#ill get down to drawing them out sometime!! I have like... quite a few... scribbled in my notebook since like.. jan.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loser-writings · 4 years

Note

hey! can i request sfw alphabet for katsuki (if someone hasn't already)? as always i looooove your work, thank you! 💕

Hey! Thank you for being patient with me! These alphabets take quite a bit of time so once again, thank you.

Also! Special thanks to the lovely @garrulousassurance for helping me with this as well as letting me bounce ideas off of you!

SFW Alphabet || Katsuki Bakugo

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He isn’t affectionate in the same sense as Deku, Kirishima, or Todoroki. He shows his affection by little things like giving you his full attention when you are speaking, keeping eye contact with you, and giving you little motivational pep talks when you are feeling down

He is pretty uncomfortable with physical affection, but he tries his best. PDA Isn’t his thing, but be patient and he might hold you hand (Even if they are a little sweaty)

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He would be a really supportive best friend, but the kind of friend that would call you out on your shit. You being an asshole? He will fucking tell you and keep you in check. He never really gets physical either, but he will slap your arm and glare if you say something that can come off the wrong way.

One of the most caring best friends ever. You have a headache? Hold up he has pain pills. You hungry? Shit give him 10 minutes and he will cook for you.

Also is the friend you need when it comes to other toxic people. He HATES seeing his friends being abused or taken advantage of. If you are in a bad relationship, he will be there as backup and motivation to help get you out of there. Dealing with an abusive parent and having enough, He will get you out of there and will have you move in with him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He really does love to cuddle, but it takes some work to convince him to sit down and relax. He always wants to move and really doesn’t know how to relax, so the best way to get him to cuddle is by grabbing his hand and pulling him to the couch or bed. Then sit or lay on top of him. He will complain for a while, but he won’t move. If you move, he will simply pull you back down. He is just being a brat.

His favorite way to cuddle is called “The Sweethearts cradle” since it's such a calming position for him. With your hand pressed against his chest, he will wrap his arm around you to pull you closer before pressing a kiss to your head. He really loves to sleep like this too since he thinks spooning is overrated (But he will never deny being the little spoon)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He wouldn’t really “Settle down” since he wants nothing more than to be a hero and a symbol of peace like All Might was for him, but he also won’t let this desire interfere with his life outside of work. He would love to have a family to come home to and to marry you one day. A quiet life with Katsuki doesn’t really suit him, but he will continue to do his best with you by his side.

He is clearly great at cleaning and can cook like none other. He absolutely loves to cook and it seems to relax him, so if he is stressed you better prepare for a good meal and maybe some candy or baked goods as well.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He would break up with you as gently as he possibly can. He genuinely does/did love you, but he would leave in a heartbeat as long as it meant you were safe and had the chance to be happy. It would suck, and he may even shed a tear or two, but after breaking the news to you he will give you a really tight hug. There is so much in that hug that it really does break your hearts, but he knows its for the best.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

It would be a few years before he decided to pop the question, no less than 2. If you don’t believe in marriage, that's chill too. He doesn’t need a piece of paper to tell you that he loves you, but he would get married if you expressed that you want that.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He isn’t that gentle, but he is more gentle with you than he is with others. When he is with his friends or in public, he can be a bit of a hothead but he will never hurt you. When he is alone, he is much more calm and gentle. If you tease him, He may try to be a bit less gentle with you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Bakugo does enjoy hugs, but he will never initiate them. If you want a hug, you will have to get it yourself but it can end in a variety of ways.

He might push you away, but try not to take it personally. This will happen if he is genuinely angry, is in public, and while he is doing hero work. If he is angry, he will push you away with the comment that he doesn’t want to be touched. In reality, he just doesn’t want to take his anger out on you. As mentioned previously, he struggles with PDA, so he will push you away simply because he is uncomfortable.

If you hug him in private, he will still be a bit stiff but he will relax over time. He will slowly wrap his arms around you and rest his head on your head or your shoulder. He is also the kind of person who sways a bit from side to side when he holds somebody, just enjoying the hug as much as possible

If he hugs somebody, including his S/O, he rather just woke up from a nap or is having a really bad day. Even he has some pretty bad days that leave him just wanting to be held. This doesn’t happen, though more likely than he would admit out loud.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Bakugo isn’t one to throw the phrase around lightly. He tests it out quietly while watching his partner sleep one night, and thinks about it for a long time before deciding to say it. He originally had the perfect time planned, but it slips out the first time he gets into a disagreement with his partner. Cue the end of the disagreement, two red faces, and a frustrated Katsuki who wishes he had a do over. He isn't too upset about it though because love is messy and it's better to have all of your feelings out in the open.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He really doesn’t get jealous easily because he does have faith in his S/O. That being said, he does get jealous at times. Normally when this happens, he just glares, mumbles a bit and huffs since he knows that you are most likely being oblivious to it. If you were doing it on purpose, he would just tell you to stop because he can’t stand when you try to make him feel jealous since it occasionally makes him feel insecure.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are pretty passionate and clearly full of love. Since he struggles with using his words sometimes, he will usually fix that with his actions. He will tease you, keeping his lips just far enough away from you to make you whine and he will pull away every time you lean in. He honestly loves this game and will tease until finally just giving in, kissing you softly, cupping your face, and biting your lip as he pulls away.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He really tries to be patient with kids, but goddamn to they get on his nerves. He can’t stand how messy they are, how they don’t listen, and just how chaotic they can be. One second the kid is on the ground coloring in a book, and the next they are trying to draw on the walls. If they are a bit older, they make comments about him that manage to hit all of the right buttons to piss him off. If they are young or a newborn, then they just cry, shit, and puke. He can’t handle it and seems snappier around them.

If he does manage to find himself taking care of a more calm kid, it’s almost like he is a completely different person. If they are one or two and are really quiet, and can listen? He doesn’t mind watching them while they scribble on some paper. He might even carry them around while he is cooking dinner. If the kid falls asleep in his arms, he is fucking done for.

He wants to like kids, but he struggles with finding ones he can handle.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Morning routines are a very calming thing. Usually he will let you sleep in and make breakfast. Once he is done, he will wake you up so you can eat while he goes to shower. When he comes out and finds you eating breakfast, he will kiss you and

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Sleeping. Like no kidding he is in bed by 8:30pm most nights, 10pm latest. Before bed, he will often cook dinner for you and then relax. The majority of nights with Katsuki are fairly calm due to his long days at work so watching movies together and binge watching TV shows are a usual thing in the Bakugou household.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He is actually really slow about opening up to you. Like he is slower than the majority due to his fears. Once he realizes how much he cares about you though, he is practically an open book.

He isn’t one that will just SPILL everything to you, but he is more of a “Ask me whatever, whenever, and Ill tell you the truth”

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Bakugo? He may get irritated frequently, but he is slow to true anger. If he can't fix the problem, it gnaws at him until he blows up (pun intended) at someone. He’s not great at expressing his feelings, or trying to talk about his problems, but it's something he knows he needs to work on. His anger has caused a lot of issues with keeping up relationships, but he's trying to manage it better.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

It’s about half and half. For instance, he can remember what your favorite dishes are, who your idols are, and even your workout routine without having to think too hard. Little things he repeats to himself to commit them to memory, but anything that’s said when his attention is somewhere else can get lost. He knows his partner won’t get too frustrated with him if he can’t remember every single detail, but he still tries anyway.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He will never admit it, but one of his favorite moments happened after a horrible fight with a villain that almost cost him his life. This would’ve been pretty early on in the relationship, when he was still unsure if he could say that he loved you fully. That his whole heart was in it. It wasn’t until he was running on fumes, barely able to stand on his feet, when the thought of how scared you must be entered his mind. He had to keep going and make sure that he could come home to you. He would continue to fight until the villain collapsed.

Katsuki did his best to stay on his feet with his fist in the air, mimicking All Might and Endeavor to show the people he was okay and that he won, but the second the cameras turned off he ended up collapsing. When he woke up again, he was clearly in the hospital. He was going to try to move til he looked down and saw you asleep, head resting on the bed with your hands holding onto his. He could see the tear stains on your cheeks and the bags under your eyes. He refused to move his hand and let you sleep holding him, quickly finding himself in his head thinking about how much he cared about you.

After you woke up and Katsuki was able to go home, You stayed with him in his house since he was still struggling a bit and was told to rest. He was off work for a month so you both spent lots of time together, and this was when he really did know he loved you. He was surprised by how well you worked together, and ended up slipping the L word not long after.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He tries not to act like he is paranoid that something could happen to you, but he’s honestly pretty paranoid. Since he had already been targeted and kidnapped by the League of villains before, he wouldn’t hold it past them to try to kidnap you too.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

It’s about 50% most of the time. On a normal date or everyday life, he may suggest something simple to do like watch a movie, eat dinner, and talk. He really doesn’t believe that he should have to go all out all of the time since that will just burn him out.

During anniversaries and bigger days, he will try a bit more. Get you a nice gift, take you out for dinner to your favorite place, or take you to do something you’ve wanted to do. These days usually get about 75-80%

The only day where he REALLY tries his best to make it special, is the day he would propose to you/give you a promise ring. It’s his way of showing you that he wants you to be there for him no matter what. He will plan for months to do this, eventually making a huge scavenger hunt and getting the Bakusquad in on it til you find him in a whole ass suit, ready to propose/give you the ring. It’s obvious that this took a lot of work, and he tried 100%

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He is a hot head and during arguments, will purposely use shit against you to make you upset. He feels like a bastard afterwards, but he always knows that he said what he said. He doesn’t really think before speaking when this shit happens, so really bad arguments could result in him saying some really rude shit.

He swears A LOT. Some people may have a huge problem with this. He tries his best not to at times, usually around kids or your family, but it will still slip out a time or two.

He also tends to interrupt you when you’re talking. He isn’t trying to do it intentionally, but he is so used to just saying what he wants to say that it can just completely cut you off. He will try his best to actually wait, but he still sucks at not interrupting.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He is to an extent. His father is a fashion designer and his mom always made sure he looked well put together, so he makes sure he never looks like a slob. Hell even his casual clothes seem to flatter him.

He does take an interest in makeup, but he doesn’t really wear it much. He may highlight the inner corners of his eyes on a normal day, but that’s usually it. He does have his days where he goes all out with it though, doing orange, green and black eyeshadow that looks pretty damn badass.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

If it’s just for a few hours or days, he really isn’t that bad. He may check in on you once or twice but he really isn’t too worried about it. He doesn’t feel incomplete, but he may miss you a little bit.

For a little while, but he is one of those who would move on. If you both broke up, he will be hung up for a few weeks to a couple of months because when he loves, he loves with all of his heart. He will move on though since he knows that being hung up on you could get in the way of him being a hero.

If you died however, he would be lost for a bit longer than a few months. He will still move on after a couple of years, but you will always have a section of his heart. He will visit your grave and tell you all about his new life though. You may be gone, but never forgotten.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) TW: ABUSE AND PANIC ATTACK

Nobody seems to acknowledge this, but he was abused the majority of his life by his mother. Some people will fight me on this headcanon, but you really see it when Toshinori and Aizawa visit the Bakugo household. She not only hits her child, but makes a comment about him being weak and that’s why he got kidnapped. She is victim blaming HIM for being kidnapped by the League of Villains, not really showing any concern for the fact her son could have been killed.

Once he is able to move out, he starts to realize his family life isn’t normal. He will go to Kirishimas’ parents house and they are???So sweet and supportive? He just doesn’t understand and thinks this is the most unusual thing. It’ll finally start to hit him that what he was going through WAS abuse, and he will most likely break down. Not a violent, screaming kind of breakdown, but the kind of breakdown that is heartbreaking to watch.

He will cry. They’ll start as silent tears before slowly amping up into full blown sobbing. He would have to sit down because if he is standing, he might just collapse. His sobs will last maybe 10 minutes before they start becoming more extreme. He will feel a tightness in his chest and will feel like he can’t breathe. If he is alone, he will cover his face with a pillow in an attempt to stop his tears but nothing helps. He will have a HORRIBLE anxiety attack, and if you find him like this you will have to be extremely gentle with him. Not because he would blow up at you, but because he can’t calm down easily and will easily get worked up again.

You would have the best luck by forcing him to sit up and hugging him as tight as you can. Seriously, wrap your arms and legs around him and just squeeze him. He will slowly calm down, it might take up to an hour, but he will calm down. He will be terrified the whole time but you just need to pet his hair, lay him back down and cuddle him.

To be honest, I have a lot of headcanons relating to the unspoken abuse of Katsuki Bakugo but I will leave this here. If you want me to write them all out, just message me and let me know. I’ll make a post about my headcanons about the abuse, the trauma it's caused, and other things like that since I have first hand experience with a scenario that is very similar to how his was depicted.

Disagree with this one if you will, but this is a personal headcanon of mine

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Do fucking not hit him, threaten to hit him, or try to guilt trip him. He actually hates being hit and manipulated, and he will NOT have anybody do that to him. Sure, he may have times where he may play fight, but there is a clear difference between a Katsuki who is playfully fighting, and a Katsuki that is genuinely trying to hurt someone.

Don’t be a kiss ass to him. If you have an opinion, he wants to hear it. Sure, he may disagree but he is always willing to hear you out and take your point of view into consideration. He doesn’t want to be in a relationship with a fan that will agree with everything he is saying since it can actually be pretty annoying just to have someone tell him yes all of the time.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He has to sleep on his side and he goes to bed pretty early. It’s shown in the manga and the anime that he is in bed by 8:32pm and many think he sleeps so much because of how much energy he uses daily. He really does use a lot of energy. Like have you seen this dude brush his teeth? Like damn dude. Anyway, he sleeps on average of 8-10 hours. 8pm to 4am and the latest he goes to bed is 10pm. He will always be a morning person too, so good luck if you’re a night owl.

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo x reader #Katsuki Bakugo x reader #bakugo headcanons #Bakugo Alphabet #Katsuki Bakugo Alphabet #sfw alphabet #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha bakugo #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bnha imagine #bnha alphabet #mha alphabet

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callboxkat · 4 years

Text

Infinitesimal (epilogue)

Author’s note: Happy two year anniversary of when I first began posting this fic! Let’s celebrate with its conclusion. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this story. I know I’ve enjoyed writing it. <3

Warnings: food mention, injury mention, illness mention, captivity mention, nightmare mention

Word count: 3058

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

“We’re almost home!” Patton announced as they rounded the final corner. It was a straight shot now, barely any distance at all to the home that Emile and Virgil had built and made their own, and that they had eagerly welcomed Patton to join. A home that they hadn’t seen in weeks, since Emile had first gone missing, not counting Patton’s brief return for Virgil’s birthday gifts. Suffice to say, however friendly they had grown with Roman and Logan, all three of them were happy to be back.

“Home,” Emile hummed. He was clearly exhausted, leaning heavily on Virgil and Patton as they slowly made their way home; but he had insisted after their last break that he could make it the rest of the way in one shot. And now that they were so close, he seemed to gain a new energy. Patton couldn’t blame him—he felt the same way.

Minutes later, Virgil was opening the door and flicking on the lights, and they stepped over the threshold.

Home.

Patton and Virgil had meant to immediately take Emile to the bed in the second room, so that he could recover from the journey; but Emile stopped as soon as he was inside, staring up at the walls.

Oh, right, Patton thought. He’d nearly forgotten.

The drawings that Patton and Virgil had created while Emile was on his ill-fated supply run still hung on the once bare walls, cheerful, colorful banners that coated nearly every bit of available space. Some were detailed—the earliest of these drawings—while others were little more than bright scribbles meant to fill up space like a gigantic patchwork design, adding to the ridiculous cacophony of it all. One in particular, a very goofy looking smiley face, hung at eye level directly across from the door.

A second passed, and then Emile began to laugh.

…

Two weeks had gone by since the littles had departed. Logan had seen no sign of them since, and could only assume—and hope—that this meant that everything had gone as planned, and that they were fine.

He wished he knew this for sure, but it wasn’t as if he could call them and ask.

Logan sighed, tapping the pencil he held in one hand against the book in his lap. It wouldn’t do to be so distracted, he told himself. He was meant to be doing homework.

Deciding that perhaps biology would be easier to focus on than Calculus, Logan stood and went to get his other books.

Soon after, he returned, the textbook, notebook, and calculator held in his arms. He made for the sofa.

“Hello?”

Logan jumped, very nearly dropping the books in his arms. He whirled around towards the voice, and his gaze locked onto the shelf on the wall opposite the window.

Virgil.

“I—” Logan shook his head, composing himself as best he could. “Virgil! Is something wrong? Did something happen? Is everyone okay?”

Virgil held up both arms in a “calm down” gesture, his crutches hanging from his elbows, briefly balancing on one leg.

“They’re fine,” the little said, putting his arms back down. “Is, um. Is Roman around?”

Logan, who had been staring at Virgil with wide eyes as he spoke, deflated slightly. “Ah—yes. My apologies, I shouldn’t assume you are here to speak with me. I’ll fetch him instead.”

Virgil groaned, rolling his eyes so hard that it was a full-body gesture. “No, you moron, you come back too.”

In another circumstance, Logan might have been miffed about being called a moron, but now he just blinked in pleased surprise. “Oh.”

Virgil leaned on one crutch, tilting his head to the side. “So? Are you going to get him?”

“Ah—yes, of course. One moment.” Logan placed his school materials on the coffee table, then strode purposefully from the room.

When he returned, a very excited and curious Roman in tow, Virgil was still on the shelf, shifting awkwardly where he stood.

“Doctor Gloom!” Roman greeted cheerily, his still-exuberant voice softened out of consideration. “What brings you to our homely abode?”

Logan glanced at Roman, a bit surprised at the vocabulary choice, and wondering if perhaps he’d confused the definition of “homely”, before looking back to Virgil for an answer.

Virgil managed to look even more uncomfortable. Logan shifted his gaze slightly away, hoping that that would help. It seemed to do the trick.

Virgil took a deep breath. “So… I wanted to, uh… I wanted to say thanks,” he said. “I know I wasn’t… I wasn’t the nicest, when I came to ask you guys for help, with Em. But you helped me anyway, and you helped him. You saved him. And Patton. So… thanks for that.” He paused. “Um. That’s all.”

He opened his mouth again, shook his head, and turned away, clearly about to dart back into the wall.

“Wait,” Roman begged. “Don’t go yet.”

Virgil paused.

“You came quite a long way just to say that,” Logan observed. “I do appreciate it, as I’m sure Roman does, but….”

Virgil scoffed.

“Would it hurt to have a conversation before you leave?” Logan gently pressed. He hadn’t seen any of the littles in two weeks, which, while not overly long, was certainly more time than he would have preferred.

“Are Pat and Emile okay?” Roman asked. “How are you? What’s been going on the past two weeks?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Virgil muttered.

Logan and Roman waited.

Virgil sighed. “I waited because I wanted to make sure Em was good, okay? And he’s—he’s fine.” Virgil turned away from the wall to look more properly towards them again, but his voice was quieter as he continued, “I just wanted to thank you guys, and he’s better, so I came.”

Logan nodded slightly. “We appreciate it,” he said.

Virgil shifted. “I’m fine,” he continued. “I’m great. Pat and Em, too. We’ve just been, um. Helping Emile. And fixing things up at home.”

Virgil nodded to himself, and started to turn away again.

“Is that all you wanted?” Logan asked. “Do you need food, or supplies? Perhaps you could pass along well-wishes to Patton and Emile.”

“I don’t need charity,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

“It’s not charity,” Roman chimed in. “We want to help. Because we’re friends, right?”

Virgil sighed.

“Is there really nothing you need?”

Virgil tapped one of his crutches on the shelf, thinking. A few seconds later, his shoulders drooped.

“Can I have one of your Christmas lights? A clear one? And some wire, maybe?”

Logan remembered the broken glass in Emile’s bag, the remnants of a light he had attempted to bring home. They must not have been able to replace it yet. Of course, they hadn’t. He should have realized.

Virgil seemed to want to justify his request. “It’s just—we’re not going back to where we used to get them, so. We haven’t found a new spot yet.”

“You won’t have to,” Logan said. “Whenever you need a new light, just ask us. We’d be happy to provide them”

Virgil nodded, still not looking at him. “That’s all, though,” he seemed to need to say. “We can get our own food and everything.”

Logan nodded, allowing a small smile to come to his lips. “Of course.”

“And—and, maybe,” he continued, “Maybe I’ll bring Patton next time. If he wants to come.”

Logan was just happy to hear there would be a next time.

Virgil was persuaded to have a snack while he waited, for hospitality’s sake rather than need; and he and Roman sat down to share a bag of cheese crackers while Logan got the light.

…

Roman sat down on the arm of the chair, watching as Virgil inspected one of the cheese crackers before finally taking a bite.

“So… what’s it like living in the walls?” Roman asked.

Virgil glanced at him warily, then swallowed. “Who says I live in the walls?”

Roman blinked. “Well… where else would you live?” Virgil, Patton, and Emile had all travelled up through the walls towards their home, even if they hadn’t said exactly where that was “…Do you live under someone’s floor? Or in the ceiling?” He paused, reaching for another handful of crackers. “Those are all kind of the same thing, though, right?” He shoved the snacks in his mouth.

Virgil sighed, apparently conceding the point.

“So, what’s it like?”

“What’s it like not living in the walls?”

Roman made a thoughtful noise. “Fair.” Virgil probably didn’t have a great sense of how to compare that aspect of his life to any other. While he had experienced a taste of what living in an apartment was like, but it wasn’t exactly… a normal situation.

They continued snacking in silence for a few moments, until Roman sighed and set his cracker bag to the side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sounds like you’re going to.”

That wasn’t a refusal, Roman noticed. He decided to go ahead and ask. “Well, it’s just… I’ve been nothing but nice to you, or at least, I know I’ve tried to be, but… sometimes it still seems like you hate me. Why?”

Virgil glanced over. “…I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like me,” Roman insisted. “Or don’t trust me, anyway, even after everything. Why?”

Virgil shifted, uncomfortable.

Roman waited.

