love.” Without another word, he placed his lips around his boyfriend’s cock, swirling his tongue around its circumference and closing his eyes. Phil let out a deep moan, curling his fingers and trying to find some leverage on the shower wall, to no avail of course. Dan continued to suck and Phil continued to moan, all the while not able to comprehend how this was going to get better somehow. “Dan, if you don’t stop right now…I’m gonna...do something far too early.” Phil breathed, all the while being interrupted by his own short gasps.

Suddenly, he no longer felt Dan’s presence around his member. He opened his eyes to discover that Dan was standing up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Dan left the room, leaving Phil sexually frustrated, cold, and slightly angry. His voice cracked when he tried to call his lover’s name. No response. If this was some kind of sick joke, he was not laughing.

He was startled when he finally saw the younger man enter the bathroom once again. Dan was wearing nothing but his boxers, and he was holding a large plastic container of some sort, a paintbrush and a vial of red glitter. Inside was nothing other than the glue he bought earlier, emptied out into the container in a large pool.

Phil finally understood.

“Oh my God.”

“Do I still have your consent for this, love?”

Phil nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

Dan kissed him softly, their lips just barely brushing together. Dipping the paintbrush in the glue, he began to paint his boyfriend’s arm gently. Phil felt the hair on his other arm stand up as he watched the other man paint him like he was a masterpiece. Dan looked beautiful in this moment; he had his adorable face of concentration mixed with a soft smile. Once his arm was painted, Dan grabbed the small vial of glitter and sprinkled a few pieces into the glue.

He continued to do this same process until both of Phil’s arms, thighs, shoulders, and collar bones were painted. All the while, the subject watched in amazement as the other man carefully worked around his body hair. This was not to be a painful experience.

Dan placed the bucket of glue on the floor, returning his attention to his lover’s right arm. The glue had dried by that point, and he was relieved. He carefully pulled a small section of the glue strip off of Phil’s skin with his fingers, proceeding to take the corner between his teeth and pull it away slowly. The older man sighed. “You looked so good doing that.” He murmured.

Next was the right shoulder, and again came the slow and gentle motion. It was almost an addicting sensation for both of them. Phil didn’t want Dan to stop, but Dan had no plan in stopping. Once the strip of glue was revealed, Dan let it drop to the shower floor and began kissing the other man’s neck, interchanging the kisses with short licks. Phil felt the blood begin to rush to his lower reaches once more as he let out gasps and sighs. He noticed that Dan’s member was poking out through his boxers. Apparently he was enjoying this just as much.

“Fuck, Dan.” Phil grunted. A muffled moan was his only response.

Phil’s mind was spinning as he tried to figure out how he could pleasure Dan in the way Dan was pleasuring him. He slowly placed a hand over the younger man’s boxers, squeezing firmly. “Ah, shit.” Dan moaned. “I’ll just take them off, then. Almost forgot these were on.” Phil laughed fondly at his boyfriend’s lack of self awareness.

Once the silky material was on the floor, Phil began rotating and pumping Dan’s cock, eliciting sharp cries from the latter. In between those cries, Dan was continuing to peel the strips of glue off of Phil’s body with his teeth. They both had to hold on to each other’s backs to prevent from arching their own in pleasure.

Phil stopped to allow Dan to attend to his thighs. The glue had caught on to a few hairs on his legs, so precision was necessary for this. The peeling sensation on his thighs felt better than anywhere else on his body, and Phil knew he was close. He reached behind him to turn on the shower, allowing the hot spray to cascade over their own heat.

Now that the glue was all off of him, he decided he had had enough with being the submissive one. He pressed Dan against the wall with a force he didn’t know he had. Their lips collided passionately as they attacked each other’s mouths. They soon began to get each other off again, not bothering to prepare each other for traditional sex. They both knew this wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Close.” Dan muttered in between kisses.

“Same here.” Phil replied amongst another gasp. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Hearing the way Phil told him that made Dan realize that this was the best idea he had ever had.

“Phil, I’m gonna…”

His lover let out a loud grunt in response.

Their climaxes came at the same time, their release rushing down the drain with the glue and the water. They both took a moment to regain composure. Phil continued to hold Dan against the wall, pressing their foreheads together as their breathing slowed. “Holy fuck.” Phil whispered, resulting in both of them giggling underneath the spray. They let the water clean them up as they caught their breath, eventually turning off the water and drying themselves off with towels.

Stumbling into their bedroom, they both pulled on clean pairs of boxers before Dan pulled the sheets down on their mattress. Climbing into bed together, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan as they lay there in silence for a while.

“That was…the single best idea you have ever had, Daniel James.”

“Thank you very much, Phil. I’m quite proud of myself now.”

“You should be. Holy shit. That was like, the hottest sex we’ve had in a long time.”

“A good bonus is the fact that we didn’t wreck the moon bed.” Dan joked.

“Yes.” Phil chuckled. “That’s always important. However, I’m pretty sure the bathroom is the biggest mess it will ever be.”

“Meh. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can handle it tomorrow morning. Now all I want to do is sleep.”

His boyfriend replied with a yawn. “Same.”

Just as Phil was about to close his eyes, he noticed something over by the dresser. “Bear, is that more glue over there on the dresser?”

“Mhm. I bought like, seven bottles. I didn’t know how much I’d need.”

“You kinky little shit.”

“Don’t blame me, Philly.”

“Ey, what does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Dan teased, turning to face his boyfriend. “I love you.”

Phil pressed a soft and lingering kiss to Dan’s lips. “I love you, too.”

It was quiet in the room for a while until Phil spoke one final time.

“Maybe we could use the excess to make more slime videos.”

#phanfic #cuddleswithphan fics #phan smut #daniel howell #phil lester #im completely unapologetic for this #i find it hilarious #its one of those things that is so bad that its funny #just roll with it

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bombshellsandbluebells · 7 years

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First Do No Harm, Chapter 4

Summary: During the 5+ years aboard the Ark, Murphy stumbles into becoming the designated doctor.

(Or: The Space Squad struggles to survive on the Ring, and Murphy learns how to make friends.)

Relationships: John Murphy/Emori, Murphy & all of the Space Squad, background Marper and Bellarke

Chapter Summary: The algae farm team takes on a shitty job. Harper and Murphy share a breakdown.