“…It’s because you’re a human,” he admitted. “Yeah, you helped Patton, and yeah, you helped Emile. And I’m very thankful for that—you know I am. But that doesn’t change what you are.” He glanced away. “It’s not your fault, and I’m trying my best to ignore it—I swear I am—and I do… ugh, I do like you, I guess, but… you and Logan are human. And humans hurt people like us. They capture us, they either kill us or keep us as specimens or make us into pets—” he grimaced— “or they make us into playthings. Patton isn’t an outlier. I’ve heard the stories.” He shook his head. “I know you two are nice, but… I can’t just ignore that, even if I want to. So… so I’m probably not ever going to stop being… kind of afraid of you.”

Roman looked down, his heart sinking at Virgil’s words. He felt rather speechless at the sheer certainty in the little’s eyes. The urge to be defensive was still there—if all he and Logan had done wasn’t enough to fully earn his trust, then what was? But he stopped himself. Instead, he took a second, and he thought back, back to when he and Logan had first found Patton, hiding in that conch shell on that fateful day at the beach.

They’d brought Patton home with them in order to help him; but as much as he hated to think about it, Roman had to admit that Virgil had a point. In those first few seconds after Logan and Roman had found Patton, their first instinct hadn’t been to let him go. It hadn’t been to help. Logan had simply shouted at Roman to catch him, and Roman had jumped in front of the little, cutting off his escape. It was only afterwards that Patton had collapsed, when they had realized the true severity of his condition, that they had changed their approach. Roman remembered clearly the moment the surprise, the wonder, the confusion, the excitement, had drained out of him and been replaced with nothing but fear and concern for the little guy.

Had Patton not been so sick, had he not been hurt, had he not already been so clearly emotionally scarred, Roman honestly couldn’t say what he would have done. Would he and Logan still have brought him home with them? Even against his will?

…Probably, he thought, thinking of Logan’s notebook. Of his own burning curiosity about the small, strange creature. Of the fact that Logan had, despite his good intentions, literally put him in a cage. And of the fact that Roman hadn’t stopped him.

Roman was glad that things had not gone any further down that path. But under different circumstances, while he as much as any other person would want to think they could never do something like that… he could see how things might have gone very differently.

Roman turned his head to look back at the little, who avoided his gaze.

“I get it,” was all Roman said. And he did—as much as any human like him could. Maybe Virgil would always be a little afraid of him, and maybe he’d never be comfortable enough to do something like ride in his palm, like Patton had, but that was okay. Roman would respect his boundaries.

Virgil’s gaze darted back in his direction, and he nodded, looking relieved. “Good. Cool.”

…

By the time Logan returned with the light and the wire, Virgil had finished nearly two of the crackers. Logan sensed a slight change in atmosphere had occurred while he was gone, despite the cheerfulness of the way Roman was asking about the littles’ home—which, it sounded like, was apparently made up of two cozy, narrow rooms within a wall somewhere—but it didn’t seem that anything cataclysmic had gone wrong, so he decided to say nothing about it.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence, and held up the supplies he had put together.

“Do you want to take some of these back with you?” Roman asked once Logan had carefully put the items up on the shelf, holding up the bag of cheese crackers. “I don’t think I can finish them all.”

Virgil squinted, disbelieving. Which was fair, given how few were left.

“I bet Patton would like them,” Roman continued thoughtfully. “He does love cheese.”

Virgil grumbled, but he was already moving to put some of the crackers in his bag. Roman grinned and put a couple more on the shelf.

“So… I know you already said they’re fine, but how are Emile and Patton?” Logan asked, feeling rather left out of their earlier conversation. He’d certainly be asking Roman to share what they had talked about with him, later. “Is Emile getting around okay? Is Pat still having nightmares?”

Virgil finished packing up the crackers. He chewed on his lip, then seemed to take pity on them. “Em’s good. He’s been resting a lot, still, but he’s okay. And Patton’s fine. I think being home helps. He hasn’t really had any nightmares, at least that I know of.”

Logan smiled. “That’s very good news, Virgil.”

“Yeah.” Virgil nodded. “Anyway, um, I’ll bring Patton in… probably another couple weeks?”

Logan felt his smile widen, and he nodded. “That sounds perfect.” He would have liked to see Patton sooner, of course; but he assumed the wait was likely because of the length of the trip (he wasn’t sure exactly how long that was, but he knew it wasn’t short) and because Virgil probably didn’t want to leave Emile home alone yet. It would be a while, he assumed, before Emile was well enough for a visit.

Virgil got to his feet, grabbing his crutches. “So… I guess I should be going.”

Logan’s smile faltered slightly, but he only inclined his head. “Of course. Please give our best to Patton and Emile.”

“Tell them I said hi,” Roman added. “And tell them I quit my job, so no more grocery cart duty! No more asthma attacks!”

“Oh… sure,” Virgil said, looking mystified, most likely about what a grocery cart was. “I’ll tell them.” He put his backpack around his shoulders. “Well… thank you again, for everything.”

“Thank you for coming back,” Logan replied sincerely.

Virgil nodded, offered them a half-smile, and ducked back into the wall.

…

Three more weeks went by before the littles returned to see the humans again; but Virgil and Patton did return, as promised. Patton had wanted to go back sooner, and he knew that Roman and Logan would want them to as well, but he and Virgil had decided to wait one more week.

The reason why they had waited currently stood between Virgil and Patton, his arm still in a sling, and part of his tail still in a splint, but now walking without aid from either of them: Emile.

Patton stepped out from the wall first, bolstered by the sound of quiet voices from the kitchen, confirming that his humans were home.

“Hello!” the little called out cheerfully, as Virgil and Emile carefully followed him out onto the shelf. “Roman! Logan!”

The voices stopped immediately, and there was the sound of two chairs being pushed back before Roman and Logan hurried into the room. Their faces lit up, and Patton beamed at them.

“Hey, guys!”

“Greetings.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Virgil said, walking closer to the edge of the shelf and stopping just shy of Patton. “Em wanted to come.”

Roman looked like he was barely containing his excitement, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s okay!” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

Logan’s features settled into a calmer smile. “What brings you here tonight?”

Patton shrugged. “We wanted to see you. It’s been a while.”

Logan bit his lip. Patton had a feeling he was trying not to get emotional. His heart went out to the human.

“Well… I’m glad.”

“I want to hear about Roman’s job thing!” Patton added, referring to what Virgil had told them after his previous visit. Hopefully, the story would include what exactly a job was, in the sense that humans talked about them; but Patton was sure he’d enjoy hearing it regardless. “And I bet other stuff has happened. And we can tell you about the new fish in 4B, and about how Virgil drove the rat out of the building!”

Roman glanced at Logan. “Drove the what out of the building?”

“Besides,” Patton continued, still smiling, “we never did get to finish Avatar.”

And so, Roman and Logan moved their dinner into the living room. The littles came down to the very same table where they had once stayed, sitting atop one of the pillows from Roman’s apparently extensive collection. They watched cartoons, and spent the evening talking, laughing, sharing food, and simply enjoying each other’s company.

...

Meanwhile, dozens of miles away, as the title sequence of that first episode played, a young blonde girl with pigtails stubbed her toe.

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

Text

La Vie Bohème

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story of Élodie and Léa continues: what’s next?

Next chapter out on Monday, I think!

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions to homophobia, reference to sexual activity (if you are a minor or it bothers you in any way, you have been warned)

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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The following day I wake up late, around lunchtime. My roommates are all out: Marie left me a note saying she's out for a walk with Alain. Poor Marie, what a concerned look she gave me last night when she saw me sneaking inside our room without my coat! I had to craft a wild story to justify my attire and being so late. I can only hope she believed me...at least, she didn't ask too many questions. I head to the kitchen and warm up the stew leftover my friend saved for me. The events of the night are blurred, they waltz together in a haze: the Moulin Rouge, the Cage of Fools and the jigs I danced with Élodie, her perfume, her laughter, the violet a gallant admirer sent me, then the gendarmes, the clash of their batons, our mad run. The sad look on Élodie's face, the little kiss she pressed on my knuckles parting.

I wash myself and head out for a walk too, wrapping myself in the only other coat I have, much lighter than the lost one. My neighbourhood is certainly not renewed for attractions but it's Sunday and everyone is out to enjoy their day off. Some kids almost collide with me while chasing each other while an old lady nearby invites every passerby to try her apple tart, cheap and decadent, she repeats. Last night was the wildest night I've ever had in my whole life. After the initial embarrassment, I felt incredidibly...happy. I felt like floating on air when Élodie spun me in her arms or when we had a toast at our new friendship. Why did it end so soon? Who called the gendarmes and why they wanted to arrest those people who were just having fun? I don't get it...people crossdress every day now on the stages of cabaret theatres and no one ever complains. Their acts receive thunderous applauses and some artists have adoring fans every night. Why is it so different to call for a mass arrest? The men and women at the Cage of Fools were just doing what popular crossdress artists do: singing, dancing, making sure everybody was merry and bright. Was it because of the two men kissing a few tables away from where we sat? Nobody cared there, I didn't care, honestly. But now that I think of it, that might be the cause. Crossdressing performers never kiss each other on stage. I walk up to a hill into a second hand marketplace, hoping to find a replacement for my old coat I can afford. Could it be that my friend Élodie is a...how do they call them? A sapphic? I heard the word for the first time when I worked as a maid at the uncle Yves' client house. Madame pronounced it with ill grace, speaking of one of their acquaintances while I served breakfast. When I went back to the kitchen, I asked the cook the meaning of the unknown word, that I assumed a fancy insult: my masters wanted to play the role of the rich and the rich don't share the same language with us commoners. They invent new words, more fitted to their uptown world, not tainted with the smell of the street. The lady got all red and threw me a cloth, scolding me for eavesdropping a conversation and warning me to mind my own business. Needless to say my curiosity ran wild and I finally got an answer a few days later when I asked to the maid of a visiting guest. Could it be? The following week is pretty eventful: an important commission and Marie receiving a letter from home, urging her to go back to Aergenteuil to help assisting a sick relative. They would have never asked, knowing all the trouble that would cause her, if they could have done otherwise, her parents wrote. Marie is very close to that aunt and she sobbed in my arms at the thought of losing her and the job all at once. It took time to me and our roommates to comfort her. I told her that she didn't have to worry about the job: we will talk to the girls tomorrow and we will cover for her during her absence. If most agree to help, it will only mean a few extra hours each. Luckily, Marie is well loved at work so things run relatively smoothly, despite the boss' evident contempt. She profuses in an endless series of thank you and praises when I walk her to the carriage station at dawn before heading straight to work. We hug and I give her a tiny slice of that cheap and decadent apple tart the old lady sells at the crossroad. A little treat for the journey home, the only one I can afford. "You're a true friend, Léa. I will never forget this" she says, eyes veiled with tears before taking her seat on board. As the carriage disappears from view, I realise it's the first time we are separated from each other since we first met. Predictably, I end up missing her: we've been around each other for so long that now not walking back home with her, working side by side and sharing lunch on the staircase makes me feel a bit empty, as if a part was missing. Marcel and Alain are busy with work too as festivities approach fast and I have my fair share of Marie's work to worry about. However, from time to time, when I'm not so tired I only want to touch the bed, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge. The first time Élodie spots me, she runs straight into my arms, hugging me tightly: she must have thought she would never see me again after our misadventure with the gendarmes. She lets me assist to the acts backstage and I get to befriend other dancers, now used to see me around. I even fix their costumes if they get damaged during the performance. I do it gladly, even if it adds up to my daily amount of work. I usually gets cheek kisses or champagne as payment but sometimes, despite my deflections, they drop some coins into my hand, arguing that the Moulin Rouge tailor is half as good as me. When it happens, instead of saving them, I go buy a dinner at a bistro nearby with Élodie. I'm always starving but she never makes jokes of me for that. I tell her about Marie and the extra hours and, in return, she pretends not to be so hungry and offers me her slices of bread or some mashed potatoes "she won't eat anyway". We talk for hours, until I can keep my eyelids open. We start seeing each other more often. I must admit it's relatively easier now that I don't have to worry about bothering Marie and my friends are busy. Only my roommates look at me differently: I'm positive they suspect I have a secret lover. Now my day off is split between a little work at home in the morning and Élodie. We stroll down the Tuileries Gardens, arm in arm to protect each other against the cold. Élodie loves this place: she doesn't care it's overly popular, to her it's a testament to the the beautiful things people can create, an urban Eden. Who am I to contradict her? The Palace in the distance, the trees, the quiet murmur of the Seine nearby...it's rather gorgeous. One day we bump into a couple of her friends of the Cage of Fools. I could barely recognise gracious Pierrette in her male clothes. She goes by Pierre during the day. "Amélie" the other woman says, offering a hand to shake and I recognise one of Élodie's friends who were playing cards. "We've already met but I don't think I properly introduced myself". I assure her that I remember her. Then, lowering my voice as if I don't know if I can speak freely about it, I ask them about the fate of the Cage. Pierre/Pierrette frowns, she's one of the owners and had a hard time being released by the gendarmes after the arrest. The bar and ballroom is still closed, the authorities denies a reopening. They're planning a night incursion to retrieve all the lost goods, if there's any left. But so far it's hard to tell what will be of the Cage. Then, noticing my sullen expression, she adds: "It will open up again, darling. It's Paris, Pigalle: places like this always rise from their own ashes. We just don't know when and how" We all share a weak smile. The silence is broken by Élodie. "I was thinking of throwing a little party at my place to cheer up the mood" "At your place? But how?" Amélie inquiries, skeptic but intrigued. "A roof party, so there will be space for anyone. We can lit some fires to keep warm. You're all invited and I will ask some girls at the Moulin. A little feast to forget about our sorrows" True to her word, the next week, when I receive a letter from Marie informing me of her upcoming return, she proudly announces me that the party is happening: it's on Saturday night after the act at the Moulin. "Will you be there?" she asks, taking my hand into hers. The sudden gesture draws a smile on my face. We now seat together in bars and bistros very different from the Cage of Fools and I've come to miss casual touches like this. We've been very careful since that raid, especially Élodie. "Of course, I will" I nod over a steamy bowl of soup. She claps her hands excitedly, flashing me a bright smile before scribbling down an address on a scrap of paper she retrieved God knows where. Then she hands it to me. "Don't be late, I'll be waiting for you" Her words colour my cheeks rosy, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. Unsurprisingly, she lives in Monmarte, the artist neighbourhood. I arrive early, afraid to be late. I ate my dinner with great haste once back from work and spent a whole hour getting ready, a detail that -I do not doubt it- cemented my roommates' theory of the secret affair. I washed myself, did my hair up just like Marie taught me, and put on my best dress, which is nothing fancy but I am quite fond of the colour and its lacy sleeves. Once I put kohl on my eyes and some rouge on my lips, I head off into the night. When I finally arrive, I spot some familiar faces in front of the building: Léa's friends. I wave at them and they greet me with affability as if we've known each other for a while. "Good evening, Léa. You're radiant tonight" Pierrette says, kissing both my cheeks. I'm glad to see her back in her female clothes, she even placed a flower in her hair for the occasion. "Élodie hasn't arrived yet, she and the girls must be on their way" Amélie informs me, rubbing her hands. I say that it's fine especially if you're in good company. We chat, hugging ourselves and I discover that they all works as secretaries, bar Pierrette who is "an unsuspecting accountant by day, the best bartender in town by night". Just then, a cheerful choir of voices resounds in the street, approaching. We turn and it's the dancers of the Moulin Rouge. They cheer and wave at us, swaying bottles of wine and champagne raided from the theatre. After a quick round of kisses and loud greetings, we all run up the stairs before catching a cold. Élodie's apartment is messy and rather small for the number of guests attending the party so we quickly take the stairs and head to the roof. The sight is gorgeous: as the others light a couple of fires and one of the dancers harmonises an accordion, I take a moment to admire it. From the top of the hill, Paris lays beneath us like an ocean of light and chimney smoke. An intoxicating combination of misery and beauty I have never seen before. Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Carmine, one of Élodie's colleagues, handing me a glass of wine. It's stronger than I expect but I keep sipping it as we chat, grateful to have something to kindle my bones in the cold. A lively tune starts playing and we all share a toast to our host, who performs an exaggerated reverie in full response. The atmosphere is bubbly: some dance, others chat and crack jokes with each other...everyone is in good spirits. I wonder if this is the life my new friend is used to, so careless and free. So different from the one I know. What does she see in me? My ordinary seamstress routine, my life....is a stale dry biscuit in comparison to what she does. I'm saved by the male dance, Laurent, who asks me to dance. I accept: after all, I am here to enjoy myself and he will lead, I only have to follow his moves. As we sway I catch Élodie looking in my direction while chatting with the girls and drinking wine. I have no recollection of how much time we spent there, I remember walking down the stairs arm in arm with Amélie. As some guests take their leave, we gather in the living room and the the tiny kitchen downstairs to keep warm. Laurent produces himself in an impression of Monsieur Ziegler that elicits a general round of laughters. Pierrette and one of the girls sing one last song, a popular duet for the "last ones standing" then say goodbye. When the last guest walks out of the door, Élodie turns towards me. "Stay and help me sinking that?" she asks, nodding at a half empty bottle of champagne. Before I can answer, she's already looking for two glasses. She returns with just one. "You have the glass, I take the bottle" she announces. I laugh at the tipsy note in her voice as she pours liquid ambrosia in my glass. "What?" she chuckles. "Just saying that maybe you should take a seat, mademoiselle" I tease her, guiding her to the sofa. She rolls her eyes and obliges...then at last minute, she pulls me down too. Some champagne sloshes over the rim of my glass but I find a seat beside her. We both giggle. "To the best party host in Paris" I raise my glass. She smiles and mirrors my gesture. "To the most gracious guest, the pearl of Roscoff" We cling our glasses and I blush a little, diverting my eyes. When I look back at here, her eyes rests dreamy on a painting laid nearby on the floor. One of her roommates is a painter, she explains absentmindedly, he finished it yesterday. I tell her she's a real bohemienne, living in the artist quarter with a painter.... "An actress and a music-hall trumpet player. And I'm a dancer myself!" she adds. Then she falls quiet. She smiles to herself, a rather melancholic smile, as if she's contemplating her whole life. "La vie bohème...that's the life I chose" she says after a while. "I've never thought I would achieve that though. I've never thought I would get this far" "How come?" I sit more comfortably and she takes a gulp of champagne before speaking again. She was born in Bordeaux, a place now filled with memories of a lonely grim childhood. Her mother was, is -since she's still alive as far as she knows- a prostitute, who spent more time walking the streets than cuddling her little girl. Sometimes she received clients at home and Élodie ran hiding in the filthy toilet in the garden until they were gone. She never knew who her father was but she likes to think it was a tormented poet or a travelling artist...more likely and ironically, he could have been a gendarme off duty or the spoilt heir of a local noble with a taste for the sordid cheap pleasures the streets of the suburbs offer after dark. Her mother wasn't kind to her -one day when she had a bit too much, she admitted she never wanted a child- but provided for her. She was the one teaching her the can-can. "Decades ago only prostitutes danced like this, now it's different...but I guess it's part of the profession lore, so to speak" she laughs sombrely. "I mean, some girls at the Moulin still do that, dancing and selling their graces to paying admirers. I suppose it's easy to cross the line if you always want more and more and adulation is a weird poison. I don't judge them, if no one is forcing them to do so, they can do what they want...." She turns towards me, placing her hand over mine. I give it a squeeze. "I don't do that, Léa. I don't do that...I saw what that life did to my mother, what it turned her into and when one morning I packed my things and left, I swore to myself to ever do that, even if money was running low, if I could avoid it. I was barely sixteen when I arrived here, alone, in Paris. I was lucky enough to find kind people who didn't take advantage of me...and I...and I started to dance. Dancing gave me freedom" I don't know what made her so suddenly nostalgic, maybe it's the alcohol we had tonight. But her story makes me appreciate her even more: the world has been unkind to her at first, filling her childhood with hardships, but she fought back. She danced away from her misery with ineffable grace and dignity like a brave butterfly. "And now look at you: you're Lila, star of la quadrille" I flash her a bright smile. "I'm proud of you" She laughs softly. "Are you?" "Yes, of course!" I sit a bit straighter, as if it could give my word more authority. "You've faced adversities and you went so far. Only the most talented dancers are allowed to perform in la quadrille!" "You read it somewhere?" "Everybody knows that!" I exclaim, amused and surprised by her skepticism. Then, to prove my point, I hand her my glass and stand. I find a spot clear enough and declare astonished: "Like, I could never dance like you do every night!" And I start mimic the can-can routine at my best, that I'm pretty sure turns out to be a grotesque parody of the real dance. I do it to amuse her and I smile when I finally hear her laughing. She places the bottle and the glass back on the floor and claps her hands, whistling like some spectators do at the Moulin. "What? No, don't clap, that was just silly!" I dismiss her, chuckling. "Well, whatever that was it was...something" she shrugs before bursting into another laughter, softer this time. "Whatever it was? Hear hear, a can-can dancer who doesn't even recognise it!" I make a scene to be offended and throw her a cushion from the nearest armchair. She ducks just in time to avoid it. We both giggle then she stroke her chin and regards me more carefully, pensive. "You have enthusiasm but you lack technique" "Told you I'm a bad dancer" I shrug. The memory of the two of us dancing at the Cage of Fools crosses my mind like a meteor and my heart starts racing again in my chest. "May I?" she says, standing. I nod even if I don't know what she means exactly. I get it when she saunters closer and positions herself behind me. When she gently places her hands on my hips, I inhale sharply. "First of all, you need to loosen up a bit. You're too wooden...sway your hips, like this" She hums the melody of Offenbach and guides my movements so that they match the rhythm. Again, it doesn't take long before I surrender and follow her lead. I don't know how long we sway like this, I must have closed my eyes. I only hear her voice behind me. "See, definite improvement! Now rise your skirt up a little" I freeze and turn towards her. My cheeks warm up and I try to blame the wine I had. "You don't want to trip over your skirt while dancing this, you can hurt yourself" she smiles encouragely. "That's why you do that then...I would have thought..." I shake my head but do as she says. I bend down and reach for the hem of my long skirt then I grab it as I saw the dancers do and lift it up till my the height of my knees. "Well, that's one reason" "I knew there were ulterior motives" I laugh. "The Moulin is not exactly a convent, right? You have to show your legs to the paying audience" she explains, mocking Monsieur Ziedler's voice. "They pay good money for them" "I see no paying audience though" I chuckle, turning my head slightly. "Because you have little imagination, mademoiselle Pearl" she whispers into my ear. Her breath hot on my skin sends a shiver down my spine and my heart pounding against my ribs. "Ready for the gallop? Three, two, one-" "Wait, wait-" Before I can process what's happening, under the lead of Élodie, we gallop from one side of the room to the other, moving laterally like crabs. I understand now: I saw this move over and over during the acts. Élodie gives directions and tells me to sway the skirt as we move. We soon end up laughing again when we almost trip over a tin box on the floor. When we stop, I feel dizzy and lean back against her for sustain. "Enough of that" she announces between laughters. "Now, knee up, girl!" I oblige and start jumping on my other feet. My balance becomes way more precarious. To think that dancers like Élodie make this look so easy...I let out a shriek as I fear of tripping. She encourages me to rise my knee even higher up to my chest. "But I will fall!" "I'll catch you" she reassures me, holding my hips a bit tighter. "C'mon, Léa, a bit higher...higher...yes, like this! You're a natural...and now kick!" I follow her instructions and my kick sends the books on top of a pile nearby flying across the room. It's a miracle they don't land over the painting. "Well, that's one hell of a kick, darling!" Élodie cheers as I lower my leg. Her laughter is contagious, I soon join and we don't stop until we're out of breath. Then I throw my head back and it finds her shoulder. We're still in the same position. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my back and her hands on me. I slowly turn my face towards her and find her looking back at me. We go quiet, trying to catch our breaths. Has she always been so beautiful? This whole time? I remember her cheerfulness, the way she let me spin into her arms and listened to me, resting her chin on her hand at the Cage. How she immediately grabbed my hand at first sign of danger, the tender light in her eyes when our faces were inches apart in that back alley. I decide to do what probably she failed to do that night: I follow my instinct, without thinking twice. I lean forward and brush my lips over hers. A tentative kiss, the lazy stroke of a shy lover. She mirrors my move and our hands move almost at unison: hers around my waist, resting on my stomach; mine over hers, stroking her wrists and intertwining our fingers. The kiss that follows makes me tingle in her arms as a fire erupts underneath my skin. She kisses me again on her own accord this time: it's surprisingly tender and it tastes of rouge, champagne and a refrained passion that finally finds its way. My knees go suddenly weak and I feel dizzy again, lost in our embrace, lost in her. She whispers my name like a prayer and I spin to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her again. Her hands run up my back, holding me close as if I could run away any minute but there is nowhere else I would like to be now. I cannot refrain a moan when her lips find my jaw and brush over my neck: they burn on my skin and I wish she would never stop. Our kisses become more fervent and fierce as we backpedal down the corridor, bumping into the walls yet uncaring of anything else than the sudden fire consuming us. Élodie pulls me into what must be her room because she kicks the door shut and we soon tumble over a mattress. I fall on top of her, letting out a giggle. I go quiet when I meet her eyes. Illuminated only be the moon light she's the most enchanting vision I've ever seen. Her hair messy and sprawled beneath her, the ruby red of her lips so close I barely refrain myself from running a finger over them. She looks up at me, her eyes gleaming like stars. She reaches out and touches my cheek. She strokes it gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She looks...in awe, vulnerable, adoring. For a moment I wonder if that's what lovers feel when they look at each other, when they lay in each other arms: a sweet ache of the heart, the purest amazement. "Kiss me again" I whisper, begging as a mendicant even if I don't need to. She finds my mouth again and again and runs her fingers through my hair. I place one hand on her chest and I feel her tremble imperceptibly at my touch. She suffocates a gasp against my lips while her heart hammers underneath my fingertips. I whisper her name this time and I kiss her jaw just like she did earlier, mirroring her moves. My hand runs down her side: I'm too lost in her to know what I'm doing. When I feel her knee beneath the fabric, I caress backwards up her tight, rising her skirt. That's when it happens. Élodie squirms and grabs my hand. She breaks the kiss and asks me to stop. Suddenly ashamed of my hunger, I retrieve my hand and prop myself up. My cheeks must turn crimson when I mutter my apologies. "I'm- I'm sorry, I thought you wanted it too" I let her space to move freely. Hiding her face from me, she sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing hard. Then she stands. I sit and try to compose myself. "What I want....that's not the point" she sighs. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused. "Did I do something wrong?" She still gives me her shoulder. When she speaks again, she hangs her head, defeated. "This has nothing to do with you, Léa. God, no, if you only knew..." She sounds on the verge of tears but she must swallow them back because when she turns to face me her voice is less cracked even if she looks in pain. "Léa, I like you. Way more than I should and since the moment I bumped into you and you talked of fireworks. I gave you my handkerchief only as a mere expedient to see you again and you what you did? You turned it into a little work of art for me and you barely knew me back then. You have a kind word for everyone, you're helping your roommate in a moment of need without asking for anything in return. You're a good girl, one of the most honest girl I know and I..." She takes a deep breath before shaking her head forlornly. "You didn't even fully realise what happened at the Cage" I keep quiet for a moment then I speak, keeping my voice low and fiddling with the hem of a sleeve as a kid being scolded: "The gendarmes wanted to arrest everyone because there were...sapphics and men kissing other men. And people like Pierrette there" I say because I don't know if there are words for them that aren't insults. "...Yes" she confirms, meeting my gaze again. Seeing her now, one could doubt the very same girl was laughing and having a blast one hour ago or so. She looks so troubled, her eyes a mix of tenderness and sorrow. Guilt, maybe. "Léa, I...I would spend the night with you. You wouldn't even have to ask me. But-" she grimaces and my heart skips a beat, bracing for the worst. "What will happen when you hear that this is illegal, that people get sent to jail or the asylum -you remember? We joked about the asylum- for things like this? Because the authorities say it's like an...an illness, a taint-" "Why are you telling me all this?" I protest, standing too. "Because that's what happens out there! It took days to get Pierrette out of jail" she exclaims. "I should have never taken you there, I've been such a fool-" "You're a good girl too, Élodie" I interrupts her, reaching for her hand. "Don't tell me you doubt that" She looks down at our hands then meets my eyes, forlorn. "Am I though?" her sad smile pierces through my heart. "I almost got you arrested that night, little pearl. What would have your boss or your friends said if we hadn't been fast enough and those gendarmes had locked us in together with the others? You barely knew me back then, you would have hated me and I couldn't have blamed you" "But I don't hate you!" Now I am the one on the verge of crying. "We...we would have found a way out, I'm sure of that!" Élodie smiles at me, a weak pained smile. She retrieves her hand and caresses my cheek. "Maybe we would have, just like in one of those ballads chanteuses sing" she sighs. "But the truth is I care too much for you and so far I've only been a reckless fool, a selfish reckless fool. I could never forgive myself if you-" Words got stuck in her throat and she lowers her eyes for a moment. Then she presses a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's too late to walk the street alone at night. You can stay here tonight and...you can take the bed, I'll take the sofa" Having said that, she walks away. "Élodie, you don't have to...please, stay" I beg, hoping to stop her but when I turn she's already closing the door behind her. I consider the idea of running after her but I soon realise it would be absolutely pointless and I don’t want to make things worse. I stand for a moment, shaken. Then I lay down on the bed still warm of our embrace and look out into the night. The moon that made Élodie look even more beautiful and ethereal is still up there in the sky but now I'm alone. Silent tears rim my cheeks. I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. For some reason I know that Élodie is doing the same.