Once again, tremendous thanks to @infernalandmortal for editing! She's the absolute best!

Previous Chapter

Read on ao3

Chapter 4: Hunger

During their second week aboard the Ring, Emori finds a small bag of seeds stashed away in one of the rooms, and, instead of taking them to the Supply Room with the rest of what she finds, she takes them straight to Monty.

Their possible food problem is sort of an open secret aboard the Ring. Neither Bellamy or Monty have officially announced it to anyone, but it seems to have passed through the group regardless. It lingers now, always, everywhere. Bellamy’s announcement that they were cutting food intake down to two rations a day had been met by everyone with trepidation, but not resistance.

Emori fidgets as Monty inspects the seeds. The skin of her forehead is bunched and wrinkled with worry, pinched tight between her dark eyebrows. “Will these grow more food?” she asks, and Murphy can hear the note of fear threaded through her otherwise calm voice, though he doubts Monty or Harper can pick up on it. Emori’s a master of hiding her emotions.

“It’s hard to tell,” Monty says. “’I’m not sure what plants they are, exactly, but it doesn’t make sense for anyone on the Ark to keep anything that isn’t edible.” He smiles up at Emori. “It will be good to have something to eat besides just the algae. Thank you.”

Emori gives him a half-smile, one corner of her mouth twitching up.

Great job. I love you, Murphy wants to say, because saying it out loud has become addicting in the last few days – maybe because of the way Emori smiles at him afterwards, and maybe because he never thought he was actually capable of it – but he feels self-conscious with Monty and Harper standing there. It’s not like it’s a secret that he loves Emori, but it still feels too intimate a moment to share with anyone else.

Instead, he gently grabs her hand as she walks by and squeezes it. “Great job,” he says, and she beams at him, leans forward to peck him on the lips, then leaves the room.

He watches her go, and when he turns back to the room, he sees Harper staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her gaze hot and piercing. It feels like he’s being dissected. He glances away awkwardly, letting his eyes fall to the floor. Murphy’s not sure what Harper sees, but, after a moment, she turns away from him without a word.

Monty hasn’t paid any attention to the two of them since Emori left. He’s deep in thought, his eyes focused on an empty corner of the room, glancing between it and the seeds in his hands. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he looks up at the other two watching him expectantly.

“Can we plant those?” Murphy asks. “Because I’d personally love a backup in case the algae doesn’t grow.”

“Maybe,” Monty says slowly, the gears almost visibly turning in his head. He looks back at the empty corner. “But there’s a problem.” He falls quiet again.

Murphy sighs. “No need to drag out the suspense. Just tell us.”

Monty breathes in deeply, steadying himself. “Okay, there’s no garden set up in the Ring. We lucked out because the algae farm was already here, but we don’t currently have any way to grow these. We don’t have soil to plant them in.”

“So they’re useless,” Murphy concludes, and his body sags with resignation. Of course. Finding a new food option while their current plan is failing is just too good to be true, and the Ring seems determined to do everything it can to kill them. They’re just as fucked as they were the day before.

“Not necessarily,” Monty agues. His hands are clutching at the seeds, holding them tightly – preciously. Murphy perks up at that, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harper beside him grasp onto this kernel of hope, leaning towards Monty eagerly.

“Can we create a garden somehow?” she asks.

“We can,” Monty says, “but it won’t be easy.” He hesitates, biting at his lip, and Murphy braces himself for the hit. “We have to make manure with our waste.”

There’s silence. It seems anticlimactic for just a moment, and then it registers. “Okay, I’m not a great farmer,” Murphy says, “so I might not have understood you correctly. You’re suggesting we use our shit to grow our food?”

Monty shrugs. “We did it all the time in Farm Station.”

“Well, that’s one thing I could have lived forever without knowing,” Murphy jokes, but there isn’t much humor in it.

“The food grown in it is fine,” Monty assures him. “It’s just the farming that’s…” He pauses, and finally lets his features twist with disgust. Still, despite his grimace, he sounds only resigned as he adds, “Not fun.”

“Now I see why you put me on farm duty,” Murphy groans, running a hand through his hair. It’s starting to get too long, the ends falling into his eyes often enough to be annoying. “This is payback.”

“If that’s true, why am I here?” Harper asks, and her voice is light. It seems like a joke – and not one at Murphy’s expense. He glances at her, and he notices that her lips are quirked up into what might be considered a grin, even if she does seem as repulsed by Monty’s suggestion as Murphy is.

“I don’t know, McIntyre,” Murphy replies, grinning back. “It’d be rude to speculate about your relationship problems.”

He means it as a joke, but maybe it comes out more biting than he means it to, or just a little too mean to be funny, because Harper’s grin disappears, and her features sharpen once more.

“Dick,” she mutters, and it sounds like rejection – like a wall going up again. Well, he tried.

“So how do we do this,” Murphy asks, because hell, if it’s between dealing with shit or starving to death, Murphy knows which option he’s picking, even if his stomach does roll just at the thought of it.

“I don’t even know if it will work!” Monty exclaims, voice sharp and reedy, and it’s like he becomes a different creature in that moment, one frantic with worry and stress as opposed to his usual calm. His hands clench tight around the seeds. They’ve healed spectacularly well over the two weeks they’ve been here, and though they’re covered in rough, discolored patches of scar tissue, Monty seems to have no problem using them.

“There’s too many unknown variables,” he continues. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to compost without the composter from Farm Station, I don’t know what kind of seeds they are or how long they’ll take to grow – it could be just a few weeks or it could be over a month! And who knows if we’ll even be able to grow it here after we compost the manure - and I don’t even know if the algae is going to grow at all now that Raven’s fixed the heaters. These seeds could be an additional source of food once our rations run out or they could be our only option. I don’t know!”

Monty’s panic is terrifying. Up until now, he’s stayed outwardly calm in the face of every challenge, and Murphy realizes that he’s been using him subconsciously as a gauge for how fucked their food situation really is. If Monty’s panicking, things are worse than he thought.

Murphy’s not prepared to starve to death. He wasn’t prepared five months ago, and he certainly isn’t now.

“Monty,” Harper’s voice is like steel. It’s a firm and sturdy voice, like something that could weather a storm and stay standing, tall and strong. Murphy remembers the small, fragile girl with delicate features he met in the Skybox. Had she always been hiding a steely strength, or had the Earth ripped and pulled it out of her?

“What?” Monty snaps back, and it’s meant to sting.

Harper takes the hit, but doesn’t flinch. “Work with what you do know,” she says, voice steady.

Monty blinks at her, his panic fading slowly away. It's still visible in his eyes, but he no longer seems to be drowning within it. He opens up a drawer and places the bag of seeds carefully inside, then clutches the corners of the drawer and sags against it, letting it take his weight. “Okay,” he says, and already his voice sounds calmer. “Murphy, I need that tablet.”

Murphy hurries to go retrieve it from Medical. By the time he returns to the farm, Monty is once again a picture of calm determination. Harper stands beside him, one hand rubbing circles into his back. She pulls back as Murphy enters, giving Monty room to stand as he takes the tablet from him.

“Okay,” he says again, pulling open a program to write in, and Murphy makes a note to ask him how later so he can create an official inventory for Medical that isn’t just stored in his head. “If we all keep taking two rations a day,” he says aloud as he jots down numbers, “we’ll be out of food in 17 days. Even if the algae starts growing now, that’s cutting it pretty close, and it isn’t anywhere near enough time to compost the waste and let the seeds grow. Composting with the composter took three weeks – without it, I’m not sure, but we can try to build something similar and hopefully do it in about the same amount of time, adding, let’s say, five days to build it. The seeds will take three or four weeks to grow. Longer, if we’re unlucky.”

He does the math silently for a moment, then looks up. “We need to make it at least six more weeks on the rations we have. If nothing’s growing at that point, it doesn’t matter – we’re dead anyway. Bellamy said we have,” he pauses, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling momentarily as he thinks, “238 left as of today. If we go down to one ration a day for the seven of us, we’ll make it to five. But if we go down to one ration each every other day – or one half ration a day – we’ll make it almost 10. And since we won’t have to make it to 10, every few days we can have an additional ration to keep our strength up.”

He circles the final number, 68, with his finger, and the heavy weight of what he’s said settles over the room and its occupants.

“One ration every other day,” Murphy repeats slowly. “For six weeks.”

Monty nods, looking grim but determined. “And we pray the algae is ready in two.”

When Monty announces the plan to the group that night, the other Ark-born kids take the news with about the same level of concerned resignation as the algae farm team had. They’ve never had to ration so extremely before, but they’re no strangers to going hungry.

Murphy remembers a period of about a month when he was ten. A fungus had infected an entire crop of food, and the food supply dropped dangerously low. The entire Ark population had been forced down to one ration a day until the numbers were deemed safe – and even then, it had been a slow process working back up to the standard daily ration amounts.

He knows the other delinquents in the room remember that month as well as him, and though that wasn’t nearly as bad as what they’re planning now, the Ark has prepared them all for things like this.

Emori takes the news well. Her mouth tightens, and he sees her hand clench tight at her side, her nails biting white crescent moons into her skin, but she only nods, resolute and prepared and far too used to going hungry.

Echo, on the other hand, pales as Monty explains, her face drenched white with horror like it so often is with paint. Her eyes, wide and scared, flit around the group. Seeing their resignation, she tries to hide her own terror, but it slips through the cracks in her stony mask – in the sweat beading on her forehead, in the trembling of her body. Murphy can’t find it in himself to care much.

She’ll get used to it. Just like they’ve all had to.

Monty recruits Raven to help build the composter, since she’s taken care of most of the urgent, life-threatening problems aboard the Ring already. When she meets Monty and Murphy in the supply room, she still looks frazzled and slightly manic, worn thin with exhaustion. Her hair is no longer in its signature ponytail, but pulled back into a messy braid. It’s starting to shimmer in the lights, greasy and unwashed, just like the rest of them. It’s unusual to see her so unkempt and grimy, because even when she was slowly dying in the lab she’d looked clean and put together. It takes Murphy right back to the dropship – the two of them sitting beside each other, filthy, bloody, dying.

He shakes that thought away.

Raven and Monty pull pieces from the supply room – sheets of loose metal, spare nuts and bolts, even some tools – and Raven congratulates Emori on what she’s managed to scavenge from the Ring. Emori preens from where she stands in the corner, watching Raven and Monty move about with interest.

The supply room is impressive. Murphy’s been in it briefly once or twice, but he hasn’t paid much attention to the remarkable amount of work Emori, Echo, and Bellamy have put into it. There are racks and shelves pulled from various other rooms around the Ring and arranged in neat rows. Bellamy, with Echo’s help, has arranged the items Emori brings him into an organized system, complete with labels handwritten on duct-tape: metal, plastic, blankets, so on and so on.

Monty and Raven fill up Emori’s makeshift cart, and Murphy helps them drag the pile into the algae farm, over to an unused corner of the room, where they start unloading, laying the pieces out along the floor so they can see them all. Murphy and Harper stand off to the side, curious and anxious, but clueless as to what their resident mechanic and engineer are actually planning.

For the next few days, Harper and Murphy tend to the algae farm, watching carefully for any signs of growth and swallowing disappointment each time, while Raven and Monty start building something. Murphy isn’t quite sure what it is. It appears to be a cylindrical metal container on some kind of stand. Whenever he tries to ask for more of an explanation, Raven shoos him off testily. He remembers what Raven’s like in her anger – and how hard she can hit – and wisely stays out of their way.

Instead, he goes to Medical, using the program Monty used to create a written inventory of their supplies. Afterwards, he thinks of the supply room, of Bellamy’s careful organization, and takes Bellamy the list.

Bellamy is surprised when Murphy hands him the tablet and explains what he’s done. As he reads, his eyebrows lift up high on his forehead. Echo watches them from where she’s stacking odds and ends on a shelf.

“This is good work,” Bellamy tells him. Murphy lifts his chin with pride, feels himself standing just a bit taller. Damn right it is, he thinks.

“We’ve already had two injuries,” he says instead. “Figured it’d be good to actually keep track.”

“It is,” Bellamy agrees with a nod. He glances back down at the list of items, mouth twisting like he’s eaten something sour. “It’s not much. We’ll have to be careful.”

Murphy leaves the tablet with Bellamy so he can add his items to it – one massive inventory of what they have available to them for the next five years – and turns to leave.

“Hey, Murphy,” Bellamy calls as he nears the door, and he turns his head to look back over his shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. “Good job.”