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #wlw love #original work #paris #belle epoque

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catharrington · 4 years

Note

12 and 128 with billy and Steve?

Y’all really really do be trying me with this domestic stuff. I’m so sorry but I just don’t write mpreg so I’m changing it up a little. I was playing around with tags on this post and @thinger-strang asked where’s the meat?? Here it is bae!! Dedicated to U ;)

***

12- “I’m pregnant.” && 128- “Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Steve has never been to a gym before, really never wanted to. He has always played sports. Outside! In the sunlight and fresh air, not inside a stuffy box crammed with sweating dude bros who didn’t seem to like using the showers for their functions. He’s here, at Robin’s request, with an overpriced membership to Planet Fitness Gym, only because he’s a good friend.

“Okay! I am so, so done,” Robin huffs out as she throws the exercise ball she was using, it bounces against the mirrored wall and almost comes crashing back into her. She turns to Steve with a grimace. “I’m going to use the last bit of time just running. You coming?”

And of course Steve was joining her, she’s the only reason he’s suffering in this place. “Sounds fantastic.”

So Steve slips back on his loose hanging tank top while Robin cleans up their area. Then she’s leading out to a slightly raised running track that winds around the whole gym floor. It takes the runner past each area and room then loops back around to make a lap. Robin’s pushing her headphones on her fluffed up hair, the grimace still on her face.

“How much longer, exactly?” Steve asks innocently, but she’s already started off without him.

Steve has to run to catch up then settles into a soft jog next to her. He didn’t bring his headphones, why didn’t he bring his headphones. He could be zoning out as much as Robin is now. Instead he’s submitted himself to the entertainment of the gym around him.

And sure, it’s interesting. Lots of girls with ill fitting training bras bouncing, lots of tshirts with funny inspirational sayings. Lots of people struggling through their workouts with even funnier faces.

It’s especially interesting when they get to the weight lifting area. The equipment set up around the clean white floors and walls look like torture devices, Steve couldn’t bring himself to image how they worked. Jogging past he noticed one that you moved like wings and one that you kicked out, all with wires and huge metal weights, all with jacked out super serious people working them.

One guy is slinging two lengths ropes up and down, then stops to take his shirt off to wipe his forehead. An oh, Steve doesn’t mind that so much.

Then he jogs past to the last room before a curve and it’s a simple one, Mostly empty, except for a few standard lifting benches. And there’s only one guy occupying it. He’s looking at himself in the mirror and God, Steve is looking at him too.

This guy could be Adonis turned rock star, with his long curled blond hair pushed back with a folded bandana in replacement of a sweatband. He’s shirtless with only the smallest of small cotton shorts on and he’s flexing in long languid sweeps of his arms. Poses, moves, poses, Steve’s glued.

Then the guy flexes one bicep, just the one closest to Steve of course, and happens to turn over his shoulder to admire himself. And their eyes meet. And Steve’s still glued, still looking, his mouth must be hanging open he’s so embarrassingly staring.

And this guy, this Greek god, a total babe, keeps his eyes locked with Steve while he leans down to plant a wet, open mouthed kiss on his taught, sun-kissed muscles.

Steve’s heart stops, full stops, but his feet do not. They twist and collide one after the other like a car crash, and he sends himself tumbling to the ground with a squeak.

In a weak attempt to stop, Steve stretches out his arms. But he only manages to grip the back of Robin’s baggy shirt and bring her down with him.

“You are a complete dingus!” She screeches as she shoves Steve’s lanky limbs off her.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers softly, scrambling to his knees. He pushes his hands through his sweaty hair. And yeah, he can feel how flushed his skin is. He knows he is blushing tomato red. Steve doesn’t, he can’t, look back over at the guy who caused all this by being so amazingly distracting.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mutters again. Robin throws her hands up. Then she’s stomping off towards the ladies’ locker room. Steve has nothing to do but trudge off towards the men’s locker room, his tail between his legs.

By some grace Steve is saved meeting eyes with anyone else, and the locker room is empty. He rips into his locker to collect his towel. Steve pushes his sweaty face into the material and just screams.

“So smooth, so smooth you idiot!” He scolds himself.

There’s no way that guy is going to see Steve as anything other than a joke, a weirdo who tripped over his own feet. Maybe Steve will even have to quit the gym membership after only one day. Maybe he’ll just tuck himself in bed and never come back out.

Sitting on the benches, Steve’s hanging his head in defeat. His towel around his neck and hair in a messy curtain over his face.

He doesn’t see the door to the locker room open up. “Hey,” some guy calls.

Steve is seized with fear, yeah he’s really about to get kicked out of this gym for being a bisexual disaster. He brings his head up slowly.

“Oh,” he gapes as he sees the same Adonis as before, now standing only feet in front of him. Still shirtless, Steve notices. He’s even better looking up close.

“Wanted to say sorry about that,” the guy is smiling and Steve wants to die, “I didn’t mean to distract you or make you fall down. I was just being an asshole.”

“Nah it’s okay,” Steve stutters out. Then he notices how this guy has thick eyebrows; just as thick as his thighs glistening on display. His brows have a cut down one. And the other is currently raised a little in question.

“Oh- oh no! I don’t mean you being an asshole is okay! It’s just ah,” Steve feels his face flush red again. “I’m just a clutz naturally, I likely would have eaten shit on that track with or without a seriously hot guy with great muscles- oh. I didn’t mean to say that. Shit.” Steve has to stop talking too fast. He sounds so dumb sometimes, he scolds himself more as he buries his face back into his towel.

“It’s okay,” the guy is laughing now, laughing at him. But he keeps talking. “You were really... cute.”

That has Steve lifting his face from his towel. Scoffing a little chuckle himself, he pushes his hair back out of his face and sits up straighter. “How rude of me,” he stands up to hold out a hand, “I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Billy,” the guy, Billy, slides forward easy to take his hand in his. It’s big, warm, rough in lots of spots, and his fingers are thick just like every other damn thing on him.

“Hello Billy,” Steve says. The shake is quick, don’t make it awkward, but Steve misses his hand as soon as it’s gone.

“Sorry, again, I made you take a tumble back there, Bambi.” Billy stops Steve’s heart for a second time, but the wide hungry grin he’s wearing starts it right back up. Shocks Steve to his core with the electric power he has.

Steve doesn’t want to look away from Billy’s bright blue eyes crinkling in the corners with the force of his smile, his smile for Steve, oh wow. But he does glance down when Billy sips a piece of paper out of his shorts pocket to offer him.

“If you want those pretty doe legs worked out a bit, I’d be happy to help with some tips in exchange.”

What Steve wants is to scream. Wants to spin in a circle. Instead, he casually takes the paper. Glances it over. Nods. Internally faints. It’s a folded paper with information printed out for a beginners lifting class, ‘any size & any age’ it reads. And under the slogan, in the margin between room number and time, is a hand drawn cartoon of Billy lifting a barbell with one arm. His bicep curvy and huge, and one of his cute little cartoon eyes closed in a wink.

Under the drawing is a hastily scribbled phone number. Billy’s phone number. Steve is shaking with effort.

“Give me a call, Bambi. I’ll reserve a spot for you,” Billy calls over his shoulder as he walks back out of the locker room.

Steve has to close his eyes to remember to breath after Billy walks out. He goes to spin around to his locker again, already dreaming about all the nicknames and emojis he’s going to put next to Billy’s contact name, when his shin cracks against the wood of the bench. He goes crashing to the floor. Second time in one day. At least Billy isn’t here to see it this time.

After Steve showered and nursed his bruised ego enough, he slips out of the locker room. Phone in hand as he looks fondly down at his new contact.

Billy God of Hot Bod 👅💦💪🏻

“Robin, guess what?”

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.” Robin shoves off his thin finger jabbing into her side.

He shrugs. “Oh so you don’t want to know?”

She shoots him a hateful glare over her shoulder. They walk out to the parking lot and stop at Steve’s car, standing flush up on the doors and talking over the roof. “Know what?” She finally bites.

“The good news?” He wiggles his phone for her to see.

Robin furrows her brows as she tries to read the phone. “Good news?” She mimics.

“I’m pregnant.”

Robin almost screams at his terrible joke. She slams the door as she climbs in the car and orders Steve to take her home now. While they drove Steve might have talked the whole time about how Billy’s fingers felt, but who could blame him.

#its thirsty for billy hours #its projectiing my messy bi ass on steve hours #but lets be real this is who steve is #this is the most in character my steve has ever been #harringrove #harringrove fic #my fic #harringrove fanfic #steve/billy #prompt fill

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sarah--goff · 4 years

Text

Their Dark Materials: Chapter Two; Nevermore

Also available on A03 under Sarah_Goff works

notes: The name 'Sloane' is said as 'Slow-n', ('Ferris Bueller's Day Off' fans will probably recognise this name !)

Enjoy :)

Chapter Two:

The sun on your face wakes you groggily, by some miracle you didn’t oversleep.

You roll over in your bed, sleepy eyes landing on the bird staring at you from its nest.

“Good morning, bird” you say through a yawn, hand under your head.

At your vanity table, you kiss the noir Polaroid of your parents stuck to your mirror, the last one taken a few weeks before they died in a fatal car crash. You’ve lived with your only remaining family- your mother’s sister and her husband- since then. Living in the little room in the large house, in a dreary town.

It’s not that you didn’t get along with your aunt and uncle exactly, it’s just they never seemed to have time for you. You didn’t care so much now, you’d grown used to the deflecting affection. Brian and Kari weren’t terrible people, they just didn’t want kids- it wasn’t their fault they got you, but it wasn’t yours either.

You lived together and that’s as far as your relationship went. They weren’t your parents, nobody could replace them.

You planned to move out later this year after your birthday. You could access the savings your parents left you then. Where to you didn’t know. You probably wouldn’t go to university. Your family wouldn’t be much support anyway.

Dressing, you noticed smugly that the berries and seeds in the dish were gone. Not even crumbs were left.

It was still chilly outside after last night, so you don’t think twice about pulling on your thick scarf with your brown leather jacket.

You look over yourself in the mirror satisfied. You loved this jacket with all your heart, it had belonged to your father and still smelt of him even after all these years.

You re-fill the empty dish again with the seed mix and open the window enough to let air in but not enough for the raven to wander out.

On your way out of the room, you linger at your bedroom door hesitantly, looking at the raven sitting by your bed. Wondering where you’re going.

“Be back around 3, okay” You promise, slinging your rucksack on your back. You feel a little guilty that you were leaving it trapped in your little cell of a room.

You remind yourself that no matter what you can’t let it loose in the house, if either Kari or Brian see the bird -they’d make it leave. It was in no state to fend for itself.

You pull the door closed softly and, noticing the grandfather clock in the hallway, speed down the stairs, nearly missing your footing.

In your rush to put your keys in your bag, you drop your Walkman -which you don’t have time to inspect- bounding out the door.

_*_

Your predictions were right, you sleepwalk through the day.

You spend most of it in the library, scribbling down the essay that was due this morning but you were given an extension until tomorrow. Thank god.

The sun stayed rooted in the sky but the air was still frosty.

You couldn’t get the raven out of your mind.

You wish you had just feigned illness and stayed home. All day the bird harassed your thoughts- you just prayed Kari wouldn’t go into your room if she arrived home before you. God what a conversation that would be.

Next door’s cat was notorious for getting into the neighbourhood homes. You hoped the cat wouldn’t be able to squeeze through the gap in the window. The bird wouldn’t stand a chance.

You feel better when you start walking home, your headphones’ flimsy material keeps your ears fairly warm. You were pretty sure your Walkman had busted earlier – the tapes were all chewed up. Your birthday was coming up, you’d just have to wait it out.

You arrive home earlier than usual. You pocket the Walkman as you walk up to the path leading to the house.

You turn the key in the door, pushing it open straining your ears for the sound of shrill shrieking. Nothing.

“Hello?” You call out.

You notice Kari’s bag and keys were on the table in the living room and your stomach sinks.

You race upstairs forgetting the ‘no-shoes-in-the-house’ rule.

“Hello!” you call again huffing under the weight of your rucksack.

Your bedroom door was ajar. You burst in making Kari start.

It was obvious she had been snooping through your things again.

She clearly didn’t trust you, nor will she ever.

Her faux blonde hair ringlets shake as one when she twists her head.

“No need to shout” she places her hands on her hips to gloss over the fact that she’d just been caught red handed prying. “And what’s this again, dirty dishes left here, Sloane; how many times!”.

On the other hand, you felt relieved that she hadn’t taken a blind bit of notice of the raven. Your eyes skirt around her to look at the where your scarves had been, but they had vanished too, along with the bird.

Had it found some way to escape? Surely it couldn’t carry the scarves. You notice she’d closed the window. So maybe it hadn’t after all? Next door’s cat clearly didn’t get to it -where was it?

“Are you listening!” she broke off your thoughts “And I had to put your clothes back in your draws again, you’re 17 years old and I’m still putting your clothes away!”

So that solves the scarf mystery.

You just smile tightly at her “won’t happen again”.

Putting my clothes away my arse.

She pushes this morning’s discarded cereal bowl into your hands. “You can start apologising when you wash this and the rest up downstairs”.

Kari made her way to the door hair bouncing in time with her step.

You stood in the centre of your room, trying to look not at all worried if the raven might suddenly spring out on her.

“Sure”

You closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

In a low whisper, “Hello?” scanning the room for any movement

You ducked your head to see if it had hopped under your bed and rested there, but then you reminded yourself you were whispering to a bird and straightened yourself up.

Your eyes immediately fell on your beside table where it sat blinking at you. You grinned back, glad it stuck around.

You were sure it hadn’t been there in plain sight a moment ago. Had it been hiding?

“Clever bird!” you cheered.

You use your index finger to feel the silky feathers. In the daylight you can see the layers of black, inky blue and a hint of purple.

It was quite unsettling that it didn’t caw- or whatever ravens did- once. Maybe it couldn’t for some reason. At least it wouldn’t be at risk giving itself away.

“I had classes today” you tell it lazily looking out the window. “That’s why I had to go. I’ll be finished soon though”.

What were you going to do during the break? They’d push you into getting a tidy job so you wouldn’t hang around the house. Or at least Brian would- Kari would make you do housework, even if she clearly didn’t trust you home alone. You sighed.

“My name is Sloane- Sloane Hazel -in case you were wondering” you comically hold out your hand as if to shake with the raven.

The bird blinks at you cocking its head. “It was my parents’ name. I guess I should probably call you something over than ‘bird’ ”.