Thank you, he thinks, but doesn’t say. I’m more useful than you thought, huh? comes next, but he swallows that one back down too.

Just like last time, Murphy hates the stupid part of him that perks up at Bellamy’s praise and flutters excitedly in his chest. The younger him – from what feels like lifetimes ago, but is just months – would have given anything for Bellamy’s praise. Now that he has it, Murphy finds he doesn’t want it.

The person he is now, after everything, doesn’t have to rely on Bellamy to make him something worthwhile or impressive like he’d once thought the older man could – he can do that for himself. He has done that for himself.

After everything Earth’s thrown at him, Murphy finds he’s not as impressed with Bellamy Blake as he once was.

Besides, he can’t let go of the hanging. It feels both like ages ago and just yesterday. And two weeks ago is a fresher wound – in the bunker with Bellamy’s arms tight around his neck, unearthing every single screaming fear and nightmare of suffocation from where he’d stuffed them away in his head. And Bellamy – unconcerned. Unrepentant.

Murphy’s not sure he even wants his friendship, anymore, if it were offered.

“Just trying to help keep us all alive,” he says dryly.

The walls are looming as he leaves. The air seems thinner. Murphy focuses on breathing.

Monty and Raven, when determined, work fast. They finish the composter on day three, well before Monty’s estimate. They’ve moved it out of the algae farm and into an unused room, on the more secluded side of the Ring, far away from everything else.

It’s the second day they’ve had to go without food completely. Murphy feels empty and weak. His stomach growls frequently with angry want. In his head, he compares it to a black hole, because he remembers learning about them years and years ago, and it seems that starving is making him poetic.

“Ta-da,” Raven says when Harper and Murphy arrive. Her voice is listless, even though her eyes are bright with triumph. Her hair is starting to fall out of its braid again, the free strands clumping together with sweat and grime.

“It’ll work?” Harper asks.

“Hopefully,” Monty says, which isn’t tremendously reassuring, but probably as good as they’re going to get. “But now comes the fun part,” he adds, voice thick with sarcasm.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Raven jokes, but again her voice is flat, the humor tempered with exhaustion and hunger. “Have fun, guys.”

What follows is one of the worst things Murphy’s ever had to do – topped only by surviving physical torture and very nearly starving to death once already. He thinks it’s only the cockroach in him that helps him get through it.

The toilet on the Ring stores their waste in vacuum-sealed bags. After two weeks, and between the seven of them, there’s a decent number of bags. The three of them gather them up and take them to the room with the composter.

They have little to protect themselves from the smell, but they’ve tried to do the best they can with strips of blankets tied securely over their noses as makeshift masks.

It’s not enough. When they cut open the bags and begin dumping them into the composter, the smell is nearly overwhelming. Murphy gags, bile rising in his throat, and he watches Harper hold her breath, cheeks puffed out almost comically despite the situation.

It’s awful, unpleasant work. Murphy’s stomach rises and crashes in constant waves of nausea, and he nearly throws up several times. He’s not sure what would come up if he did, since his aching stomach reminds him it’s already digested everything he fed it yesterday. Bile, maybe?

The whole process seems to take hours, despite how quickly they work. When Monty finally slams the composter hatch closed, and motions towards the door, Murphy nearly cries with relief. The machine begins spinning with an awful, clunky hum as the three of them rush out of the room, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Murphy makes it out first, and, as soon as Harper and Monty follow him out into the hallway, he slams the door closed to keep the smell from escaping to the rest of the Ring. It’s obvious now why they’ve used a room so far from everything else.

The stale, recycled – but thankfully, not malodorous – air of the Ring hallway is a relief, and the three of them take in large, gulping breaths. Murphy yanks at the strip of cloth around his face, and, when that only pulls the knot tighter, wrestles it up over his head, tossing it to the ground. He swears the smell sunk into the fabric at some point.

“That,” he says, the word a sharp, harsh sound, “was fucking awful,” and there is a moment of unvoiced agreement as they all ruminate on that statement, on the past couple hours of work, and, frankly, on the past two weeks aboard the Ring – every minute of which has been a continuing nightmare of uncertain survival.

The composter churns on behind them, the monstrous humming muffled from the door.

“I can’t get the smell out of my nose,” Harper says suddenly, and her voice is strained. It takes Murphy a moment to realize it’s on the verge of hysterical laughter. “I think it’s burned in there.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Murphy starts laughing, because the whole situation is ridiculous, and, after everything, they might still starve to death, and honestly, what the hell else can he do?

The other two stare at him in surprise. Then Harper dissolves into hysterical giggles. She moves to bury her face in her hands, then immediately thinks better of it and throws them out in front of her, as far from her nose as she can manage.

“That was awful,” she says. “Just – god – just, awful. Float me. “

“Fuck this stupid space station,” Murphy gasps out between laughs. It feels good to say. He says it again. “Fuck this stupid, fucking space station.”

They make a weird duet together, with their slightly manic laughter – Harper’s high-pitched, airy giggles and Murphy’s booming laughs. Monty watches them silently, and Murphy wonders if he thinks they’ve lost their minds. Hell, if they have lost their minds.

They deserve a breakdown or two, he thinks. After everything.

“I don’t know how I’m going to eat anything that grows in that,” Harper says as her giggles taper off. She continues to hold her hands out in the air in front of her. “I’m just going to keep thinking of this.”

“I’d eat anything right now,” Murphy says, honestly. His stomach feels achy and hollow, and its only day four.

“Even shit food?” Monty asks dryly. It comes out muffled from the blanket still covering his face.

Murphy snorts a laugh at that, but it’s not the half-deranged laughter of just a minute ago. “Yeah, even shit food,” he agrees.

A weird feeling settles in the hallway. It’s not quite victorious, since nothing about what they’ve just done feels at all victorious, but it is something. It’s fighting back, at the very least, against the thing that keeps trying to kill them. This gives them another chance. It might even give them five more years.

Murphy had never really thought of the delinquents as a team, and certainly not one he was a part of. As he regards the three of them in the hallway, all starving and hungry and disgusting in equal parts, he can’t help but think of them as one.

Even if it doesn’t work, they’ve fought back. And they’ve done it together. He thinks maybe it's easier to survive as part of a team.

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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, SIDNEY!

You have been accepted for the role of RITA JAKOV. Admin Bree: The competition for Rita was tough, and our attention-loving tailor would smile to know it. But not as much as I smiled while reading your application, Sidney—really, it only got better with every word you wrote. It was your para samples that really sold me above all else, though, the way you portrayed her insecurities, vanity, and constant pursuit of perfection, ever-elusive. It was so intriguing to look inside her pretty little head and see what goes through it every time she looks in the mirror, and where it all began. This application was beautiful, so genuine I felt as though my Rita might jump off the page. Congratulations! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER ALIAS: Sidney! PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her. AGE: Twenty. TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m in EST for the summer! I’ll have a lot of free time this summer since I’m home. I do have a part time job this season, but it is just that: part time! So it really shouldn’t interfere and I’ll certainly be able to check in daily and I’m usually always around to plot. As for when the fall semester starts, I go full time and work part time, but I’m usually pretty good at keeping up with things. I can usually respond to threads within 1-2 days and am usually always lurking lol. On a numerical scale, I’d say 7-9/10 in the summer and 6-8/10 during school semesters!

IN CHARACTER DESIRED CHARACTER: Rita Jakov. Rita - Short form of Margherita. In many languages, it translates literally to pearl, but most notably black pearl in Persian. Antonia - A name of Roman origin given to the women of the Antonius family. Literally translated, it means priceless, praiseworthy and beautiful. Jakov - A family name of many different origins, but most commonly referred to the Hebrew origins supplanter, or “to trip up or overthrow.”

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? To be perfectly honest, Rita stole my heart from the moment I read her teaser. But I will admit, I was hesitant back then because there were so many lovely teasers being released and once bios dropped, I was swept away by so many different characters! But I’ve come to the conclusion that I was wrong to be apprehensive! She’s everything I could have wanted in a Grisha character. And there’s already so much development in her past that I’m really excited where the current events in the plot will take her! What stood out for me most was this quote: “—the type of woman who was loved by all who knew her but understood by none.” I’m not sure if I see a little of myself within Rita or if I’m simply one of the many who love her, but I want to explore her nonetheless. She’s soft and kind and gentle underneath it all—which is deeply rooted in her home life and the way she was raised—but her time at the Little Palace and around fellow Grisha has really shaped and molded the tough exterior she now sports.

A walking puzzle, doe-eyed and hopeful, she entered the Small Science late to the game, picked from the bunch last and she’d been treated as such. But it didn’t take her long to find her footing, to live greedily, to choose beauty above all else. And I think that’s what I find so interesting about her! Most characters who want to paint the world in watercolors, who want to remove all of the Earth’s blemishes, have a selfless ambition. They have a mission and it is to make the world a better place for everyone, but that simply is not Rita. She’s been spoiled rotten by her own abilities and so have those who dare to cover up their indiscretions with the flick of her wrist or the tug of her finger. And though some may call her obsessive, or shallow, or downright empty and see those qualities as a sign of weakness, I see it all as unprecedented and true strength. Even after years of trying desperately to offset and ultimately fix such savagery, with her delicate hands capable of contorting even the ugliest of beasts into magnificent beings (in other words, putting a mere bandaid onto a gunshot wound), the world has revealed itself for what it really is, ugly and wrought with pain. But if her time at the Little Palace has taught her anything, it is that the beauty she so wishes could cure disease and heal the wounded can corrupt just as wholly as darkness can.

There’s something so appealing to me about her. She’s a gentle soul with an affinity for the finer things in life, from what she reads to what she wears, and most importantly, how she looks. But waging a war against all things odious and vile and egregious, and claiming her cause as righteous one has left her disappointed, hollow, rotten. Perhaps it is time for her to embrace these monsters and this darkness; time for her to find the beauty in the pain and the elegance in destruction.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND? ONE: Nothing gold can stay. It has taken Rita years to understand that beauty is temporary. It is a quick fix, a vain indulgence to cover up what truly lies beneath: rot. She was not raised to believe this; in fact, she was raised to be that quick fix, that vain indulgence. She was meant to be admired, but never really touched for all things lovely and charming seem to be the most vulnerable; they seem to bruise as easily as does a peach. And so she remained unattainable, just out of reach. Not out of fear, but necessity. Beauty is temporary, this she’s learned. But to those around her, it is demanded. I really love this quote from her bio: “monsters so love to be made to look as though they’re anything but.” It really resonates with me and gives me lots of thoughts on Rita as a person. I don’t want to change her; I love her the way she is: magnificent and dangerous with beauty literally resting at her fingertips, ready to be put to use, but she’s grown so much and not all for the better. In a way, I think she attributes a lot of the cruelty and pain she’s come to witness as her fault because what she offers does not last. It is almost as if she herself has become a drug, one she is not only addicted to (of which she will most likely never recover), but especially to those she’s tweaked and toned and tailored. And it is that very reason that I believe she’ll struggle with continuing on as this so-called magic wand of Ravka. They demand she erase their deformities away, but monstrousness always has a way of creeping back in even bigger and badder than before. So I’d love to explore the inner turmoil she will inevitably have. Simply put, all she’s ever wanted was to beautify all the ugliness she’s seen, only to discover beauty, something she can control, offer, and give willingly, can corrupt even the purest of things. And perhaps, it is time she take a good look in the mirror. Does she still see the same little girl who turned a village into a kingdom? Can she even recognize the face staring back at her? And more importantly, I want to find out what it means if the answers are no.

TWO: Superficial, at best. Shallow, vapid, vain—she has been called it all, and much, much worse. Hatred follows around the conventionally beautiful like a lion stalks a gazelle, strategically and thirsty for blood. Rita has always prided herself on her looks, that much is clear. Even before she left her home to join the Second Army, she saw beauty wherever she went. Whether it was pure imagination or wishful thinking, it did not stop her from charming elegance out of everyone and everything around her. Don’t you want to be beautiful? A young Rita would ask and the adults would laugh, tossing their heads back in admiration for the wildly imaginative Jakov girl, with long golden hair and perfectly sun-kissed cheeks. I would love to explore what lies underneath. There are so many layers to a girl like her, each one more complex than the rest, but she’s changed herself so much over the years, claiming each adjustment—each nip here, each tuck there—was done in the name is seeking absolute perfection. And she found it for a time. She became so achingly attractive, so superbly beautiful people almost feared her. They gazed at her from afar with a look one can only describe as wonder. And maybe that’s why she turned her efforts outward instead of in, choosing to perfect those around her as best she could. She’ll claim it was selfless, but a part of me wonders if she only did that so she’d be surrounded by beauty as well. But what are her true motivations? Does she even have any? Or are all her desires, her wants, her needs really that hollow? Some say beauty is skin deep and what matters is on the inside, but Rita has tweaked and remade and even created her skin more times than she can count, over and over, and each time is somehow more beautiful than the last. But what if that’s all she is? What if that is all she’s good for? As her bio states, she’s never fought in a real fight, never wielded a real weapon. I want to see her amount to more than just outer appearances. I want to know what’s underneath it all because, if one day, she is called to fight and she isn’t prepared, her treasured beauty will be the first thing to suffer. So I’d love to explore her maybe getting more physically strong, and learning a little about beauty as a strength within.