You sit at your vanity desk. You quickly straightened the bottles of perfume and make- up bits and pieces.

You begin to wipe off your eyeliner in the mirror, looking between you and the bird.

“That woman you just saw snooping around was my aunt. My uncle isn’t home yet. My parents are dead -so I live here. With them”.

The daylight melted away at the overcast sky, it had started to drizzle softly, the kind of rain that made your hair frizzy.

You pause the wiping to pluck the polaroid of your parents “that’s them” you swivel in the chair to show it to the bird. “It’s okay, I got eight golden years with them, that’s more than some”.

You pull out your wooden draws with a thunk and retrieve the scarves, rearranging them again to make a nest. The raven hopped inside, obviously glad to be warm at last in this dismal cold room it had been subjected to.

“my dad was an actor like my mum. I preform in plays sometimes -maybe I’ll follow in their footsteps, I haven’t decided yet-” You showed the bird your prize camera, remembering the film was nearly all used up “I’m okay at drawing, so I could do graphics or something but photography is my real passion-”.

You babble on, unable to stop yourself. The raven nestled in the wool- probably asleep. You fill it in on useless details about yourself, as if it would understand anyway. You told it about your friends, the stuff you got up, to what your college was like, the places you wanted to travel, the books you’d read.

You crouch one hand resting on your thigh, in front of the bird who had its eyes closed. Rude bird.

You softened your voice.

“I’m going to call you, Never. Like ‘Nevermore’, right?”

You suddenly burst out with a bubble of laughter at the daft situation and rattled the bird to opening its eyes.

“Not that I’d expect you to understand, but it’s from a poem this guy wrote about a bird like you. He was a bit mad, but then maybe I am too talking to you”

You repeat the word under your breath, glancing at the bird who gave you the impression it was bored.

“Never” you murmur over and over.

Maybe not.

“Nevermore... Ooh what about More, like as in ‘Moore’, that’s a real name at least. It kind of suits you”.

It didn’t protest. “Moore it is”.

“Sloane! Why can I still see dishes?” Kari called from the bottom of the stairs. “what did I say about shoes in the house!” she sounded irritated.

You roll your eyes.

_____*_____

“Hey, Moore, look what I found!” You called out to the raven, who was probably either sleeping or peering out by the window. It often did that nowadays.

The bird seemed to be improving but you couldn’t tell medically, it just seemed- Chirpier? You smiled at your own wit. A true comical genius.

You place your rucksack down with a thud. You’d found some real bird food at the pet store. They’d given you a funny look when you asked theoretically what a raven would eat but they told you anyway.

You pull out the shopping bag you’d hidden inside your rucksack.

The bird was nowhere to be seen. You remember the open window- to give the raven a bit of freedom- and your heart sank. Would it leave already?

‘Caaar’ Came the sound of a squawk behind you. You jump, nearly stepping on the bird.

Your eyes light up “did you just make a noise?!” this was good sign that it will healing.

You closed the window again, not wanting to draw the attention of any cats that might be around.

“Where did you come from anyway?” .

You hold out your arm for it to hope on, since it was apparent that flying was still proving difficult. Moore obliged and when you drew yourself back up you noticed it had something wide and shiny in its beak.

“What’s this? Can I see?” You tested your fingertips near its beak to hold the shiny thing for closer inspection. It dropped it in your palm.

In your hand, you it was a silver bangle with a large glittery blue stone with gold specks in the heart of it. It looked incredibly expensive. It felt weighty. How on earth had the raven managed to carry this!

“Wow, did you rob a jeweller or something?” you turned the item over in your hands and hold it this way and that in the light.

“Here” you placed it in the scarf nest. You never thought ravens would be attracted to shiny objects like magpies were. Learn something new every-day.

It made an effort to shove the item out of the nest- to get comfortable? You put in by the nest again where it pushed the bangle away with its beak. You tried again, not understanding what it was doing. They wanted the treasures by them didn’t they?

You stood in front of Moore puzzled. The bird pushed it in your direction, scraping the bangle across the wood, and when you moved to stand at the other end of the desk, it pushed it towards you again. “Wait” you said, realisation dawning on you.

“Is this, for me?” you said in an awed whisper slowly picking up the weighty piece. No way. The bird didn’t squawk or try to snatch it back so you assumed you were right.

“thank you! This is so cool! I should have started saving birds earlier” you joked slipping on the beautiful piece admiringly. It fitted well on your wrist. The blue in the stone looked to be a black opal of some kind. You wondered if the bangle itself was real silver. You felt a little guilty for the person who had obviously lost this stunning piece.

You cradle the bird “I love it” you say to Moore, feeling along its’ soft wings with the tips of your fingers.

Kari shouts you for dinner.

“Be back soon” You wave at Moore. “Oh wait!”

You forgot the bangle and slipped it off stuffing under your mattress. They’d get suspicious if they saw something as grand as that on your wrist.

“Bye!” you called over your shoulder.

Kari held out the plates for you to place on the table “Who were you talking to just then?” she said eyes narrowed.

Great.

She probably thought you had a secret boyfriend or something. Now she’d definitely snoop through your things, why did she have to be so paranoid.

You mentally reminded yourself to take extra care in hiding your stuff. The bangle for one.

“I was rehearsing lines for a new play” you shrugged, accepting the plate.

It wasn’t entirely a lie, the large theatre in town hosted an annual Christmas production, each year they chose a fairy-tale. You’d decided to go for it this year. You’d auditioned for the role of ‘Cinderella’- and got it.

“You can come along when its out, if you want” you looked between them, “both of you” you weren’t expecting her to say ‘yes’ but you felt a little pang in your stomach when she looked uncomfortable.

“We’ll…see if we can get the time off” she said uneasily.

So that was a ‘no’ then, not that it mattered. They could never seem to “get the time off”. She could at least lie better.

You switched to thinking how proud your parents would be if they knew you’d got the leading role and you felt partly better.

You placed Brian’s plate carefully in front of him indicating it was ready to which he replied with a stern wave of dismissal since he was on the phone.You took your own seat. Kari informed you that you were running low on bread and juice and that you’d have to go to the corner store before it closed.

“My feet are killing me. I’ve bee-“

You drown her out, sighing internally, prodding the food with your fork, drawing back into reality away from your fantasies.

_*_

It happened so often you were running out of places to hide them.

You had more rings, earrings, bracelets and bangles of all materials than the Queen of England herself you were sure. The bird never ceased to amaze you.

You wore each piece bit by bit so nobody would suspect.

You tried not to think about where the bird was finding such pieces, the poor devastated people that would miss them.

“I love it all,” you confirmed to the bird with a grateful smile, tucking away today’s topaz necklace in your bag.

“But would you mind if I kept my earrings in? They were the last birthday gift from my parents. I never remove them” you smiled sadly. You ruffled Moore’s head much to its irritation, “maybe you can snatch me a Walkman for my birthday instead”.

You hid it all in your schoolbag so that Kari wouldn’t find it when you were away from the house. The holidays were fast approaching.

You had caught a glimpse of Moore flying last night. It had already been here too long you couldn’t make it stay much longer. You bit your lip uneasily, observing the bird hop experimentally from your furniture pieces in your room.

_*_

“We’re having Chinese in town” Kari announced suddenly.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Oh nice” you smiled at the unexpected plans, ignoring the pile of dishes that glared at you from the sink. Still, at last you were going out with your aunt and uncle.

See? They’re trying. Your head said.

You looked down, pulling at your casual clothing.

“Which restaurant?” maybe a dressy night was what you needed.

Nothing too over the top, a nice dress , hair up, could you get away with wearing the necklace Moore had brought you?

Kari tensed up not looking you in the eye.

“Actually, Sloane, I was wondering if you would stay home this time, you know I don’t like the house left empty…Brian and I haven’t had much time together recently. He’s been very stressed at work”

She turned her back on you to busy herself making some obnoxious soup she’d found in a cookbook and you said nothing.

‘This time’? What did she mean, you never when out together.

The rotten woman! ‘Leave the house empty’? what in the hell kind of excuse was that? It was all rubbish just to make sure they could have another evening without you.

You want to stamp your foot at that exact moment.

You muster up the courage not to tell her to get fucked and that Chinese food made you nauseous anyway not that she’d know because she never asks. They never ask.

You look at Brian for help, but he was watching TV, not that he would ever defend you over his wife of course.

“Fine” you clomp up the stairs.

“Don’t stomp. The neighbours!” she half- yelled from below.

You close the door firmly behind you.

You threw yourself on the bed, startling Moore. The bird fluttered over to perch in front of you on the bed.

You laid on your front “It’s not fair” you complained to the raven “It’s like they don’t even want to be seen with me! Imagine! Their own niece!”.

The bird cocked its head and bent its head down for you to stroke absentmindedly. It was like it understood what you were saying, or at least what you were feeling.

The softness of the feathers calmed your bubbling anger immediately. You rested your head on the bed, level with the bird.

You lowered your tone.

“Sometimes I think it’s easier to talk to you than to some of the people I know. Like you’re my oldest friend or something. Funny, huh?”

You turn your head sideways so you can stare out the window.

“You’re lucky though, you have wings, when you’re better you can go anywhere. Where am I going? I’m going to be stuck forever. In this dismal town…” you trail off with a tear pricking in your eye at the reality of it all.

It was true. People rarely left the town, people married their high school sweethearts and settled down, everyone knew everyone etc. It was an awful fate- one you would do anything to escape.

You play with the bangle Moore had brought you, reminding yourself how pretty it was. You felt sorry for the poor person that lost it.

“Sometimes I wish somebody would take me away” you flickered your gaze to look directly into the bird’s eyes “know what I mean?”.

__*___ You were barely listening to Kari listing all the things she expected done when they arrived home “sometime before eleven”.

“No mess, young lady” she warned. Who does she think she is? You bit your tongue.

You watched them leave and the door swing closed firmly behind them.

Head resting on your hand, you listened to the sound of the car pulling away and driving up the street. Enjoy the food.

You felt exhausted from today, you hadn’t been sleeping well lately.

Instead on starting on the chores you were supposed to do, you wearily climbed the stairs to your room where you flopped on your bed, grateful to shut your eyes. You lulled into sleep ebbing away from reality.

…

When you opened your eyes groggily, the taste of a dream you had were still imprinted on your mind. That dream. But you couldn’t remember it properly. Only fragments. None of it made sense to you. A blue coat, a mask and laughter. Lots of laughter. Everything was white.

You shifted to lie on your side rather than flat on your back as you had been.

Your foot nudged against something rectangular.

You sat up flicking on the bedside lamp to see what it was. You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the lamp.

A book?

You pick it up, red and thin with only a gold title on it that you struggled to read in the cursive writing. The Labyrinth.

“The Labyrinth?” You murmur turning it over in your hands.

No author or blurb, you were sure this wasn’t yours.

You opened it, flicking through the pages, some had illustrations, you skimmed it lazily in your sleepy state, not reading it properly.

“Was this you again?” you hold up the book to Moore who was standing upright completely, no longer shifting its weight from claw to claw.

“First my taste in jewellery is bad but now you want to impose on my literature?” you said in mock-annoyance.

It was always a mystery how the bird managed to get these items to and from the house. It had grown back its strength sure but to carry items like these were impressive.

“I guess you’re a book thief now too, huh”

You stared at it . It felt incredibly alluring like a magnet pulling you in. The gold lettering glimmered in the lamp light. Labyrinth. The word swept away everything else you had clogging up your mind. All that mattered was this book and reading this book and-

Another yawn hit you like a wave. You couldn’t possibly read any now.

You put the curious book in your nightstand drawer and flick off the light again.

“Thanks, Moore” you mumbled putting your head in the pillow.

#labyrinth #labyrinth fanfiction #fanfic #jareth x reader #jareth #labyrinth movie #labyrinth 1986 #a03 fanfic

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bladesoflightandshadow · 5 years

Text

relationship headcanons [shreya x mc]

note: here she is in all her two month late glory. i cannot for the life of me find the original post that the prompts were taken from, but if you can, please lmk!

pairing: shreya mistry x f!mc (rhea yang)

words: 2,834

warnings: none

. . . . .

who hogs the duvet

Rhea is comfortable sleeping at pretty much any temperature, being both a Water and Sun-Att, whereas Shreya absolutely hates being cold. The nights they spend together—especially in the winter months—mostly involve Shreya hogging the duvet while Rhea puts up a weak fight before letting her have most, if not all, of the blankets.

Sometimes Shreya sneaks into her girlfriend’s room with the excuse of it being too cold to sleep alone, and Rhea doesn’t ask her why she doesn’t just turn up the magick heating system they have installed in their dorms. Even with the blanket hogging, she likes having an excuse to sleep next to her.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Shreya. She pretends like she’s above it, but with her girlfriend’s life constantly being in danger as of late, she can’t help but worry about her a lot of the time. When they’ve been apart for more than a few hours and she’s unsure of what Rhea’s doing, she’ll drop a (magickal?) text asking her what she’s up to. Before they started dating, Shreya would try to hide this worry by sending her texts about other, unrelated things, like homework or random life updates, and then wait for a response just so she knew Rhea was alive.

“Zeph, do something stupid.”

“What?”

“Do something stupid! Be yourself! I need something to text Rhea so I know she hasn’t died since the last time I saw her.”

“You could…just…ask her?”

“And show vulnerability? Are you insane?”

She’s able to drop these pretences once they officially start dating, and honestly, Rhea doesn’t mind it one bit.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

Shreya’s the one who gives the most gifts, but Rhea is the one who has to be a little more creative when coming up with ideas, what with her not having Shreya’s endless Mistry wealth to fall back on. It’s important to her that Shreya feels appreciated for everything she’s done for her and their friends, so she tries to go the extra mile every time the opportunity arises to give each other gifts. Rhea often enlists the help of Griffin or Zeph, both far more experienced in magickal gift-giving than she is; Aster’s shop is also a treasure trove for quirky magick things she can put together as a present.

For their first-year anniversary, Rhea gives her a scrapbook she’s been working on since they started dating, filled to the brim with animated photos, souvenirs, poems she wrote, drawings, pressed flowers, and other magickal and non-magickal knickknacks she collected throughout their relationship. Shreya cries a little.

“Do you like it? … Oh, oh god. Are you—Are you okay?”

Shreya hugs her so suddenly and forcefully that Rhea almost topples over.

“Rhea Yang, this is the sweetest, most adorable thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she sniffles into Rhea’s neck.

“I…I’m really glad you like it.”

“I love it. I love you.”

who gets up first in the morning

Rhea. She’s a morning person by virtue of her being a Sun-Att, and can’t bring herself to sleep in any later than 9 A.M., even if she barely got any sleep the night before. Shreya can’t stand this—even though she tends to wake up fairly early herself so she has time to get ready (“You think I manage to look this good by waking up ten minutes before class every morning?”), on days where she can sleep in, she doesn’t appreciate being woken up, however unintentionally, by Rhea getting out of bed. Rhea tries to make up for it with cuddles and kisses, or by bringing breakfast from the dining hall to their suite if she has time.

who cries during movies

Shreya is usually the more emotional one, but she can’t count on one hand the number of times she’s seen Rhea cry while watching some heart-warming animated movie. They’re having a Pixar movie marathon one night after a long week of classes, when Shreya notices sniffling sounds coming from Rhea during the opening scene of Up.

“They just—they just wanted to have a kid, you know? But they couldn’t, and they loved each other so much in spite of it, but then she dies— And then this little kid shows up on his doorstep as if she’s guided them to each other and he follows him on the adventure of a lifetime that he’d talked to his wife about when they were kids…”

Shreya can’t help but smile, but she refrains from teasing her. Instead, she wraps her arm around Rhea and pulls her close, wrapping the blanket further around them while Rhea nestles her head in her shoulder. Shreya presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“I didn’t know this movie made you so emotional.”

“Yeah— well. I watched it a lot as a kid.”

who gives unprompted massages

Shreya. She picks up a trick or two from spending so much time at the spa, so whenever she notices that Rhea—who’s usually fairly laid-back—is more tightly wound or stressed than usual, she’ll sneak up behind her for a surprise massage.

They’re in their suite with their friends one day, poring over books in an attempt to find out more about whatever it is that keeps attacking Rhea, and Shreya can’t help but observe how tense Rhea seems. Once the others have left, Shreya pulls Rhea down onto the couch next to her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Your back is in absolute knots, love,” Shreya mutters, lifting her hands to rub Rhea’s shoulders. “You might as well be hiding those little shadow monsters in them.”

Rhea seems to relax, but only marginally. “Maybe then we’d have a better chance at finding out what’s going on.”

Shreya shushes her before she can continue. “Nope. No more talk about shadow monsters or Blood magick or reflections. I’m demanding that you take a break.”

With Shreya’s small and surprisingly strong hands at work on her shoulders, Rhea can’t find it in her to argue, so she sighs, leaning into Shreya’s (quite literally) magickal touch and allowing herself to feel content for the first time in a while.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Shreya’s definitely the one who worries the most. Rhea catches a nasty cold after getting doused in lake water during a Thief game, and Shreya barely leaves her girlfriend’s side while she’s bedridden. She has to use force to keep Rhea in bed half the time, because Rhea hates being immobile for long periods, which leads to Shreya at some point using magick on Rhea’s blankets to trap her in the bed. She brings food up from the dining hall for Rhea and even tries her hand at cooking her mother’s recipe for soup that’s meant to help cure colds. This… does not end well, because Shreya is a horrifically untalented cook. (More on that later.)

On the other hand, Shreya hates it when people fuss over her when she’s feeling ill or otherwise not like herself—she hates showing weakness, so she tries to hide it. Rhea is very perceptive, though, so even the slightest change in Shreya’s behaviour will alert her to something being wrong. When Shreya gets sick after getting caught in the rain, Rhea takes up Attentive Girlfriend duties by gently persuading her to rest—because Shreya Mistry’s stubbornness is second to none, so Rhea needs to take the more encouraging route. Rhea’s a lot less overbearing compared to Shreya, but it’s little things that she does, like stopping by Shreya’s room to check on her between classes, buying Shreya’s favourite food to cheer her up, and cuddling up next to her to watch trashy reality TV, that remind Shreya why she loves her so much.

who gets jealous easiest

Shreya, definitely. They’re both attractive, charming people who attract a lot of admirers, but Rhea for the most part laughs it off easily, while Shreya bristles whenever someone so much as bats an eyelash suggestively at Rhea—though she tries (and fails) not to show it. It’s a little hypocritical of her, honestly, considering how Shreya flirts with pretty much every new person she meets, but she can’t help it.

During their first few days at Penderghast, when Rhea and Griffin were spending a lot of time together, Shreya recognised that spike of jealousy in her gut the moment she saw Rhea flirtatiously pull Griffin’s arm around her in the hall that one time. Almost on instinct, Shreya started overcompensating by flirting more with Griffin whenever Rhea was around, thinking it was her that she was jealous of. This backfired when Rhea found the whole thing hilarious, assuming that Shreya was just like that. It took Shreya a few days to realise it was Rhea she was interested in, not Griffin. After that, she realised she needed to be a little more…forward when it came to flirting with the fairly oblivious Rhea.

who takes the longest to get ready

Shreya, quite simply. Rhea used to get complaints from her family for taking so long to get ready every morning, but having to wait on Shreya is on a whole other level. Shreya makes them both late to every event they go to (partly on purpose, because what better way is there to make an entrance than to arrive fashionably late?), and it drives Rhea crazy.

“Oh my god, how many more products do you need?”

“Beauty is pain, babe, and sometimes pain means you need to be patient with me.”

who is the most tidy and organised

They’re both organised in different aspects of their lives, and completely dishevelled in others. Shreya likes making lists, and always has her bullet journal (or the magickal version of one) on hand. It’s filled with due dates, shopping lists, appointment dates, and random scribblings. She may not be the most studious, per se, but she always knows what she needs to do next and never turns in work late. Rhea reads and studies a lot, but is kind of a scatterbrain when it comes to remembering when things are due, so she tends to rely on Shreya for that, even in classes they don’t share. (“Honestly, Rhea, what would you do without me?”)

One thing Rhea can’t stand, though, is a messy living space. Her room is always tidy and spotless, with everything she needs to find in an allocated drawer, her bed always made, all her clothes either folded or tucked into a hamper and never on the floor. It drives Shreya a little crazy when her girlfriend and roommate is nit-picking at how messy her own room is whenever she comes around—because, let’s be real, Shreya having grown up with servants at her beck and call means she probably isn’t the best at keeping her room tidy, even with magick to help her. They spend most of their time in Rhea’s room because of this, until Rhea caves one day and forces Shreya to clean her room with her.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

They take turns depending on their moods, but Rhea is usually the big spoon. Not always of her own volition—Shreya is notoriously good at getting what she wants, and what she wants is to be cuddled, goddamn it. Not that Rhea minds.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Okay, hear me out: Shreya. She doesn’t actually play any sports, and initially doesn’t even care much for watching Thief, but dating their star Sun-Att player slowly turns her into one of those Intense Supportive Girlfriends cheering viciously from the side lines. (It’s the Fire-Att in her.) Zeph has to do his best to get her to calm down, while Beckett (if he’s even around) pretends like he doesn’t know either of them.

“You call that an Air spell? My girlfriend could out-cast your ass any day!”

“Did she just shoulder-check Rhea? Oh my god, I’m about to run onto that field myself—”

“That is SHREYA MISTRY’S GIRLFRIEND you’re about to steal a flag from—”

“Shreya…please, literally the entire stadium is staring at us.”

who starts the most arguments

Shreya. It’s not usually on purpose, because she hates intentionally bringing problems into their relationship, but her temper sometimes causes her to snap. Sometimes, though, she finds it necessary to bring up problems they’re having, because Rhea’s the type to avoid conflict, even when it clearly needs to be addressed—that is, if Shreya never brings it up, it’ll never be resolved. Sometimes it’s over something small, like how Rhea keeps forgetting to lock their door, and sometimes it’s something bigger, like how Rhea always tries to pretend like she’s okay when she clearly isn’t, but they always talk it out, even if it takes some screaming at each other to get there.