THREE: A lonely person. I hate to be that person who keeps going back and quoting the bio, but I can’t resist! “She became so beautiful it hurt.” This sentence alone, if it were all I had to describe Rita, I think it does it perfectly. If you throw away all the cliches—most notably: beauty is pain—and you focus on the meaning behind it, I think you’ll find Rita Jakov. I see her as a strike of lightning, wondrous and loud and capable of decimation. People look to her and gape; they stare; they lust after her; they long to have her, to own her, to be her. But for all the effort she puts into making other people happier with themselves, she cannot find happiness within. It is a lonely road, this one she’s walking down. It may be beautiful and pristine and lathered in honey and sweet-little-nothings from passersby, but at the end of the day, she is still alone. The moments she relishes, the ones she wishes would last an eternity are inevitably fleeting. So I would love to explore her desire for friendship, love, etc., wherever it may be found. And furthermore, I think her desire to find love, to be loved could be preyed upon, if you think about it. Rita has never been desperate; everything has come easily to her simply because of the advantages the conventionally attractive receive, but I believe she is the perfect candidate for some hardcore manipulation. She could easily get swept away in the affection from a person, believing it to be true. Deep down, I think she hopes for all the glances and stares to mean that people truly love her, but there’s such a monumental difference between love and adoration. The latter has kept her fed for so long now; for years she took praise and pocketed it. She held it close and revisited it any time the decay began to creep in. Perhaps it kept her sane, perhaps it is what drove her mad. But either way, it is all she can see now—in everywhere she looks, in everyone she sees. I would love to see and explore her lack of ability to relate to those around her. It is almost as if she has been wearing goggles since the day she was born. And for a while, all they showed her was the magnificence and grandeur she was capable of. But her vision has changed. Or more importantly, the world has demanded she see its truth. Her goggles have been forcibly cracked and putrefaction has settled in; and it is ravenous, this decay. It isolates her; makes her second guess herself; steals her confidence like a thief in the night. People: they have always been what she has loved most, but now they seem to only cause her pain and heartache. But I believe that longing companionship will remain. In fact, I think it is what will keep her grounded in these new uncharted waters of despair. As of right now, she seems to be trapped in a cage of destruction, alone and incapable of connecting with anyone, provided with only one weapon to defend herself: beauty. And so many others demand she use it constantly, and with reckless abandon. And they will take until nothing of her is left.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Yes. It would probably depend on muse mostly, if I’ve lost it or something. And if it would help further along the plot!

IN DEPTH IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S): She watches her closely, taking note of her every move: the way her hand sits perfectly still as her fingers do all the magic; the way her mouth points downward, slightly agape whenever she touches up her eyes; the way each and every little thing she does makes her more perfect than the moment before. Rita has always thought her mother was beautiful, with hair as silky smooth as honey and perfect, unblemished olive skin. She has always been a sight for sore eyes, turning head wherever she goes—men, women, it made no difference. All eyes were on her.

“You’re beautiful, Mama,” a tiny little Rita gushes atop her mother’s lap, elbows resting atop the counter, eyes trained onto her face through the mirror. Her hands gently cupped at her tiny chin and she watched her mother, absolutely mesmerized.

“Thank you, baby,” she smiles, eyes never leaving her own reflection. She has a tiny jar resting between the index finger and the thumb of her left hand, and she dabs her middle finger into the maroon concoction. It stains her fingertip and Rita’s brows furrow with confusion.

“What’s that?” Disbelief is apparent in her tone, but it only elicits a light-hearted chuckle from her mother and a small shake of her head.

“Shadow. For the eyes,” she raises her arm and sweeps the tip of her finger gently along one of her eyelids, then does the same to the other. The color is now smeared along her skin and she pauses for a moment, only to wipe away the remaining color from her fingers. And then she returns to her lids, spreading the shadow smoothly, evenly until all that remains is a soft glow of red. Her green eyes pop against the contrast of the colors and Rita gasps.

“How did you do that?!” She whips her head around and gazes up with absolute wonder at her mother and her appearance, jealous of her beauty and wishing she could take it from her. Turning back, she faces the mirror and leans in, observing her own face and takes note of at least three shortcomings—something no nine year old girl should ever do.

“Here,” her mother interrupts her thoughts, gesturing for her to hop up onto the table. Rita does as is suggested and her mother leans to her left and rummages through her trunk. It’s filled with at least thirty jars of all different small shapes and sizes, each one a different color and texture, but all are complementary to her mother’s skin tone, of course.

“Let’s try…” she trails off as she searches, clinking and clanking within the box until she clicks her tongue and looks back to Rita, “this one.” It’s magenta, but more purple than pink and it’s reminiscent of Rita’s favorite dress in the way it shines when it hits the light.

Slowly and carefully, her mother executes the same routine she had done on herself, dipping her finger into the now uncorked jar and then sweeping it gently along Rita’s eyelids. She wipes away the remaining shade, but quickly returns to spread it out evenly. Rita sits as patiently as any child can when far too excited and her mother has to scold her at least three times before she finally does sit still.

They follow the same routine. First, her mother applies on herself, then chooses the perfect color for Rita. It is never a match, never the same colors. “Each woman has a different palette,” her mother grasps her wrist lightly and holds her arm up side-by-side to her own. “Your skin is much lighter than mine,” this time her tone hurts; it’s edgy and clipped and filled with a hint of jealousy. But Rita quickly excuses it away. Perhaps all women are jealous of one another, she thinks. Just as I was jealous of her moments earlier.

But it is a very dangerous thought, a dangerous way to excuse the bad behavior of a parent. No mother is ever supposed to resent their child, let alone scold their daughter for having fairer skin or being prettier. But Yekaterina Jakov was no ordinary mother, and she will do anything to make sure her daughter is no ordinary girl.

“Now, Rita, you mustn’t let anyone see you without your face.”

“Without my face?” The girl stares up at her mother, wide-eyed and quizzical. “But I always have my face.”

“No, Rita. This is your face,” her mother holds up her arm, encompassing the girl’s face entirely with her hand as she speaks. “This is what you show people. Nothing less than perfection.”

Rita turns back to look into the mirror, her eyes scanning every perfect corner of the visage staring back at her. She takes note in the purple on her eyelids, at the rose petal pink lacquered onto her plump lips, at the dark charcoal black outlining her azure hues. She didn’t look like herself; she was nearly unrecognizable, but at least she was beautiful.

—————

She sits in front of a mirror, her mirror, the one she uses every single day. And today is a day like any other. She rises early despite her protests, bathes and begins her morning routine, though it seems more like a ritual—like she’s praying to a deity. The god of beauty, but Rita is painfully unaware of the sacrifice Aphrodite demands: nothing too extravagant, only your soul. And so it starts with a tug here, a lift of her brow to give her more of a perfect arch, and it ends with a face she barely recognizes. But it’s one they will demand to see. They’ll gawk and stare and whisper as she walks past, secrets of lust or promises of hatred, it makes no difference. At least they will be discussing her. They’ll be envious of her beauty, of her grace and everything in between.

Tentatively, she reaches into the familiar wooden chest. It was her mother’s; a gift for her eighteenth birthday. She’d spent a fortune to send it to Rita, even left it filled with supplies, and now it was her most prized possession—aside from its contents, of course. But the sentiment behind the gift was left unanswered. Her letter had been left unanswered as well. It wasn’t that Rita couldn’t find the words; she knew exactly what she wanted to say to her mother if she had the chance. She wanted to yell and cry and scream. She wanted to blame her mother for it all, to rest the weight of the world’s transgressions atop her shoulders so Rita would no longer have to bear it alone. But the solution lies at the surface, not within. Simply, Rita did not want to waste her time. There would be no use in writing a nasty letter to the woman who left her ill prepared to face life; her efforts could be put to far better use. Her time was precious, highly sought after and she needn’t waste it on those she no longer cares about. As far as she’s concerned, both her parents have died.

Slowly, she twists the cap off of her new favorite shade: a subtle pink sherbet. But as she places the finishing touches atop her lids, a tiny thought pops into her head. This would look better if my eyes were green today. And it takes no more than that mere suggestion. She sets down the tiny jar, twists the cap back on and then focuses her fingertips attention toward her blue hues. But in time, and with a few blinks, the ocean calmly morphs into a beautiful pasture—subtle and serene and most importantly, green. That’s better, she thinks, a smile forming along her rosy lips. But there’s a tiny wrinkle in her nose whenever her reflection squints back at her. Quickly and with wild determination, she brushes away the small crease in her skin with the pad of her finger, a look in her eye as if she’s an artist laying magnificent waste to a fresh blank canvas. A few swipes of her paintbrush and the wrinkle vanishes completely.

It’s an uphill battle, this war against imperfection, but it is one she’s spent what feels like a lifetime waging—and winning. But it is dangerous, this ability she possesses. The ability to erase, to change, to intensify. Beauty lies in wait atop her fingertips, never truly admitting the immense power that comes along with such a form of defense. And those around her, those who wish to erase, wish to change, wish to intensify; they submit willingly, and Rita obliges them with absolute delight.

But what of herself? Who defends her against this beast she has created, this monster that lies within? No one ever warned her that the most dangerous enemy is yourself. It doesn’t show in the way she looks, the way she dresses, or even the way she carries herself. All they see is beauty, is perfection, is transcendence—so that is all she sees, too. She sits in front of this mirror, day-in and day-out. She adjusts, she tweaks, she changes completely. Each morning she rises, each day she is reborn anew. What remains? Nothing, she thinks. I am no one.

She sucks in a sharp breath and closes the box in front of her, locking it tightly and setting it into the drawer on her left. But she isn’t finished. She realizes this when her eyes land back on her reflection. Her hair, it glistens in the morning light; it shines as the trees whip in the wind, blocking the sun every now and then. But it doesn’t look perfect. Not with these brand new green eyes. Brown looks best with green, she thinks. Maybe a light chestnut. Slowly she reached into the top drawer to her right and retrieved a small brush made of bone. With the other she pulled out a familiar tiny jar filled with crushed cinnamon. Bringing the jar up and over the crown of her head, she tapped the side of it lightly, letting the light brown flakes descend atop her blonde hair. She follows this by running the brush through her curls, and the color bleeds from the flakes. It blends and molds into her natural hair color, changing right before her eyes until every last strand has been made anew.

Perfect, she thinks, but takes note of her brows once more, too light and mismatched to the color of her hair. A frustrated sigh escapes her slightly parted lips. And therein lies Rita’s biggest and longest lasting problem. Her work is never finished, and there always seems to be room for improvement. Perfection—which her mother always told her is of the utmost most importance—does not last. There will always be far more ugly than there is beauty.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS: 1. Rita is a Libra. Born September 27th on the precipice of fall. Strengths of Libras: cooperative, tactful, kind, giving and highly sociable. Weaknesses of Libras: Prone to self-pity, detest confrontations and/or fights, can carry a grudge and harbor unmentioned hatred quite easily. Being born under the air sign of Libra, it has bestowed upon Rita a great love of people, especially those who pique her interest. She loves when things go smoothly and appreciates the gentler things in life such as peace and harmony. She whole-heartedly detests violence and consequently injustice. Seeing those around her suffer has always brought her great pain and perhaps this is where her love of beautification and tailoring stems from.