Other times, Shreya finds herself picking arguments for no reason other than the fact that she’s had a bad day. When this happens, instead of arguing with her, Rhea will try her best to cheer her up—sometimes by grabbing her girlfriend’s hands, kissing them and making Shreya tell her what was really going on, and other times by simply, without warning, hoisting Shreya up onto her shoulders and running around like an idiot until Shreya devolves into fits of laughter. (Side note: Rhea is definitely nearly a head taller than Shreya, and is very much capable of carrying her for long periods.)

what tv shows they watch together

Shreya is absolutely the type to be into trashy reality TV, though it’s mostly Attuned TV shows. When Rhea introduces her to America’s Most Eligible, they both fall in love with how ridiculous and awful it is.

“Who the FUCK voted for Zeke over Bianca?”

“Okay, like, Ivy is an evil conniving witch and whatever, but that plot twist was… hot.”

They watch a lot of other stuff together, like true crime documentaries, which they both love, and weird, obscure indie movies that Rhea’s obsessed with and which Shreya tries to pretend to be interested in—but nothing beats AME nights together.

who is the best cook

Rhea, by default. Shreya’s skill at brewing potions unfortunately doesn’t translate well into the kitchen, but for the longest time neither Rhea nor their friends have the heart to tell her. When Rhea gets a cold and Shreya tries to make her soup (no magick ingredients, just good old-fashioned soup that her mom used to make for her), and Rhea is a little more out of it than usual and is unable to hide her distaste for the concoction Shreya has made for her, the not-so-secret comes out.

Shreya sighs. “You can stop pretending to think I’m a good cook, you know.”

“That’s not what I…” Rhea stops herself, partly because of the sudden wave of dizziness that hits her, and partly from defeat as Shreya shoots her a look that says, Don’t you lie to me. “I’m sorry, Shreya. I love you to bits, but God, your cooking is a nightmare.”

Her girlfriend rolls her eyes. Shreya is sitting next to her on the bed and is holding the bowl of soup in her hands, which she places down onto the bedside table. “Fine, I’ll go ask Beckett to brew something to help with your cold—”

“No!” Rhea grabs Shreya’s hands as she stands up as if to make to leave. “No Beckett. If I have to hear him tell me that I should’ve taken his advice and worn a protective ward before the Thief game so I wouldn’t get sick again one more time, I might just kill myself.”

Shreya narrows her eyes playfully and draws her hand back. “Hmph. I feel like that’s a pretty suitable punishment for you considering you’ve been lying to me.”

Rhea falls back onto her pillow, lifting a hand up to her heart like she’s just been shot. “They always say the lover did it…”

Rolling her eyes again, Shreya moves towards the door, for real this time. “Seriously. If you won’t accept my soup then I need to find some other potion to cure you. I’ll ask the infirmary.”

From her slumped position in the bed, even her exhaustion can’t mask the stupid smile that spreads across Rhea’s face. “Hey Shreya.”

“What?”

“I love you. A lot.” Rhea doesn’t miss the quirk of Shreya’s lip, a small smile breaking through the joking exterior. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better. I appreciate it even though it turned out terrible.”

Shreya’s face falls, once again replaced by a characteristic eyeroll. “Ugh, you were doing so well in the first half.”

She whisks out of the room and shuts the door behind her. A few seconds later, the door reopens and Shreya reappears. “I love you too, stupid,” she says, before slamming the door closed again, Rhea laughing like a little schoolgirl in love in her wake.

#playchoices #the elementalists #shreya mistry #shreya x mc #shreya mistry x mc #gotta get on those tags can't let my the first piece of writing i post on here be a flop #mc: rhea yang #i dont quite know how this posting thing works but uhh. here goes nothing #sorry in advance if the readmore doesn't work #long post #my writing

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dat-town · 5 years

Text

a trick to falling

Characters: Yoongi & You

Setting: inception au [moodboard]

Genre: angst, action, romance

Warnings: use of deadly weapons in dreams, mentions of death and mental illnesses, open ending!

Words: 18.2k

Summary: You knew you should have said no when Yoongi asked you to be the forger of the team. You should have known nothing good would ever happen if you work together again. Especially if it means to found the traitor of your old team.

Dreams – those luring, too sweet, unrealistic dreams – can be just as dangerous as real life. Sometimes, when people lose themselves to them, when they become too attached, even more so.

All around you hundreds and thousands of people are living the dream but you know better. You're satisfied with your simple life as a coffee shop waitress (at least you tell yourself) as long as you don't have people dying around you because of a mistake you made.

But trusting the wrong person has never been a single person's fault. Dreams can kill a good man, you know it too well, and the sad colours of the sky reflect the grief of your heart with their always haunting memories.

Dark clouds are gathering outside, a black shadow covering the blue-ish grey of the sky like overspilled ink and soon, it weeps silver rain. It's the kind of scenery you had only seen in dreams. The dullness of London rains gets a magical hue as the golden sun rays are filtered through the clouds.

An invisible hand seizes your throat with fear and you grab on the medallion hanging from a silver chain around your neck. It's your totem, the telltale sign of the difference between reality and dream world. It weighs more in dreams but now it's just as light as it's supposed to be. A relieved sigh is torn from your throat and you take a deep breath telling yourself to stop being so paranoid.

After all, it's been years now. Nothing has happened. Nothing will.

“Black coffee to the ninth table,” Mary calls out and you whip your head towards her, tearing your curious gaze away from the slick windows getting splashed by water, making those cry too.

You stumble to your feet, fixing your apron on your way out of the resting area. The ninth is your table, has always been since you started working here almost a year ago. Before that you have been coming and going, never staying at one place for too long. Here, the salary is alright and they don't ask too much. They don't care where you came from and why. The lady who owns the place took a good look on you back then and told you to stay with no questions asked.

The ninth table is a nice one, just by the window, in one of the brightest corners. It's the closest to the patisserie counter, so it always smells sweet there. But when you see him sitting there with a local newspaper in his elegant hands, your steps halt and the coffee burns your fingers even over the ceramic pot.

The man at the ninth table has eyes like crows, dark and sharp. His gaze could kill, you remember, but now he looks around anxious and suspicious like every time he's at a place he doesn't know. His hair is shorter, black, bangs hang low into his forehead. He's an older version of the self you remember (the one in your dreams).

Only your pride stops you from turning your back to him and walk away like you once did when you moved to the other end of the world (because of him). Years passed but eventually, he came after you. But why… and why now?

Questions burning your throat, your empty hand's fingers idly fiddling with the hem of your skirt, you walk up to him as if you saw a ghost, a remnant of a man who once meant the world to you.

Suddenly, you can't find your voice, it might be stolen by the Sea Witch but there's no love on Earth that could help you get it back. Instead your gaze follows the sharpness of the man's jaw, the straight line of his shoulders and admire the fitness he has in that black leather jacket he wears. He hasn't changed much and yet, it's like looking at a stranger when his eyes bore into yours.

Those black holes, you once knew all too well, now hold mysteries on their own, ones you can't quite solve. His thin, pink lips are stretched to a tentative smile – smiles that are secrets to him, forgotten memories.

“Hey…” he speaks up in that hoarse, deep voice that never failed to send chills down your spine. No matter how many years passed, today isn't an exception either.

“No,” you tell him firmly, straightforwardly with no shadow of doubt or even an ounce of hesitation. He seems taken aback by your harsh reaction.

“I didn't even say anything.”

“But you only come when you want something, so no, I won’t do it whatever it is,” you shake your head, relentless as you stand straight, drawing confidence of the past year when you've been so much better off without all that grief you finally left behind you (or did you?) “Unless you want to order a coffee. That I can do.”

The cold of november rain is nothing to the iciness of your words thrown at the man before you. He looks at you conflicted, searching for the girl he once knew in you but you buried her deep enough together with the weakness you had owned. You won't become so vulnerable, never again, you swore.

“I wouldn’t have come if I had any other choice, you know that, right? This job is important,” Yoongi swears and he never lied, not to you, but there's a difference between believing in something and it actually being true. The two of you used to often disagree on the priorities, you might still do.

“Why? Why would it be any different?” you ask, curious of an explanation that could actually convince you. For you a job was just that: a job, nothing more but Yoongi sometimes took them too seriously, even risked his own life to get them done. The perfectionist in him couldn't let any less.

Now, for whatever reason he needs your help. After not seeing each other for years, it must be huge if he came straight to you, stepping on the land of the British Queen to offer you a job again. You toy with the chances trying to come up with a good enough reason but what he actually says, surprises you a whole lot:

“He’s one of us.”

“What?” you blink, more confused than ever. Is the one whose mind this client want to get is also an extractor? That has always been a no good business, it isn't worth the risks, so Yoongi considering this is almost like sacrilege. It makes you hold your breath waiting his answer which he oh so carefully provides:

“It's not a paid job. It's vengeance. You remember Jeon Jungkook, right?”

How can you not?

The boy with wonder in his doe eyes, always so in awe with the world. Beside Yoongi in the team, he became one of the best architects you have ever known, maybe he even outdid his own mentor. He held so much enthusiasm and had big, naive ambitions about saving the world of the evil it couldn't get rid of. Accusing him of whatever he might have done seems ridiculous… Or is it just you who has always had a soft spot for him?

Hearing the name, one of the names you wished to forget over the years, you sit down onto the chair in front of Yoongi.

“After so many years, you really think that he was the one who betrayed us?” you ask searching for any sign of confidence or doubt in Yoongi's eyes. He has neither, he stares back at you empty like he did when he watched you walk away back then.

“We found a few new hints, so he can prove them either wrong or right,” he says as if the world was only black and white, he has always had a kind of view on the world you couldn't share with him. And when chaos came and broke all of you, it turned him into the monster only a black soul could. Trust for him has never had such high value before that and even you couldn't earn that. “Jungkook is excellent at what he does, truly one of the bests. But we all know ladies are his weakness. He would let his guard down if…”

“Oh no,” you cut him off disbelief written clearly to your face, carved into the sad curve of your mouth. “You don’t need me because I’m one of the best forger of our time but because I’m a girl?”

You scoff with anger building up in you. He hasn't changed at all. Why did you even consider it otherwise?

“I can’t believe you, Yoongi. Fuck you,” you spit and move to get up. But he reaches for you before you could turn away and grabs on your wrist, pulling you back. His fingers are cold, as always, cold against the rapid thrumming of your blood and you hate the betrayal of your own body.

“Look, this is important,” he says, pleads almost, so unlike him and his eyes tell you hundreds of lies and the loss you all had. It saddens you in a way it reminds you of what you had and if it really was worth of losing.

You take a deep breath and look him dead in the eye. Your next words are aim to hurt like hundreds arrows coming for his heart.

“Every job is so fucking important to you, Yoongi. That’s why we broke up.”

This time, when you walk away Yoongi doesn't keep you back, he doesn't even try. Just like all those years ago, he just watches you slip out of his grasp and dissolve in distance until there's nothing but an ache in his chest where his heart should be.

He doesn't call you to get his ordered coffee, he isn't even there next time you check the ninth table: he vanishes into smoke and foam but he leaves a business card on the table. Lost in a Dream - Special sleeping services, it says and there's a Londonian address scribbled under it with the number 302. According to Google, it's a hotel, not that you care.

You have trouble sleeping that night. Everything reminds you of forgotten faces and buried memories as if your past came back to haunt you. It's been four years and you thought you moved on, that there's no part of your life anymore that can claw their way back and slap you in the face. But grief has no expiration date. The pain dulls, the feelings fade but they never disappear completely. A trigger is enough, the appearance of a man from the past and the nightmares are right back in, shaking you awake in the middle of the night in cold sweat.

You have to realize that you have never completely gotten over your past or made peace with what happened. You ran like a coward. Maybe it took these four years to be brave enough to face the consequences and the truth.

In the morning, you call in asking for a day-off in the coffee shop. Then, with the business card in your hand you get into a taxi and tell the driver to go to the Blackfriars Hotel. It's not a long ride, certainly not long enough to think through all the possibilities but you won't turn back now.

The receptionist doesn't even care when the bell rings above the door, she doesn't even look up from the fashion magazine she's reading, so you don't bother to say hi either. You find the elevator quickly and from there, it's a no-brainer to find the room 302.

But before the wooden door with the curvy numbers on it, you hesitate.

Are you really ready to be thrown back into the world of chaos and danger? Is truth really worth of sacrificing your peaceful, normal life for an adventure? An adventure that can leave with more scars, be them more mental than anything, the deadliest of all?

But you have to do this to lessen the guilt and properly tie all the loose strands that still bind you to the dream business. So brushing your worries away, the light sound of your knocks echo through the hallways.

Then you wait until you hear the soft paddle of approaching footsteps and you still as the door unlocks. When Yoongi opens it, he's not that well put-together like he was yesterday. There're tired circles under his eyes and his hair is mussled. He pushes down the sleeves of his white shirt in hurry as his eyes widen at the sight of you.

“You came,” he whispers and he looks at you as if you were a dream, a wishful thinking coming true.

“We own Jin this,” you say firmly and push your way past him, walking into the hotel room with the confidence of someone who owns the place.

There's a dirty, empty mug on the table in the small kitchen and you see the open suitcase full of mechanics beside the unmade bed and the used IV needles on the bedside table.

Your throat closes up with a worry you have always known to have for him but the difference is that now you have no right to tell him to take care of himself. Does he go under alone a lot? you wonder and want to tell him how stupid and reckless it is but that's not your place to do so. You didn't come to preach anyway.

“Tell me the plan. Then I get to decide whether I want to do it or not,” you give him an ultimatum, the only thing you came for and you tell yourself you would really have it in you to leave if the circumstances weren't up to your liking.

“That's all I ask for,” Yoongi nods and motions towards the couch but you’re not in the mood to take a seat. The man next to you sighs and sits down himself. “Jungkook has been trained with us, so he knows all our tricks. His mind is basically a fortress and probably has an army of projections to protect his secrets.”

You tilt your head, that much is true, you have known this all. Jungkook will definitely be a lot more difficult target than oblivious people or those who merely took a few lessons on how to differentiate dreams from reality. He's a pro and you will have to outsmart him to convince him of the reality of the dream.

“It will take at least a week of preparation to find out his daily routine, but we don't want to raise suspicion too much by following him around for long. Then, when we have him, I want to build a two-level dream,” Yoongi continues and it doesn’t slip past your attention that he avoids giving away too much details. You understand why; he doesn’t trust you entirely and you get it. He would be a fool to. You could just report all this to Jungkook, you could double-cross him if you really wanted to and given the way you said goodbye (or rather the lack of formal bye), you wouldn't trust yourself either.

“A dream in a dream,” you muse out loud. It’s not that uncommon, you have done it together before but it can be dangerous, too. It needs another dreamer and a bigger dose of sedate which makes waking up riskier. If Jin was here you wouldn't worry for a moment, he was the best point man in the business you knew. Sadly, he couldn't save himself either.

“Yes, we will need that time in the lower level,” the strategist reasons but you are well aware that it's not enough. Most missions are fine with one dream level, his plan must include something more special than the time factor if he really wants this that much, so you wait for him to go on and with heavy, guilt-laced voice he does: “I want him to go back to that mission four years ago.”

You suck in a surprised yelp at the mention of that ill-fated event. It makes sense after all, like everything does with him… eventually.

“You want him to reenact what happened because his subconscious will probably make him do the same if the setting is similar,” you speak aloud as you come to the only logical conclusion and Yoongi’s mouth twitches into a half smile. It's similar to the look that he has on when he’s proud. It reminds you of your first missions and how much you wanted to earn this; his respect. After all these years, a little part of you is still proud that you haven't lost your touch, nor your ability to read the mysterious man well, at least when it comes to work. But after all, you were colleagues first, lovers later. Maybe you weren't meant to be both.

“That's right. We won't make him believe that the second level is reality, no, he should know that it's a dream, a nightmare coming back to haunt him, so he won't be that alert,” Yoongi explains further, voice low and calm like it is always concerning missions. An admirable trait, you have always thought so since you tend to be on the impulsive side when it comes to discussions. Another thing that makes you different.

Maybe it's the underlying worry that has written itself into the crease of the man's brows when he looks at you that makes you think this time he's not that sure of himself. Yet, his next words still surprise you as they are almost as tentative as if he was afraid you might run off. “And that's where I need you the most.”

At first you don't understand the where and why but Yoongi is patiently waiting for you to come to the conclusion yourself. When you do, the breeze of your whisper is barely audible in the storm of your heart.

“You need me to forge myself into Jin.”

Yoongi flashes a sad smile and you know you're right. You have always known how to read his strategies and you have to give him that it's a good one. The truth will be relieved one way or another in a setting like this. But is it worth it? To give up on your normal life for a gamble and sacrilege against the dead? For a mission no one knows where it goes?

Yet, you don't need much time to make your decision.

“I have a condition, though, a favour if you prefer,” you say and the cease of wrinkles on Yoongi's forehead indicate his wariness.

“What is it?”

“I don't want personal matters be involved in work. Whatever happened between us stays in the past.”

It's a simple request yet you need him to agree, so you can work level-headed. Yoongi is too much of a professional to cross that line while being on a mission but you just want to make sure that you won't be suddenly called out for your past decisions.

“Okay. That I can promise,” your ex-boyfriend nods, agreeing to your condition which surprises you at first because he has always been the type who fights till he can for what he wants.

It might have been naive of you to think that he hasn't moved on from you just because you never had an official break up. You moving out and leaving a note that you can't do it anymore was everything you left behind for him. It might have been unfair to him but what you had by then was already just an excuse of a relationship. And now? Now as Yoongi looks at you with determination set in his coal black eyes, you can feel it in your bones: the sweet weight of being partners again.

“Are you in then?” he asks just to make sure.

“Yeah. Let's do it.”

“Thank you,” he lets out a deep sigh and his shoulders drop; he seems relieved.

“I don't do it for you. I do it for Jin,” you remind him since you don't want him to misunderstand. He doesn't take it to heart though, he's already up and rummaging through his bag searching for something.

“How is your Chinese?” he asks in the middle of it and it's so out-of-the-blue that you become perplexed for a moment.

“It has gotten rusty. Why? Don't we go back to Seoul?” you furrow your brows as you try to read between the lines. You haven't talked about the location of the mission that much is true.

“No, we're heading to Shanghai. Jungkook is working there now. We'll meet the rest of the team there,” Yoongi explains as he takes out numerous little notebooks from a secret pocket of a suitcase. Your heart does a strange little squeeze at the mention of the team. You have missed them, you realize.

“Could you patch the old team back together?” you ask ever so hopefully. You might not want to throw yourself in the lines of danger again but you can't wait to meet your old friends again.

“Namjoon never left but Tae has disappeared, nobody knows where he is. There's a kid, Jimin, he joined as our new point man and Hoseok, he came with him but he has great connections and we might need an extra man to do the job.”

Yoongi doesn't even look at you while he answers but you can hear the sadness of his voice, the longing for old friends, old times. That at least you have in common.

“You mean one more life on the line,” you mumble not actually meaning to say it out loud and when you realize you did, you look at Yoongi alarmed with teeth digging into the flesh of your lower lip.

“You know I would have never let Jin or anyone do it if I had known it's dangerous,” he says and he looks rather saddened than angered by your statement.

“Every job we do is dangerous, we're all aware but there's always a point to stop and you can't seem to know that.”

Yoongi doesn't say anything (he knows it's true) just stands up and holds out a blue covered ID paper for you.

“He's your fake passport with a Chinese visa.”

“You knew I would say yes?” you take it from him, heart weirdly fluttering when your fingers touch.

“I dared to hope,” Yoongi shrugs but he simply knows you too well. “Looks like a real one, right? Hoseok got it.”

Opening the passport you see the picture you had on your CVs in the past two years. This Hoseok guy is really good at what he does.

“Please, tell me we don't play the old roles.”

Yoongi’s face splits as he smirks but it's more awkward than he intended. So old roles it is: couples are always less suspicious than individuals when crossing multiple borders.

Ten days of sick-leave, that much you ask of your workplace and the next day you’re off to Mainland China. It should be a routine job, in and out, no feelings involved, you'd like to believe at least. But all those memories flooding back doesn't help at all no matter how much you want to shut them out.

Yoongi doesn't press, doesn't ask invasive questions, doesn't bother you or tries to make small talk. He only speaks when he has something to say about your journey or the plan. Otherwise, you're just by each other's side in silence. Yet, in every passing moment when you catch a glimpse of his side profile, the jawline that could cut, the way he holds himself, the sadness that now lingers in him more than before, you feel a slight pang of pain in your chest. He has had this kind of sadness in him before too and it squeezed your heart every time when you couldn't help it with hugs and kisses. Now you know better, they root a lot deeper than that and more often than not, they need professional help.

It's like waking up from a dream when you arrive to the lively city in the East. It's very different from the London you called home in the last year. It makes you feel smaller, invisible and yet, the adrenaline that comes with it welcomes you home with open arms. It takes a taxi ride to get to the motel downtown. You bow to the Chinese girl at the reception desk as you pass by while Yoongi pays her no mind. After an awkward elevator ride, he knocks on a door on the fifth floor. The door only opens slightly ajar and a stranger's head peeks out.

“Password?”

“What about I punch you instead?” Yoongi groans and you can tell he hasn't changed a bit. It might be his cold, distant exterior but he keeps attracting these all smiles, bubbly people around him. Seokjin was also like that, too bright and warm. Yoongi often acted like he hated his childishly optimistic behaviour, his dad jokes and that wide grin on his face but he wanted nothing less than wipe off that sign of happiness. He might have been the leader, the strategist but Seokjin, being the hen, kept them together and he was indescribably grateful for that. The point man used to be so oblivious to everything around him but you are pretty sure that was all an act. Jin was a lot smarter than he appeared and for what people took him.

“Wrong, try with 'what a lovely day to see you.’” This new guy grins and unlocks the door to usher you in.

“So he's Hoseok. He probably shits sunshine too,” Yoongi points at the smiley guy introducing you while you are at it. You laugh, offering a hand and telling him your name.

“Oooh you're The Girl? We have heard so much about you!” Hoseok shrieks and casually swings an arm around your shoulder. “Did you like your passport? Did everything go smoothly?”

“Yeah, everything went fine, thank you,” you smile at him. It's hard not to, he has a very warm presence. Still, you wonder what he might have heard about you.

“You actually came! Gosh, it's been a while.” A tall, dyed blonde guy comes into the room and greets you with a wide, nostalgic smile.

“Good to see you, Joon,” you sigh and run into his arms that embrace you just the same he did all those years ago.

“You too, shorty,” he ruffles your hair and it's such a big brother behaviour that it makes you miss old times.

“Are they here?” Another unfamiliar face peeks from the next room and his bright eyes remind you of Taehyung. Or is it just an illusion of your brain making everything seem like nothing has changed? But everything has, one way or another.

“Hello, I'm The Girl or so Hoseok says,” you wave towards the guy with boyish features and an eye smile that makes his irises disappear completely as Namjoon leaves your side.

“Aaah sorry about that. You were kinda like The One Who Cannot Be Named until you said yes to the mission. I'm Jimin, the new point man,” he introduces himself and offers a hand that you take without hesitation.

“So I’ve heard,” you nod towards him and it does feel nice being so welcomed. You were a bit worried – although you would have never admitted – that a different team will make the situation more awkward than it already is. Luckily that doesn't seem to be the case at all.

“You can pack out and rest a little, we will go through the plan in the evening,” Yoongi carelessly throws a room key your way and you catch it out of reflex (old habits die hard). For a moment both of you are taken aback and quiet but then he looks away again, grabbing his own suitcase and disappears in a room.

You appreciate that he got a separate room for you even if it's small and lonely. You might have shared a bed with him during your active years but things change and you need your own place now. Especially if it's about him. Being in the same room already feels like something was prickling on your skin, like there's a confession scratching your throat and hands itching to touch. So many old memories surface just to complicate the mission. You thought you moved on, that these four years was enough to forget and forgive but oh, how could you forget the one who made you believe love was real and present? You found a family within this team but it all fell apart when the nightmares turned into reality.

“It was really nice to meet you, guys. See you soon,” you wave them goodbye a bit awkwardly and when you're out of the room and the close proximity of Yoongi after the almost day-long journey, you feel like you can finally breathe and the tension in your shoulders melts away. It's not his fault, you know very well, it's you who's wary of everything you do or say afraid of shattering the newfound trust between you. You should talk about it, the past, that's obvious because it's a huge scarecrow in the field of your feelings and you can't walk past it without mentioning. But fear is holding you back. No wonder why you asked him to look past what happened but… is that what holds him back too? Or is he afraid like you?

You have never put a label on what you were. It felt so obvious, so natural, no need to stress over it. You were co-workers by day and lovers by night but this uncertainty of not knowing where exactly you stood, behind the meaning of I love yous, it made it too easy to fled when things got bad. You left and he let you leave and you thought that said enough (apparently it didn't). Was he angry? Was he worried? Was he waiting for your call like you foolishly were hoping for his? But no, what you had wasn't fought for, it was left out to bleed in shreds. But it wasn't what made being near him painful, it was his nonchalance, that he doesn't seem affected at all.

You take a quick shower, pack out the few necessary items you bought and check on your social media while trying to empty your mind. You still can't believe that you're halfway across the world about to go on a mission with your ex and face Jungkook. You shouldn't because you should stay neutral and objective but you hope that he wasn't the one who brought the doom. Why would he have done that? But you couldn't deny that he did act weirdly in those last weeks before the mission if you think about it. He was distant and distracted. But what could suddenly make Yoongi think that all of it was his fault?

Letting out a deep sigh you look at the clock, it's already past 10pm. Jetlag really took its toll on you and you aren't sure what exactly Yoongi meant by 'in the evening’. You hope you aren't too late, so you grab your room key and go back to the guys’ on the other side of the corridor. Namjoon lets you in with a soft smile.

“I'm here,” you declare the obvious when you catch a glance of Yoongi in the living room. He beckons you closer.

“There. I set the table,” he points at all the documents and map parts scattered all over the place. The room is suddenly too quiet, even Namjoon disappeared somewhere. It leaves you with a weird kind of nervousness.

“Aren't the others joining us?”

“They already know everything they need to know. It's for you to catch up. We will have a team meeting before the actual action,” Yoongi explains hastily. He has always been like this, so caught up in his own mind that if you didn’t ask he skipped three steps of an explanation because it was obvious for him. Well, it has never been the same for you, you needed every detail.

He sits down in one of the fake leather covered chairs beside the table and with a languid gesture he prompts you to do the same. This time, you don't protest.

“So Jungkook works for a video game company, so our first job is to find a place and time where we can get him alone and unsuspecting...” he starts off immediately as you take a seat but woah let’s not get that ahead of yourself.

“Sure but why do you think he won't know what we are up to if he suddenly dreams about us? He knows us, he's not an everyday target,” you remind Yoongi interrupting the speech at the very beginning. You don't want to be a part of a plan that stands on weak legs, quivering at every step.

“That’s why we change our strategy and instead of doing the usual business we get involved in reality, too. And instead of making him think it's real, we want him to know it's a dream. At least the regular kind.”

“What do you mean by getting involved in reality too?” You lean closer curious to see what he's suddenly typing on the tablet. It’s a bunch of dates, a calendar, you realize, probably Jungkook's schedule.

Yoongi looks up and locks eyes with you over the device. You see your own miniature in his dark eyes illuminated by the artificial light. It takes your breath away for a moment.

“We will meet him. Well, to be specific, you will…” he says but his voice is drown by another.

“Are they together?” Jimin whisper-yells while pointing at you and Yoongi from the kitchen next to the room. He doesn't even try to be discreet about it but you just roll your eyes and turn back to your ex. It's Namjoon who answers eventually:

“Not anymore,” he sighs heavily and you know why. He was the one who introduced you, after all. He has seen you at your best and at your worst too, from the beginning to falling apart.

“So you were saying…” you focus on the on-going conversation again, at least you try your best to get through it without being too distracted.

“If you can come up with a believable reason for you to be in China, he will never suspect you. So we just have to give him a reason to dream about us: we find him and set up a meeting between the two of you. He would never hurt you,” Yoongi goes more in detail but he talks like it was a known fact, an axioma but you have no idea how he can be so sure.

“If your suspicion is right, Seokjin probably died because of him. We thought that wouldn’t happen either,” you mumble under your breath, a bit of censoriousness tinting your tone. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he found it laughable but on a bittersweet note.

“Right but he had always got those puppy eyes for you.”

A moment of sheer silence passes.

“You knew?” you gape at him absolutely dumbfounded. How could you not realize that it wasn't only you who was aware of those looks? Yoongi has always been a better observer than you.

“What? That he has always been helplessly in love with you? Of course I knew,” he scoffs looking away.

It was kind of obvious, Jungkook and his innocent little crush on you. You were with Yoongi back then, so you didn't even consider the possibility of you two together no matter how nice he was.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Should I have?” Yoongi quirks a brow as if saying: you didn't leave me for him so why would I have? “I trusted you. I trust you still.”

It stabs you in the chest, just above the heart, threatening to carve it out and dip it into the poison made for the untrustworthy. You know he didn't mean it like that, but you still feel that echoing pang deep inside.

You look down, suddenly ashamed because you knew that despite everything Yoongi didn't deserve to be left alone when grieving. But now he only cares about one thing:

“Do you trust me?” he nudges your hand flattened on the table's surface which makes you look him straight in the eye. Those coffee dark orbs hold mysteries like they always did and so many shared memories that make you blush.

But do you trust him enough to play against the rules by his side again?

“Yeah,” you whisper. You're here after all, aren't you?

Yoongi nods, shoulders getting slump because of relief and he continues with the explanation. Jimin and Hoseok, the ones he doesn't know, are doing the background check on Jungkook. He will less likely be able to recognize them in dreams too.

“They have been on him for a while now. He goes to work everyday from 9 to 5. After that he often goes to the gym or to have a drink with colleagues. Other than that he doesn't really goes out,” he presents the basics.

“Still we need a time when he's alone, so I can 'accidentally’ run into him. He knows that I'm not the type who goes to the gym, so a bar would be more realistic.”

“He actually has a meeting at a hotel's bar next Friday. We can get you a room there making it look like you're on a business trip here.”

“That could work, I think,” you nod pursing your lips. That's what Yoongi has always been good at: planning. You couldn't really argue with him on that.

“Then we decided on it, I guess. You will run into him then offer to get some drinks together, so you can put the sedate into his drink without him noticing. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” you reply almost too quickly but both of you know that unlike him you're a great actor. Jungkook will be too charmed to be suspicious anyway.

“If you’ll act oblivious when it kicks in, I don't think he would doubt you. He will probably think he drank too much and when he's out we take him,” Yoongi concludes and from then the job is easy, like any other. You all join the dream leaving only Hoseok behind to keep an eye on your sleeping bodies. But for the first time, you won't be playing a role in the first dream-level or will you?

“Sounds like a plan,” you smile slyly and for the first time since you're here, you're actually excited. Dumbfounded you realize that you have missed the adrenaline rush of these missions. And with it comes the frightening truth belatedly but you have missed this boy too with ice in his eyes and fire in his soul.

The week passes slowly and uneventful. At least on your part because you have nothing better to do – while Jimin and Hoseok keep an eye on Jungkook – but to look up old pictures of Jin from those times when the incident happened. Everything, every colour of the clothes has to match or else Jungkook will know it's not an ordinary dream. You feel a bit bad for interpersonating Jin of all people, you have never did this with anyone whom you knew that well. It's easy in a way, you remember his little habits, his mimics and the way he talked but at the same time all this nostalgia saddens you. You miss him more than ever and even though he would never get angry at you for such thing, you can't help but feel a knot in your stomach.

Forging has come naturally to you when you joined this business. You never had such wild imagination to alter the outer world with all its details as much as Yoongi or Jungkook could but changing yourself? It was easy as first grade math. You have always liked changing your exterior be it for Halloween parties or just a different hairstyle, so actually doing this in a world where physical rules could be bent was like a game to you. You have enjoyed it way too much for you to admit it now. You both have. Your love for the dreams was the first thing you shared with Yoongi, so it was almost inevitable for it to be your downfall, too. You can only hope you won’t regret this one last action.

The night before the real mission starts you can't sleep. You keep turning in your bed but eventually you give up and just stare at the dark ceiling. You try to get soaked in the feeling of reality because from tomorrow you will spend almost a week (if you’re lucky) in a dream that only lasts for an hour in reality. When you’re down there for this long, it’s easy to forget which world is fake, so you grab on your necklace on instinct and sigh relieved at the cold touch of metal.

The flashing light of your phone comes unexpected as a notification pops up so late at night but you turn to unlock the device immediately just to see Yoongi’s text in the group chat reminding you all not forget to pack everything in the motel room as if you have never been there before you leave. You wait a minute, then two but nobody besides you reads the message, they are all probably asleep. Except you and Yoongi.

You don’t know why, maybe it’s nostalgia, a sweet reminder of old habits but you get out of your bed and putting a too long-sleeved sweater over your nightgown you leave your motel room only to knock on the boys’. You don’t have to wait long for Yoongi to open the door for you and even though you knew what exactly you signed up for, your breath still hitches seeing him in his flannel PJs. Suddenly the whole situation feels absurdly intimate.

“Hey, can’t sleep?” he archs a brow stepping aside to leave you more place to go inside. Barefoot on the cold hallway you don’t even hesitate to step in.

“Yeah. You know I have always had troubles sleeping before missions,” you remind him matter-of-factly in case he forgot. You wouldn’t blame him, it has been years and maybe he isn’t that hung up on the past like you.

But then he nods understanding and adds without hesitation: “I will heat you a glass of milk.”

You’re so surprised you can’t even protest before Yoongi disappears in the kitchen. You open your mouth and then close it still taken aback that your ex-boyfriend remembers this little habit of yours. Warm milk has always calmed down your anxious heart.

You shake your head slightly trying to get rid off your messy thoughts. By the time you make it to the kitchen with your regained composure, he already takes the drink out of the microwave and holds it out for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur taking the warm mug from Yoongi’s hands. He looks at you so gently, so heavy with feelings you can’t help the sudden need for a deep breath. You can’t let yourself lose in it, you can’t let yourself think why you suddenly don’t know Yoongi anymore as well as you used to.

“Are the dream maps ready?” you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Do you wanna see?” he asks without thinking just like he used to and it reminds you all those times he asked: wanna share a dream with me? and then he took you to the most magical places dreams could be. All of those wonders created by his imagination. You fell in love with him in dreams and maybe that was the problem.

You changed the topic in an attempt of trying not to get lost in the past but you fail as his words bring you back to the times when you and him were a thing.

You keep on falling ever since he came back to your life but you don’t learn, when it comes to him you seem to be unable to say no.

“You know I do,” you smile at him truthfully and putting down the still full mug, you follow Yoongi to the living room when the two suitcases with all the machines are already prepared for tomorrow’s missions. You take a deep breath before lying down on the sofa, already pulling up the sleeves of your clothes and you prepare your hammering heart for the new journey.

Yoongi prepares the needles and cables with skilled fingers, quick as lightning, filling a tiny dose of sedate into the foils. He inserts one needle into his own vein and sits on the other armchair on your right. Leaning over the distance between you, he touches another needle to your skin gently. Involuntarily you suck in a breath when you feel the slight sting of it. Yoongi looks at you the same way he always did - with care, trust and a bit of worry - and the universe reflecting in his orbs is the last thing before his dream pulls you under and darkness envelops you.

It has been a while since you went under, especially with someone else. The air escapes your lungs as soon as you hit the surface of his dream and for a moment you can’t breathe. Then it all brightens and you have to gasp for air as if you had been underwater but in reality (in the dream to be precise) you only wake up now.

You blink rapidly getting adjusted to the lighting and opening your eyes, what you see is strangely familiar. If you didn’t know better, you would think you fell asleep and imagined this whole ruckus with Min Yoongi and his new team. When you look around more closely you realize where you are, it’s the train, that fancy, expensive business one going from Seoul all the way down to the ocean and this was the venue of your brand new trick. Among all these golden glitter and crystal chandelier you were supposed to steal the secrets of a very important businessman. But things don't almost go as planned.

As you walk through a door, a serveur bows before you and you smile when you recognize Yoongi dressed in a fine black suit, very much like him, already in the cabin, at his place on the sofa reading the newspaper of that day, a warm Friday in June four years ago. Even this tiny detail fits. According to your task, you are supposed to go forward and search for Jin telling him to get into the bar because the businessman is approaching but it’s just a dream, a walk in memories, so you don’t have to go along with the screenplay.

You can almost feel the stir in the waters, the tremble in the dream world when you turn on your heels and sit down next Yoongi. You take a cup of coffee from the table acting as natural as you can to avoid the projections’ attention.

“You shouldn't build dreams of memories,” you recite after taking a sip and you look around in the grandiose place. It’s just like as you remember. “This is the first rule you taught Jungkook and each of us. Why are you breaking it?”

You know the plan, you know why it should work like this but still, it’s dangerous getting into one’s head that deep. You worry for him. What if the line between reality and dreams blur in the eyes of your strategist? How will you survive then?

Yoongi sighs, eyes ever-knowing (or just knowing you too much) and a smirk pulls on the corners of his lips in an amused manner. He definitely expected this question and he forms the string of words carefully as he answers.

“I rebuilt everything I can remember from that night. So I go back, analyse it and add details. I need to know exactly what went wrong and where, what I messed up, so I can prevent it from happening again.”

So it’s guilt. You have always guessed he was feeling like the one at fault and truth to be told, you all thought that, too. It was his plan, after all, it should have gone flawlessly but there were unexpected bumps on the way and the equation got messed up, turning his calculation up and down. A bulletwound and too much blood for the amount of sedate still in Jin’s body. When one by one you all woke up, he was there in coma until one day the doctors told you that he had internal bleedings and his heart gave up; you never had a chance to say goodbye.

And so it seems Yoongi has taken all the blame onto himself, taking it with the responsibility and now he tries to fix something that can’t be fixed anymore because it doesn’t matter if he’s in your dreams, there’s nothing that can bring Seokjin back.

Yet, he still seeks for justice and truth, the two things you also let go of when you left this life behind. Now just as one rips off a bandage and opens the wounds, you bleed and hurt all over again. You need to know the exact reason why before you waltz into a made up lie.

“Can I ask why do you suspect Jungkook now? It's been four years.”

Crazy, isn't it? How could you go on with your life normally for so long and now you're suddenly thrown back into this mess of feeling. You fidget in the pretty dress you wear in the dream, it's slightly uncomfortable because of the memories attached to it. Why does Yoongi has to have such an excellent memory to remember the exact texture of even the dress you wore at that day, the very same dress he once took off you praising you with compliments that got you blushing when he said it looked better on the floor. There's no way he remembers that too but unlike you, because Yoongi seems completely composed and unbothered as he sips from his tea.

“There were some bills I needed on the old computer we used to work on. I found Jin's secret bank account while searching for those,” he explains and then he suddenly stops lost deep in his thoughts as he recalls everything from that fateful night a few weeks ago. Was it luck or something that haunted him? Maybe he would never know, or at least not until this mission is finished.

“And?” you inquire wanting to know the details and then Yoongi’s dark, coffee eyes snap up at you. He hesitates only a bit, not sure if you really want to know. Jin has always been a big brother figure for all of you, what if he did something that can change your opinion of him forever?

“And he used to be in serious debt. Like really bad but then suddenly he got money from an account I couldn't trace but…” Yoongi grimaces, a nervous habit when he talks about a topic he isn’t fond of. “The method was the same trick Jungkook liked to use to hide our traces back in his enthusiastic hacker phase.”

The hypothesis makes you gasp. It’s insane, a too far guess. Ridiculous. You thought he had a better base for his suspicion.

“Do you think Jungkook made those projections kill Jin because of money? He loved Jin like a brother,” you spit and you’re well aware it sounds like an accusation but are you really going to mess Jungkook’s mind up over something like this? And if you don’t find anything because he’s actually innocent, then what? Will he give up? Yoongi isn’t like that. Maybe you came for nothing and it boils your blood.

It’s true that you were in Jungkook’s mind but out of all people,Yoongi should know the best that people can't control their subconscious. At least you have never heard of it being possible, but Jungkook has always been an exceptional talent.

“It might not be the money but what the money was for,” the strategist says emphasizing what matters and oh. You have never thought about that. “Remember that Jin promised Jungkook to find his parents’ murderers? Because he used to have some ties in dirty business?”

That’s true, it was something nobody talked about. Jin’s past was a telltale story of a fallen prince and to that nobody wanted to remind him. And Jungkook? He was just another unlucky child who got orphaned because his parents were in a wrong place at the wrong time.

“Do you think Jungkook thought he was also at fault?”

A lucky - unlucky? - guess but now you see the logic behind it. If Yoongi’s right, it’s so much bigger than just your team and a failed mission.

Yoongi nods.

“I'm not sure but I wanna figure it out. A lot went to shit that day,” he muses and well, that’s one way to put it…

You sigh trying to ease your mind when Yoongi offers you a hand and you actually get going to check out the train, the smallest details of the dream’s architecture. You’re very impressed, you have always been by your ex-boyfriend’s works but this just feels too real. The only thing that’s off is the amount of gazes you get from every passing people. You know it’s a bad sign whenever projections start acting up, so you grab on Yoongi’s sleeve to stop him in the middle of an empty corridor.

“Why are they staring at us? What did we do?” You know your voice is slightly hysteric but you hate dying in dreams even if you wake up fine. Not to mention that you didn’t even do anything weird now. What could have been so out of ordinary, so disturbing that Yoongi’s subconscious became suspicious of an intruder?

“Nothing. It’s because of her,” the man replies ever so calmly and point at the corner of the cabin, at the slender figure there and your jaw drops, literally, when you see her getting closer.

“Is that...” you gape, mouth left agape as your words fail you. The girl walks towards you confidently with a lethal smile on her rosy lips and the gun in her hand should scare you the most but instead the illusion of looking into a mirror haunts you more.

“You? Yes,” Yoongi finishes for you and nods. You stand close enough to feel him tense beside you, waiting for an impact that comes in the form of a bullet. It happens so quick and so suddenly that you can barely conjure a scream before darkness falls on you and reality pulls you back.

Since it was Yoongi’s dream, he takes you with him when he wakes up. But seeing him alive and well beside you in the ragged motel room doesn’t ease your rapid heart still close to panic. What are you doing in his dreams with a gun anyway?

You stare at Yoongi waiting for him to say something, anything, any further explanation but you meet with silence. You’re patient because you know he isn’t the type to open up suddenly, but you’re on the verge of your patience when he finally runs out of excuses to stay quiet.

“Dream you hates me,” he grimaces sarcastically but behind the quirk of his mouth you see the hurt and the fatigue. “Usually she kills me before I can get any work done.”

“Won’t it mess up the mission?” You voice out your main concern, worry clinging to your tone but Yoongi shakes his head so sure of himself that makes you wonder where he got his confidence of.

“I won’t be the first dreamer and we need her in the deeper level since you’ll be there as Jin.”

“Oh.” You blink, that's true. Of course, he had thought of everything. But still... “What if she kills you there?”

“She won’t,” Yoongi claims and his voice is ice cold as ice that does not forgive. He doesn't even looks at you while he gets rid of the infusion needle.

“She just did,” you remind him in a voice harsher than you intended. You hardly think it’s necessary though. The way he talks about your occurrence hints at that it happens to him on a regular basis and maybe it does. You have no idea how often he goes under, meets you there and dies by your hands. How can he look at you now so indifferently as if it didn't hurt him?

“I figured out how to make her stop not long ago, so it will be fine,” Yoongi shrugs casually packing away the rest of the stuff you just used. And oh how you wish you could be sure he says the truth.

“You better not lie to me about this,” you tell him firmly, standing up on slightly wobbly legs ready to go back to your room but before you leave the place, you turn back eyeing the man with messy hair and midnight eyes. Is he broken like you? “And Yoongi… just so you know I don't hate you. Never did.”