2. Rita’s personality falls under that of the ENFP type, which makes her The Campaigner. “You can change the world with just an idea.” While this applies to many different people who fall under this same personality type, for Rita, it happens to be true. Her idea: douse the world in elegance and decadence. And for a while, she did just that. ENFPs are sociable creatures; they strive being the life of the party and the center of attention. Rita loves to be both. She must grab the attention of an entire room when she enters. And each person within that room must take an interest in her. Otherwise she has not succeeded. ENFPs struggle to connect with those around them, despite their craving for social interaction. This stems from their inability to see the world as anything but complex, like the hardest puzzle known to man, and Rita is determined to put it together—piece by disgusting piece. Rita also struggles with their emotions and compassion; deep down the two conflict immensely. But most importantly, ENFPs like Rita, spend so much time looking for a deeper meaning to life, to their existence, that they forget to enjoy what is happening around them. Though in Rita’s case, perhaps she’s spent too much time noticing, and therefore learned too much and lost a touch of her innocence—of her beauty—along the way.

3. Rita’s character alignment falls under that of neutral good. People that fall under such an alignment are people pleasers; they enjoy helping out those around them, from king’s to peasants, but remain indebted to none. Rita is exactly that. She has always believed, like most like-minded neutral good characters, that law & order are important just as chaos & order are too. And she believes one cannot exist without the other, but rather enjoys in indulging in any of them. Whether it be following the rules, or bending them to her whims; succumbing to an irresistible desire or denying one’s urges for the greater good, Rita has done it all. And she will again. What she does value however, is freedom above all else. She is a bird, meant to fly and to soar and to roam the earth passionately. But being the true neutral that she is, she always seeks to find a balance. To work hard and play hard.

4. A girl’s first true love is her father. Papa’s little angel, he would whisper softly. Even today, if Rita closes her eyes, relaxes her thoughts and takes a deep breath, she can almost feel his lips as they graze along her temple. She can feel his strong arms hook under her arms and lift her high above his head. If she concentrates hard enough, she can remember him. The way he smelled, like a gentle rain on a warm, sunny day. The way he felt, like a protector with arms made of steel. The way he loved, with his whole heart. But Rita can never remember his face; she can never see it when she closes her eyes. He is more of a blur rather than a memory, not a complete picture, but a perfect trope of a loving and caring father, if there ever truly was one. He died when she was very young, around four or so. And I attribute most of her issues, even if she claims to be and seemingly looks perfect. They say a father’s love is like no other, especially when it comes to men loving their daughter’s. A girl needs her father; she needs one man in her life that she can trust. If not, pretty little angels with hair as bright and as yellow as the sun do not turn riper with age. They turn rotten.

5. I am what you made me. Some say a girl’s best friend is her mother, and if Rita were asked, she would probably say just that. She’d claim she learned everything from her: how to dress, how to act, how to be. Her mother was her teacher, her guide post, and it was her responsibility to shape Rita into a fine young woman. And instead, she created a monster. A beast instilled with the belief that beauty is paramount and should be held in higher regard than anything else. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that she had to raise her all by herself, but something tells me Yekaterina Jakov couldn’t and wouldn’t have done any better. She sees Rita as the perfect girl; mysterious and beautiful: everything it took her far too long to figure out how to be. But everyone knew just how easily Yekaterina collected pretty things, hung them on a shelf and only admired them from afar. And after her father died, this left Rita with no other way to receive adoration or praise or love. One could single-handedly blame Rita for her vanity, her shallow heart, but they’d be remiss to overlook how big a hand her mother played in the woman she became. What sort of woman—what sort of person can you become when your mother treats you as if you are just another collectible? It has been years since she’s even seen her mother, not since she moved to the Little Palace, but still, she’s developed a strong hatred for her the more ugliness she sees, and distantly, if she spends too much time lingering on the fleeting thought of her mother, she wishes Yekaterina had better prepared her for the world instead of handling her with gloves meant to only hold delicate things; it didn’t prepare her for reality.

6. Likes: Rita loves the smell of fresh flowers, the taste of a sweet wine and the warmth of the afternoon sunlight on her face. She has an obsession with lace and silk, specifically the way the latter feels against her skin. Her favorite color is purple, especially when paired with greens and yellows.

7. Dislikes: Rita detests waking up early, favoring as much beauty sleep as she can get. She hates the way it sounds when people chew with their mouth open, even more so if they begin to speak. Getting dirty, sweating and the stench that follows are just a few of her least favorite things, as well as any sort of physical training or activities. Not to say she’s lazy, but over exertion is not something she enjoys. And lastly, she cannot stand cheap fabric or bad fashion sense.

8. Romance & sexuality: I know it has been explicitly stated that Rita is pansexual, and while I love that despite her vanity and obsession with how things look, she can look beyond a person’s looks and decidedly find someone attractive based on pure personality, I still think Rita’s sexuality and her experience regarding sex is something that should be explored. Has she ever had sex? I don’t think she has. She may have had encounters of sexual nature, but they have never reached their full potential, so to speak. Perhaps it is difficult for her to give herself wholly to someone the way one must while having sex, or maybe she’s saving herself, waiting for the right person to come along. And in reference to my last plot point, I think it’d be interesting if her first time was given to someone under the ruse of love. Yet another piece of her stolen and tarnished and given back mangled: her heart. And furthermore, Rita’s heart is severely entangled with her sexual desire, and quite possibly cannot engage in one without the other.

EXTRAS: I didn’t have all the time in the world, but I’m just gonna put a few quotes and things here that remind me of Rita! I would have made a mockblog, but again, not enough time. :/

Quotes that inspired me for Rita: “Her eyes were pearls, which gave her great beauty, but meant she was blind. Her world was the colour of pearls: pale white and pink, and softly glowing.” - Neil Gaiman (x)

“Beauty is transformed over time and not without destruction.” - Terry Tempest Williams

“How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison, which is apt indeed. It passes from the tongue to the parched lips, and from the lips back to the heart.” - Daphne du Maurier (x)

“It’s hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they’ll do with it once they have it.” - Nick Burd (x)

“They won’t tell you fairy tales of how girls can be dangerous and still win. They will only tell you stories where girls are sweet and kind and reject all sin. I guess to them it’s a terrifying thought, a red riding hood who knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in.” - Nikita Gill (x)

“I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.” - Catherine M. Valente (x)

Gifs and such that inspired me for Rita: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

ANYTHING ELSE? Thank y’all for even reading ANOTHER app from me tbh! Love + appreciate y’all so much and I’m just so happy I got to dive into Rita as well. Oh, also! My fave book is Catcher in the Rye.

#raraccepted #accepted: rita

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