You tell him but but don't wait for an answer, you don't even want to give him a chance to stop you and ask you how can you not, so you leave. When you’re back in your bed, you have more troubles on your mind than earlier and sweet dreams don't come easier.

It goes a lot smoother that you originally thought. With forging came excellent acting skills which you mostly used to convince others how confident you were in your role. Now, you don't act as anyone and yet, it comes in handy because pretending to be fine, to just meet Jungkook over a drink seems just as much of a lie. While you are sipping from your fancy cocktail at the bar, you're very much aware of Hoseok watching from a corner table hidden behind his laptop while Yoongi and Namjoon are watching from a hotel room booked under your name and a non-existent company you're supposed to work for. Hoseok made a good job at making it seem like it's valid, so if in any case Jungkook wanted like to check on you, he could and wouldn’t find anything off. Thorough, you doubt it will happen but Yoongi has always been a careful player.

According to his schedule Jungkook should have finished his meeting in a separate room five minutes ago and you're becoming reckless. Jimin shoots you a sympathetic smile from behind the counter where he switched places with one of the bartenders. You start overthinking everything, a bad habit of yours but at least you know about it. It happens when you start to doubt Yoongi's skills and plans. He rarely makes a mistake, so you're often wrong to doubt him but there are always exceptions to the rule. It was a too many variable equation to expect Jungkook catching a sight of you in the bar anyway. They might leave through a back door or god knows where. He might not even–

You stop in mid-thought, fingers stilling in the middle of playing on the counter in your annoyance when you see the conference room's door open and dozens of men in suits emerging. You immediately notice him, it's hard not to. He has grown up well during these past years and the suit looks good on him, you comment on it mentally as you watch him bow to all of his business partners. Momentarily you turn back to your drink and watch him walk in your direction through the mirror behind the alcoholic drinks’ vitrine. You put your glass down the counter, flash a smile at Jimin and then stand up turning as if you were just about to leave at the same moment your long lost acquaintance reaches your side.

“Oh. Jungkook?” You blink at him, mouth parting in slight surprise and both of you freeze in the middle of the bar, staring at each other.

Of course, you have seen pictures of him but it feels different now that he's really right there, parted hair falling into his chocolate eyes, shoulders tensed under the high-quality tuxedo. His right hand grabs something inside of his pockets just like he used to do with his totem. Some habit doesn't change apparently. But you know well that he doesn't have his totem, not anymore. You know it since it’s with you, kept in one of the secret lockers under your bed. That was the last thing you had from him, you found it after he ran away from the Omelas motel you stayed back then. He left out of grief or so you thought, but maybe it was actually guilt?

“Huh do you think you are dreaming?” you crack a smile at him, letting him know you noticed the tiny movement and there's something odd, nervous yet relieved in Jungkook's smile.

“There's a chance. I thought I would never see you again,” he admits, scratching the back of his nape and you wonder: was it hard for him to leave just like that? Like it was for you to leave the sinking ship like a coward?

Jungkook has always got easily attached to places, to people. Maybe that's why it was surprising in the first place that he disappeared like that without reasons, excuses and even without goodbyes.

“Would it be better if it was a dream?” you ask tentatively not wanting to tear off the bandage from old wounds right away. Maybe he left because he didn't want to see you, any of you ever again, maybe he blamed and hated you. It has all crossed your mind before but the sad, lopsided smile he gives you tells otherwise.

“No, that would be cruel,” he mumbles stepping closer to you when somebody wants to pass by him and clearing his throat, he poses a straightforward, curious but absolutely reasonable question: “What are you doing in Shanghai?”

“I could ask you the same,” you shrug with a kind smile. You take out a name card from your purse and give it to him, hoping that alongside with the pantsuit you wear, it will be enough to convince him. “I'm here on a business trip.”

Jungkook stares at the card for a long moment, then looks up at you and smiles. This time, it's genuine.

“What a small world. I work in Shanghai for the time being and I just had a meeting here,” he explains and being the ever so romantic, you know he's probably thinking about the chances and how it was meant to be. He looks at you from under his lashes, almost shy which is endearing.

“Do you… maybe wanna grab a drink?” he asks and you should feel sorry for him, because his actions are so predictable it was actually calculated in the original plan to have him ask you for a drink. So your smile widens as everything goes according to the plan.

“I thought you wouldn't even ask!” you exclaim as Jungkook takes a seat on the stall next to you.

With a drink in your hands, it's surprisingly easy to make a small talk, to act like nothing ever happened. The neutral, not-too-personal questions like How's work? Do you like it? What about Shanghai? are easy to make up a lie for, it feels like you are strangers getting to know each other, tiptoeing around every serious topic. You act natural, paying attention, leaning closer while drinking your watered cocktails thanks to Jimin.

You know it very well that from one of the hotel rooms Yoongi is watching your little chit chat waiting for your signal to start the next phase. When Jungkook's phone suddenly rings in the middle of talking about places you should see here, you slightly jump and get a bit worried when you see the boy's concerned face. It definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

“Sorry I have to take this call,” he excuses himself and no matter how much an urgent call mess up your plan you tell him it's okay. It would be suspicious to say no.

While Jungkook answers the phone, turning his back to you, you fix the buzzing earpiece in your hair-covered ear.

“Track it down.” You hear Yoongi order Hoseok in the ear piece but the guy is already typing like crazy on the laptop a few tables away from you. You see him from the corner of the eye.

“I'm on it,” the hacker hisses and you all anxiously wait for the scans results. “It's a Chinese number from closeby but… That's weird. It's not in the database.”

And the Chinese government is said to know about everything. Then how?

“What are you up to, Jungkook?” Yoongi asks nobody in particular. For being the puppet master he sure feels out of control already. As he watches the live CCTV recordings intently, he feels himself slipping back into the past. When Jungkook apologizes for the short call as he turns back to you and you smile at him saying it's no problem, Yoongi hates you for it. He want to hate you because he can't tell if it's play pretend or genuine. In the meantime you have no idea how conflicted you make him feel even with your smallest gestures.

“I heard Yoongi is recruiting a new crew,” Jungkook speaks up suddenly, throwing in a new topic and you almost choke on your drink. Why he had to bring that up? And how does he know?

“Really?” you raise a brow as you regain your composure very subtly so you can play the nonchalant even further. “I had no idea. But let's not talk about Yoongi.”

Jungkook seems taken aback, his fingers still on the edge of his empty whiskey glass.

“You guys are not together anymore?”

You shake your head and look away, gaze fixed on the counter, bitterness crawling up its way in your throat. At least that much is true. To be honest, you have never talk about your breakup with anyone, so it's weird that four years later Jungkook of all people is the first.

“After what happened to Jin, everything went to shit. I haven't seen him since,” you add and it's a lie but Jungkook believes it all.

He lets out a quiet oh sound not knowing what to say. That's when you decide to signal to Jimin, tucking a lock behind your ear when you lift your other hand to order another round.

“Let's drink to coincidences and old friends,” you say lifting your glass into the air when you get it. You flash a bright smile at the boy who isn't even that boyish anymore.

“Yeah, friends,” Jungkook mumbles and swallows down the drink in one go.

You watch him carefully as you set down your glass once you've taken a small sip of it. You ask him about some nonsense to act oblivious but you see him already losing focus, hand searching for something to grab as if he was dizzy.

“Hey, are you okay?” you lean closer, tone worried and just before Jungkook's body goes lump next to you, you see it: the apology in his deep brown eyes.

Then the next act begins as Hoseok gets up volunteering to help the 'pretty lady with her drunk friend’. You turn to Jimin and ask him to bring a jug of water into the room 304 then with Hoseok's help, the two of you carry Jungkook to the elevator where Namjoon waits for you. You must be a funny sight as the four of you makes sure to get Jungkook to the hotel room, exactly where you want him to be. Quickly and well-rehearsed you set up everything wordlessly and even you're surprised that it goes so smoothly. But maybe you shouldn't have doubted Yoongi.

“Okay, let's get it right. Hoseok will set the alarm at 60 minutes, that means we have 12 hours at the first level,” the man starts off the last discussion in medias res gathering everybody around the bed where Jungkook lies. You know it well it would be 20 times the original if you used strong sedative but after what happened to Jin Yoongi doesn't want to risk not being able to wake up in time. “The dream will look exactly like what we were doing just now because we want him to think it's still reality, he will let his guards down this way. We want him to wake up here thinking that he had a regular dream all along.”

And he will, because the brain always finds a logical connection between the dots even if it can't explain how. But it will only work if you don't get caught while messing with his head.

“Remember not let him reveal your faces during the knock-out, okay?” Namjoon adds reminding you of a crucial part of the plan and the others nod before settling down around the dream-sharing machine waiting for their turn. After sitting down in an armchair, you touch the head of the needle to the vein on the inside part of your elbow and take a deep breath.

Hoseok is the one left behind, guarding the room and responsible for the so-called 'kick', the final push you need to come back to reality at the same time before the dreams would collapse.

“Good luck,” he whispers, pushes a button and while he pierces a needle into Jungkook's skin, all of you do the same. In matter of seconds you feel your eyelids getting heavy and then you slip into Jimin's dream.

“... and then I asked him– Jungkook? Are you listening?”

“Ah, sorry, I kinda zoomed out for a moment. Can you tell me again?” Jungkook blinks, suddenly not knowing where he is. It's a side effect of dreaming that when you're thrown into the middle of it your brain has to pierce the pieces back together. You smile at him kindly, putting your hand on top of his to soothe his uneasiness and squeeze lightly. The suspicion that flashed in his eyes a moment ago disappears into thin air, so you let go to grab your drink.

“So I was saying...”

And you're telling a story about half-true, half-fake events, laughing along and drinking as if there's no tomorrow. Jimin looks at you anxiously a few times, especially when you get too close to Jungkook just to whisper something into his ear. But what can you tell? He makes it easy to be carefree, it's been a while since you had this much fun even if it's not real.

When the call happens again, you freeze for a moment looking at Jimin for help but he subtly shakes his head saying it's not his doing. Which means Jungkook gained his control in the dream too. His subconscious probably remembers the call vividly, that's why the call repeats itself. You know it well that if it was his dream, whoever he's calling would be in the dream too. Jungkook has always been a very visualistic person, so what if his mind creates the person now too? What if the caller is one of the projections in the lobby?

You look around frantically, eyes searching for anyone who has a phone by their ears but you can't seem to find the right one. Not until your gaze settles on the table that was occupied by Hoseok in reality. Now it should be empty, Jimin's mind definitely wouldn't fill it with a fake Hoseok. But there's somebody there, a man in worn clothes, baseball cap on his head and a telephone by his ear. From this angle you don't see his face clearly but he wears those silly, Harry Potter-like glasses Taehyung used to be fond of those before he went missing not long after Jungkook.

“No, that can't be,” you whisper, standing up without thinking and you see a few projections head snapping towards you immediately.

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook turns to you, worry splitting his handsome face as he puts his phone away.

“Yeah, yeah, it's just that I suddenly remembered I have an early meeting tomorrow,” you tell him and at least that excuse is part of the original plan, too.

“Oh right. Sorry that I kept you for so long,” Jungkook apologizes sheepishly right away and checks the time on his watch. He stares at it a moment too long but there's nothing extraordinary in his eyes when he looks at you and he has always been a terrible liar (at least you thought). “I didn't realize time passed this fast.”

“I didn't either, I really enjoyed catching up with you. I wish we kept in touch all these years,” you smile at him and he ducks his head down at that, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sorry about that too. It wasn't fair to you. All of you,” he whispers sounding guilty which surprises you more than anything. What if you don't even need the second dream at all because he will confess?

“Ah no, don't be. I'm sure you had your reasons, just like I had my own when I left Yoongi,” you blurt out totally unplanned and the look Jungkook gives you suddenly makes you shy. You clear your throat eyes catching on the mysterious figure standing up and leaving the bar. “Let me wait for the cab with you.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods still a bit dazed, wondering, eyes holding million questions. He puts money on the counter and both of you walk out followed by the projections’ stare.

It's a chilly night waiting outside and watching the fast cars go by as silence envelops you. Even though you lost the glasses guy out of sight you lowkey hope someone of the team followed him. You can't be the only one who noticed him.

Then finally a taxi pulls up in front of you and you know the next phase of the mission should start soon. But Jungkook, of course he has to be unpredictable now of all times.

“Can I… Can I get that name card of yours?” He blurts out and you smile at him playfully just to tease.

“Why do you need that?”

“To keep in touch,” he replies tentatively; it almost sounds like a question as if he wasn't sure it's the right answer. You chuckle lightly and plunge a card out of your purse.

“Don't lose it,” you warn him knowing well that when he will wake up he will search for the card but it will be nowhere and he will regretfully remember you telling him this.

“I won't,” he makes a promise he can't possible keep but he doesn't know that. If you look beyond the possibility of him being a murderer, he's a great guy. In another life you would have definitely given him a chance but in this one, everything with him would have reminded you of Yoongi and the team and what you all lost.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper as you press a soft kiss onto his cheek and watch him get in the taxi. You lift your right hand for a wave when suddenly you see horror flashing in Jungkook's eyes before the world goes dark. There's a linen sack over your head and firm hands grab on your waist pulling you backwards. You hear Jungkook calling your name, a few thuds and groans. You fight back weakly against your assaulters but you end up in an elevator with one of them nevertheless and Jungkook's name burns on your throat as you imagine him getting beaten up because of you.

(In the meantime, Hoseok anxiously walks up and down in the room, checking the ticking clock annoyingly often. Waiting is more nerve-wrecking that he originally thought so. Even more so when somebody knocks on the door and a deep male voice claims that he's part of the cleaning service. Hoseok gulps and looks at the half dozen people sleeping in the room. What would they say? He can't let anyone in.

“I… I don't need cleaning.”

“Then sir you should have put out the sign. Sorry for the intrusion. Goodbye,” the male replies right away then walks away based on his footsteps. Hoseok sighs in relief and searches for the Do not disturb! sign to hang it out. He waits a minute to be sure, checks the hallway through the CCTV and opens the door. As soon as he puts his hand out, a guy jumps out of the camera's blind spot and pushes him to the wall by grabbing his collar with two hand. His messy honey-coloured hair hangs low into his eyes and the round glasses he wears. The door closes with a thud behind him.

“Never trust the cleaning staff,” he smirks wickedly.”)

As the elevator dings on the third level, the grip on your wrist loosens and the sack is out of your face.

“You ok, Shorty?” Namjoon asks worried as always and you smile at him through the mirror while trying to fix your messy hair.

“I'm good. Do you think he bought the play?” you look at up him curiously. You haven't seen the action part itself so you can't really tell if Jungkook got suspicious when the 'kidnappers' appeared out of blue to take you.

“We will see soon,” the chemist shrugs but he's not telling the act off, so he's hoping in success too. It's funny that you both knew Jungkook back then or at least you thought you knew and now neither of you dares to guess the outcome.

In room 304, while your wait for the others, the two of you set the dream-sharing machine up. Namjoon measures the doses strictly and you're in the middle of throwing your shoes off for better sleeping position when the guys not so elegantly almost break through the door still in their ski masks, carrying the unconscious Jungkook. Jimin practically throws him onto the bed after Yoongi lets go and he has to bear all the weight. Because as soon as Yoongi throws his mask off, he strides to you with anger clear and vivid on his pale features.

“What the fuck was that?” he yells at with you flames in his dark eyes almost as if you just killed someone.

“What?” you blink at him confused. You don't get what's his problem when everything worked out fine. You didn't even follow that man in glasses. But apparently Yoongi isn't mad because of that.

“You were flirting with him!” he bellows and you let out a huff.

“And what? You wanted a friendly chit-chat? Well sorry, I went with the flow. It’s called improvising, Yoongi, something you should learn with that strategist mind that can’t adapt to changes.”

Yoongi glares back at you with eyes deep as a water well and dark as night. You can't seem to find answers in them. What exactly is his problem?

“That wasn't what we agreed on,” he says in a more civilized manner but his voice still has a critizeing edge to it. You sigh. You had a faint guess this would happen because no matter how much he tries to keep his emotions at bay, to keep them deep down without letting them surfacing, they tend to consume him from the inside. He has been a glass waiting to be filled to the lid and overspill when it becomes too much.

“You promised me that what happened to us won’t affect the work,” you remind him in a voice colder than intended but he should know best that in dreamland it can be extremely dangerous if you lose control over your feelings.

“I fucking lied, ok?” he lashes out at that and then blurts out a confession he probably didn’t want you to know. “I never stopped loving you.”

Silence falls on you. Nobody dares to move or make any noise. You hate this melodrama that unfolds, so you suck in a short inhale and react on impulse heated by anger.

“Then deal with it!” you snap at him and take a deep breathe before adding: “Don't worry, I won't start kissing him in Jin’s form in the deeper level, so just concentrate on not letting dream me kill all of us!”

And with that you leave them there and shut the bathroom door behind you. You still hear Jimin ask in a small voice:

“What is she talking about?”

You are not sure how much time you spend in the bathroom trying to fix your breathing and calm down your betrayal heart before hearing the knock on the door. You're about to tell Yoongi to go to Hell and leave you alone because the dream won't collapse from waiting a few more minutes but it's not him who speaks up.

“Hey, it's Joon. Can I come in?” Namjoon asks in a gentle, understanding voice, so you get up from the bathtub edge and open the door for him. Behind the threshold there he stands looking guilty as if the mess happening was somehow his fault.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. It was just a lot suddenly.”

You step out of the way, so he can actually step into the room and close the door behind himself.

“I get it. But you know how Yoongi gets when it's about the ones he loves. He becomes reckless and illogical,” he says and you know it all. You know you went a bit overboard with Jungkook. Not only you led him on but you knew that your ex was watching and still acted that way. still, you couldn't help it because it worked, you felt wanted and powerful with every smile you get or gave. If you were honest, you'd have admitted: you wanted Yoongi to be jealous, to feel sorry for what he lost, to feel bad for not stopping you from leaving.

“Did you know that in his dreams I kill him?” You look Namjoon in the eyes with your voice trembling. It's still surreal to you but the guy doesn't seem too surprised.

“Yes,” he nods sadness washing over his face. Of course he knows, he's Yoongi's best friend and secrets’ keeper after all.

“I love him, Joon, I love him still,” you confess burying your face in your hands. You wanted to hide it, you wanted to keep your feelings under a seal. You swore he would never know about it. It would be just one job anyway, you told yourself but it's already so much more than just one job. It's crazy how at home you feel here with this team miles away from anything physical that you could call yours. “He has no idea how hard it was to leave him. I just couldn't handle that loss and seeing the team fall apart. He deserves someone better.”

“But he doesn't want better. He wants you.” Namjoon pats your back in a comforting but slightly awkward way and you feel like he's the big brother you never had.

“Are you better?” he asks after a few minutes of listening to your breathing getting calmer. You nod while checking in the mirror whether you messed up your mascara with the unshed tears or not. Namjoon's reflection flashes you a grin. “Good, then get out because I need to piss.”

You laugh and shoot him a grateful smile before stepping out of the bathroom. You're afraid a bit of bumping into Yoongi out there and being left alone with him but he's nowhere in sight. It's Jimin who stands by the bed alone, checking the time on his watch and on the machine.

“What happened? With Jungkook after I left?” You speak up clearing your throat trying to sound as natural as you can as if nothing happened. Jimin turns to you with eyes a bit unsure, holding dozens of questions in them but he tries his best and answers yours first.

“He kept trying to fight us off and was willing to pay in order for you to not get hurt. Yoongi got pretty pissed at that and punched him. While he staggered I gave him in injection, he probably didn't even felt it because of the adrenaline,” he recites the recent events as he induces the needle into the sleeping Jungkook's bloodstream. The boy stirs slightly but continues sleeping.

You all agreed beforehand that action-filled dreams are usually produced after situations involving high adrenaline level, so you just provided him the best proper setting to make it seem believable he would dream about that fateful day while being knocked out.

“Then everything went according to the plan. Cool,” you nod relieved and settle down on the sofa in a comfortable position. Just as you soothe down your skirt, Yoongi opens the door and steps into the living room. Not too much later Namjoon steps out of the bathroom and you all get ready for the second level of dream.

“Okay, we still have time. You have almost five days,” Jimin reminds you after checking the exact time again. He's the point man for this level, he will remain here and wake you up when it's time.

“Let's find out what happened to Jin,” Joon claps his hands and gets seated as well. There's only room next to you for Yoongi but you don't make a big deal out of it as you pull your knees closer to yourself making him space. No matter how awkward it is, you will have to act like decent human beings.

You look around, gaze lingering a tad bit long on the unconscious Jungkook before looking at the guys next to you. It's just you, Yoongi and Namjoon now. With Jungkook, it's the 4/6 of the original team. The nostalgia hits you strong and anxiety bubbles up inside of you because you know that this time it will be Yoongi's dream and you will die as Jin no matter what. Still, you don't let fear take control as Jimin pushes the button and you close your eyes.

(“Kim Taehyung. Forger. Ex-member of Yoongi's team. What do you want?” Hoseok throws the boy off himself knowing him well from the files he gathered about the old mission. But unlike Jungkook Taehyung hid his traces well, according to the latest database that had his info, he was supposed to be working with a charity company in Indonesia. But then what was he doing here?

The boy in glasses doesn't seem surprised that he has been recognized, instead of panic his face turns to stone cold and still.

“Wake them up. We will get company soon,” he says and Hoseok barely has time to catch his wrist before he could shut off the machine in the middle of the simulation.)

You're on a train of gold and glitter, you flex the tuxedo you wear. It's slightly uncomfortable but Jin would have never complained about it. You are chatting at the bar with faceless people about nonsense when you see her, yourself walking through the cabin's door in a dress Yoongi liked and with a cheerful smile. That's fake, you can tell that much but you will probably never get used to seeing yourself from the outside like this.

She tells you about the man who wants to see Jin and you already know what's next: Jin will meet the businessman who had been your target back then. You play his rule, exchanging glances with Namjoon who serves your drinks but there's nothing off with the businessman, nor with the projections. Everything seems normal for now and it makes you wonder: what if you were supposed to be in Jungkook's head instead of Yoong's all along? Would it matter?

You once asked what decides whose dream it will be. Originally you thought it always should be the target's mind but Yoongi shook his head.

“It depends on what you need. You know when you dream you're faintly aware of everything, so if that's what you want, it should be your dream. If you plant the seed of an idea then it has to be theirs. But if you're good enough and aware of dreaming then it doesn't really matter,” he said and you know he wouldn't make such a big mistake after so much planning. So you trust him and go along with the dream's flow.

Time pass weirdly and you get a few strange looks from projections from time to time. It's almost like relief when you get to a cabin room alone. You watch the snow-covered scenery run by the Russian countryside and let yourself relax for a moment. It's familiar, nice and quiet. When the footsteps are coming you know well whose they have to be.

“Jin…” Jungkook speaks up in a faint voice and you only realize belatedly that he's talking to you. After four years of being yourself, it’s actually difficult to get used being treated as someone else.

“Hey Kook, what's up?” you look up at him pretending everything is fine but one glance at him is enough to tell that he knows very well it’s not fine at all. There's concern in his charcoal eyes and you gulp: will this be it? The fateful moment when everything goes wrong? It would make sense because during this time you, Yoongi and Namjoon were busy trying to get information out of the businessman, so it was already too late by the time you realized Jin was gone.

“Are you sure you wanna do this? Do we have to?” Jungkook asks worry dripping from his voice and you don't understand. What is he talking about? But Jin probably knew, so you keep on playing his role.

“Let's go along with the plan,” you nod firmly even though you have no idea what the plan is. Jungkook seemingly does and you hope he would share it with you but it’s too late when you realize that exactly that is the problem.

“Sorry, Jin. It will hurt a little,” he says and pulls out a gun so fast you have no chance to react. You have absolutely no time to get ready for the pain that the bullet induces in your body tearing the flesh. It only hurts for a moment though since Jungkook's aim was deadly. Where did he learn that? You wonder faintly but the darkness overcomes you before you can find an answer. The last thing you see is the flash of realization in the boy’s dark, almond eyes as your smile falls.

You wake up in the hotel room gasping for air and tears you didn't even notice running down your face. You only realize Jimin has been calling your name when he touches your shoulder steadying your trembling body.

“It was fast. What happened? Did you get to know anything?” he asks and you look up through your tears, vision hazy.

“It was him all along. It wasn't the target or projections that shot Jin in the dream, it was Jungkook,” you explain and only now that the truth is out you realize how much you didn't want it to be true. That you were almost calm because you hoped Jungkook didn't do anything bad and that Yoongi was wrong. Apparently, he isn't.

Jungkook knew that for that massive mission you all took strong sedative, so he was also aware that Jin waking up so early on without actually being able to could mess up his health. But what did he mean by plan? It seemed like Jin and him knew something neither of you did.

“Help me get him into the bathroom and lock us in there. He will soon figure out he's dreaming and he will wake himself up. Let's make it look like we both were kidnapped,” you get yourself together and turn to Jimin. He nods and the two of you get to work.

[Jungkook doesn’t even stop to look back, he runs. He runs as if he was being chased, he passes by the empty seats in the dim light until he’s at the wagon’s door tearing it open. The cold outside bites into his skin and he turns around his axis looking around, staring at the Omelas sign in front of him. It brings back memories of secret late night talks and bitter laughs. Memories of sneaking out and accidentally seeing you and Yoongi kissing. Memories of being hurt and lovesick. Yet, he doesn’t hesitate to open the door because there’s an unexplainable force moving him ahead. The next wagon is darker than he remembers but the wind is the same, it moves the curtains because each window is open. Night has fallen since. He goes for the next door searching for something, anything. He isn’t sure what but he hopes he can find it soon as the faint sound of machines spinning follows him from the laundry room. To where? This corridor seems to lead nowhere. He runs ahead searching for answers and then he abruptly stops when a train crosses his path. It rushes along, its wind messing up his hair while the sight messing up his heart.

He’s just seen himself on the train.

And that’s when it all clicks.

When one dreams everything seems smooth and logical until they wake up or notice that something is off. How did he get there? He didn’t care no matter how unrealistic his journey was, it all drowns on him now. It's a dream. Of course it is. These are memories. He lifts the gun in his hand and turns the barrel of it against his temple. He needs to wake up.

“Not so fast, traitor,” comes a voice from behind him and with a thud the pistol falls from his hands.]

You look into the mirror forging some changes on your face like split lips and a purple bruise under your eyes. It looks like alongside with your messy hair as if they were rough with you too. Then Jimin ties you up by the wrists like he did to Jungkook too and locks the door on you. Nibbling on your lip you can only pray Yoongi was right about that too that Jungkook would never hurt you.

[“Yoongi,” Jungkook nods towards the guy as he turns around and glances at the gun on the floor. “I should have known it's you. What the hell are you doing?” he crosses his arms in front of him, raising a brow at the strategist knowing it must be his plan, his dream.

“What does it look like? I try to figure out what the fuck happened because you disappeared even before I could ask.” The elder steps closer while kicking the gun behind him, so Jungkook can't disappear now. It's finally time for confrontation. Let's play with open cards. “You killed Jin. Knowing about the strong sedative.”

Jungkook grits his teeth, looking away like a sulky kid. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

Yoongi scoffs at his protest. He just saw. Neither of you had seen him but he was on the train’s corridor clearly seeing as Jungkook pulled the trigger and then ran.

“Then explain it to me,”he pleads instead of correcting him and Jungkook actually looks conflicted. As if he was considering telling him the truth after all these years.

But right then dream you walks into the room in all her glory, eyes kind yet dangerous. This you, the you living in Yoongi’s mind is unpredictable just like you are to him. But this you is also a nightmare, nothing like you and if he wants to be honest Yoongi hates to see you like this, almighty and dressed in glitter. All these years reminiscing that night, seeing you like this in his dreams he wanted to hate this self of you, but this part of you at least stayed with him, so he couldn’t.

“There you are boys,” she singsongs and smiles at them. If you were there you'd wanna hit yourself, that old naive self not reading the situation quite right. But the guys don’t do anything.

“Oh fuck not right now,” Yoongi sighs frustrated already. He doesn’t have patience for this now.

On the other hand, Jungkook is more confused than ever.

“Is she…” he blinks at the girl not sure how to finish that sentence but Yoongi beats him to it.

“She's a projection of my mine,” he shoos him and turns to her. “Hear that? You're not real!”

“How can you say that?” She gasps and takes the gun from the floor aiming at Yoongi with trembling hands and tears in her eyes.

When she sends the bullet flying, Jungkook jumps in the way. His body jerks at the impact of getting shot but he grabs onto Yoongi’s collars as he falls forwards.

“I have never betrayed Jin,” he says with his last breath and then disappears to bits.]

“Jungkook? Are you up?” you immediately turn to the boy when he jolts awake. He strains against his ties all in vain before looking at you. There's a slightly bruised area under his panicky eyes.

“Oh my god, what did they do to you? I will kill them!” his eyes widen as he notices your fake injuries. “What happened?”

You sigh heavily, keeping up the facade and your hair falls into your face as your head falls ahead.

“They were suddenly asking question about Jin but I told them I have no idea what they are talking about. Why would I know? It’s been years and I had no idea about his debt.” You’re improvising, making up your line (lies) all along but according to Jungkook’s face you’re doing it well.

“Shit,” he curses and bites into his lower lip. A bad habit, a sign saying a lot about his feelings.

“You knew about it?”

“Yeah, I…” Jungkook groans, feeling helpless and wanting to hit something. You can see anger boiling up inside him. But the shock is more prominent and the way it spreads fear in his veins like poison. The sigh that falls from his mouth is almost like giving up. “We thought they would give up.”

“We?” you question while furrowing your brows and Jungkook looks alarmed. He stares at the bathroom door for a moment, listening to the muffled talking from outside.

“You should have never gotten know this in order to keep you safe but it doesn't matter anymore I guess,” he shakes his head, looking away but once he starts speaking his words flow like an unstoppable river. “Long story short: remember that I asked Jin if he knew anything about my parents’ death? He asked around, got involved with these guys and they wanted to kill him to cover their traces because he found out something he shouldn’t have, so I helped him fake his death.”

“Fake his death? But the doctor…” You gape at the boy not quite believing that you heard it right. You must be imagining things. You want Jin to be alive so bad, especially after being in his skin that you start hearing things.

“Taehyung forged himself into one,” Jungkook explains with no sign of any cruel joke on his face and you gulp nervously.

“He was in it too? So is Jin alive? For real?” you gasp nails digging into the flesh of your palms.

“Yeah, I…”

You don’t get to know what Jungkook wanted to say with those gentle eyes because suddenly the bathtub and the sink taps turn on filling the space with water faster than humanly possible. The room tilts and whole world seems to crumble together, slipping from under your feet. You fall and fall in the dark as you gain back your conscience.

Opening your eyes the first thing you see is Taehyung and Hoseok with an empty bucket in their hands each and a drenched Jimin. There are different kind of natural kickbacks, splashing water into the face is an effective one but Yoongi’s favourite method is gravity. Because when your body feels out of balance it will try to automatically correct it and then the concentration on the dreams fails.

“What’s the trick?” you asked Yoongi when you first shared a dream. You played around on the rooftop looking around in a city you have only seen in movies and well, in dreams. The lights and stars, all of it was magical. But in the middle of it all was a very peculiar young man with a shy smile on his face and his hands in his pockets.

“To what?” he quirked a brow stepping closer to you.

“To falling,” you smiled remembering his words about waking up as you stood by the edge of a building. Under you there was only endless darkness.

“You have to let it happen,” Yoongi shrugged but it was easy for him to say this, he was already a pro while you were a rookie in this dream business. You still had your doubts.

“But what if it’s real? Isn’t it too risky?”

“That’s what your totem is for,” the boy reminded you, pointing at the medal hanging on the chain around your neck and then he flashed you one of his rare, famous gummy smiles as he teasingly added: “And don’t worry. In reality, I will catch you when you fall.”

“Eww cheesy,” you giggled but couldn’t help the blush working its way onto your cheek as you stepped over the fence ready to go home after this amazing afternoon spent in dream land. But before you could let go, before you could let yourself fall, there was a hand around your wrist and Yoongi yanked you back. He pulled you close to him until he had his hand on your neck. Then his mouth on yours was warm and gentle, slightly chapped but still so sweet. A perfect, dreamy kiss.

It all started in a dream, maybe it was supposed to end like dreams too: all of a sudden and in the middle.

Chaos erupts in the hotel room. Nobody understands what the hell is going on. You catch Jungkook's gaze on you for a moment before he looks away, betrayed.

“Jungkook, I…” You step towards him wanting to apologize for leading him on even though he did the same thing back then, so you should be on one page now.

“I should have known. When Jin called me to warn me that Yoongi was in town I should have known that you being here cannot be a coincidence,” he interrupts you, tone flat and hurt. “Was it all a lie?”

You remember the phone call and you remember his question right after, so you look down knowing that your answer to that was indeed a lie.

“No, of course not everything. I've missed you,” you confess and then look around in the room full of old and new faces. It's nostalgic: the rush of adrenaline, the heaviness of dream on your chest and the picture of Yoongi arguing with Taehyung. “I've missed all of you.”

“But you missed him more,” Jungkook says, it's not even a question as he follows your gaze and you don't want to lie to that. Yeah, you did yearn for Yoongi's presence more and look where it brought you. You don't even know where you stand now after his outburst.

“Get up, idiots. I didn't come to save your lazy asses for you to ruin it. We need to leave,” Tae walks over to the two of you and snaps at you and Jungkook with slight humour in his voice.

“Taehyung, what the...” Jungkook stumbles to his feet confused about being dragged around.

“Sorry, we don’t have time for catching up right now. Later I will tell you everything, I promise. But if I could track you all down, they probably already did, too. We need to get out of here. He’s waiting for us,” the boy explains hastily and the question everybody is thinking of is out in Yoongi's sharp voice:

“Who?”

Taehyung’s smile is mischievous as always.

“Jin,” he replies and you all follow him without further questions.

The ride in the minivan is quite and tensed. You all have a lot to talk about. You sit next to Namjoon who glances at you with worry from time to time while you stare out of the window watching the Shanghai nightlife unfold before your eyes. Yoongi has always taken you to places you've never been before. Now you see him being tensed because the events aren't under his control and he probably feels helpless.

Taehyung occasionally drops a few info about where you're heading while driving. Only that much so you could gather that it's out of town, a bit secluded area because Jin likes to be himself most of the time. It's already been an hour when you stop by a fast food restaurant on the highway because Tae needs to piss and Hobi is hungry for fries. They ask you if you need anything else and almost all of you requests coffee. A few of you get out of the car for fresh air and you finally get Yoongi alone by one of benches by the petrol station.

You sit down next to him, trying to recollect your thoughts to figure out what to say. Because it's what you own to both of you. Still, it's a lot to take in, that the reason why you all fell apart was a made up lie to keep you safe.

“I'm sorry,” you blurt out after a minute of silence. You can't look at him even if you see him from the periphery of your vision whipping his head toward you. You don't want to see the troubles in his eyes while you hurriedly let out everything that you kept locked up all these years: “I'm sorry for leaving you just like that back then. But after what happened with Jin, or what we thought happened I was at a bad place mentally. I was so afraid you would leave me if you saw me like that so I left instead. I made you the villain of the story and blamed you for everything while trying to justify why I did it if I still loved you.”

There's a sharp intake on your part and a heart much lighter than before. But you clear your throat not wanting to pressure Yoongi into anything, so looking at him you rush to reassure him that you have no expectations.

“You don't have to say anything, I just wanted to tell yo–”

“Do you wanna know what kept dream you from killing me?” Yoongi asks suddenly, cutting into your excuse as if he didn't want to hear that. But his question makes you genuinely curious.

“What?”

“That I told her I love you,” he says while looking straight into your eyes, words like loving arrows aiming at your heart. But oh he's stolen that long ago. Yet, he still seems a bit nervous as he explains. “That's probably what I've regretted the most. That I haven't told you that.”

He really didn't but you didn't either. With not labelling your relationship came the uncertainty of limits and love seemed like a too big word back then. But now it doesn't scare you anymore.

“Tell me now. Tell me again,” you ask (plead to) him gently and he doesn't even hesitate, not even for a second.

“I love you,” he tells you looking deep in your eyes and you grab on your necklace out of instinct. It's light as feathers just as your heart after giving out everything. His confession makes you smile, wider than ever.

“I love you, too,” you tell him with a shy smile and you know you have to work on a lot like talking openly about burdens and fears and trust but for now having him beside you is enough. It should be enough.

“Okay, lovebirds, get back in the car,” Taehyung hollers reminding you of reality, bursting your idealistic little bubble out. You chuckle lightly and grab on Yoongi's hand to hold while walking back to the minivan. He doesn't even look at you but squeezes your hand back, so you know he'll always have your back.

And a love like this is better than any dream.

#bangtan bookclub #btswriters #sfwbangtan #bts angst #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #suga angst #suga x reader #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #inception au #stories

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yodawgiherd · 6 years

Text

Daddy issues

Rating: T

Read on AO3

“Don’t you think that our friends will start seeing us as a kind of a support group if we keep this up?”

“What do you mean? “, Connie spared a quick look at his girlfriend before turning his attention back to the traffic, guiding their car through it.

“Well, “¸Sasha fingered the edge of the cake container in her lap, where her sweet creation was hiding, “we are legit spending the last few months doing emotional support for Eren and Mikasa, and as soon as they are back together this thing with Armin happens. Don’t you think its weird? “

Connie was silent for a time, focusing on the driving, turning the question inside his head. “I’m not sure. But life just… works in mysterious ways sometimes, and we have to be there for our friends, wouldn’t you say? “

“Damn, I didn’t know you were such a sweet guy. “, when he blushed, she couldn’t hold back a giggle, “Oh, stop it, I’m just teasing. I know that you are the sweetest thing on the earth. “, Sasha drummed her fingers on the top of the plastic, “Except this puppy that is. “

He smiled at her when they were stopped at a red light. “Then let’s hope that it will cheer Armin up. “

The rest of the road was silent, with just the radio music in their ears. But as they neared the residence of the spurned lover, Sasha’s eyes picked a familiar figure standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, reading something from a tiny notebook.

“Hey, slow down, that’s Hange! “, quickly as she could, the girl rolled down her window and stuck as much of herself as she could out of the car, greatly upsetting her boyfriend. She never did care about her safety. “HANGE! Hange! Yea here! It’s me, Sasha! “

The scientist finally took notice of them, stashing her notebook away and walking to their car while Connie expertly maneuvered it into a parking space. “What are you doing here? Did Eren also call you? Or Mikasa? Are you here because of Armin? “ Sasha excitedly jabbered on while her somber boyfriend retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk and helped her get into it.

“Yea I…. heard something, so I decided to come and have a look myself. “, Hange never blushed, she found the whole concept of it stupid, but she supposed that now would be the time for that. In truth, she got her information about the blond’s troubles from the bug in Eren and Mikasa’s house, but she would rather die than say it out loud. She still had to find a way to remove it without drawing any attention, Levi seemed that he won’t forget about it this time.

“Oh that’s amazing! The more the merrier, right Con? “, he grimaced when he heard the nickname. Sasha had a myriad of names for him, baldie, coconut, and many more, but even though he wouldn’t like it from other people, from her he just let it pass. After all, what’s wrong on having pet names with your significant other? The force of nature that she was Sasha was already leaving him in the dust, wheeling ahead with Hange in tow, not even waiting for his answer. Shaking his closely shaved head, Connie followed.

Armin didn’t open the door on first knock, not even the second or third one, but Sasha wasn’t a woman to be discouraged by that. “Hey Ar! I know you are there, and if you wont open up ill have my big strong boyfriend break down the door for us! I’m serious! “. The big and strong man in question looked the wooden structure up and down, scratching his nape. Breaking down doors, that was a job better suited for a machine like Mikasa, not him. But either Armin didn’t know that, or just knew that Sasha won’t leave him alone unless he gives in to her demands, so the door creaked open, and half a face peeked out.

“Wh…“

Sasha wasted no time, and pushed herself right into the opening, knocking the surprised owner back and paving a way for the rest of her boarding party. Hange followed without hesitation, once again scribbling in her notebook and Connie, seeing no other option, went in too, questioning if they weren’t technically breaking and entering. Once inside, they could finally get a good look on their friend, and what they saw unsettled them. Armin looked worn, disheveled, with circles beneath his eyes. The interior of his house also looked in a stage of disrepair, things lying everywhere, especially where they weren’t supposed to be.

“I wasn’t really… expecting visitors. “, said Armin in a voice that suggested that he would very much prefer if they left as fast as they came in, but knowing Sasha, that wasn’t an option.

“No worries, I brought my own seat. “ she said, patting the side of the wheelchair. When no one laughed, she sighed. “C’mon, stop standing around like a bunch of corpses! I brought a cake! “, she thrusted the container at him like a peace offering and seeing really no way out, he took it, and went to the kitchen to cut it into edible pieces. Hange almost immediately sat down, her eyes studying the mess around her while her pen worked at a tempo that made it almost blurry, notes filling the pages in her tiny book. But as Connie made the move to follow her example, Sasha nudged him with her elbow and when he looked at her she jerked her chin in the direction where Armin disappeared, making her request quite clear. Connie nodded, and she rewarded him with a smile, before looking back at Hange and continuing in whatever conversation they were having. Having his mission given, he followed Armin.

He found him standing next to a counter, knife in hand, cutting into Sasha’s delicacy with practiced movements. There was a huge number of takeout wraps lying all around, clearly showing that the blond didn’t cook much in the last weeks. “Hey man, how have you been holding up? “, Connie picked a place that looked reasonably clear and leaned on it, trying to appear as casual as possible.

“Me? I’m fine, really. “, said that man that looked anything but fine. “Just had to make some changes, that��s all. “

“Right… So have you talked to Annie? At all? “

“Nope. “, he shook his head, “She totally cut any contact with me. I mean… I guess its for the best. I made my peace. “ Connie was tempted to ask why his knuckles went white around the knife handle while he said those words but kept silent. It wouldn’t be very tact. “Anyway, what are you guys doing here? Eren called you? “, there was a certain bitterness in those words, one that Connie somewhat understood. Armin didn’t tell them about his problems, it was Eren who called and asked them to go and check up on his blond friend. Theoretically, he and Mikasa could do it themselves, but they weren’t the type of friends to barge into your house uninvited. When you needed someone like that, you called Sasha, she made you feel better whenever you wanted it or not.

“Yea, he did. Don’t hold it against him, please, he is really worried about you. “

“Right. “, Armin picked up the plates with the pieces of cake, “Can you grab some drinks from the fridge? I’ve got my hands full. “ Seeing Connie nod, he headed back towards the mess he called living room. There was an unopened bottle of a hard alcohol in the cooling space, but this wasn’t the time for that, so he grabbed some of the soft drinks instead, following the silently fuming man. Sasha seemed totally in her element, patting Armin’s arm supportively, while he munched on the cake. Hange watched them, her own portion untouched, pen scribbling away. Taking his place on the other side of the wheelchair, Connie handed out the drinks and picked up his own plate, joining in on the discussion. If it would be anyone else they were with but Sasha, it would be damn awkward. But with her, it just seemed to ebb away, and Armin was smiling before he realized it, feeling better than he did in weeks.

“All right then, “, she said when they finished the cake, extending her hands dramatically, “time to tell you the real reason why we came. Connie! Music! “, with a sigh, her boyfriend pulled out his phone and started playing the epic mix she chose for the occasion, filling the little room. Sasha waited until the melody reached her desired place before speaking, syncing her words with it. “Since I’ve been shot, the restaurant I used to work in was more than forthcoming, but it was clear that they had no place for me anymore. They gave me a very serious severance package however, and when me and baldie talked about how to spend it, I got an amazing idea. It is time! Time for me to fulfill my childhood dream! We. Are. Opening. A bar! “ The music reached its climax and so did her speech, Sasha ending up with her hands raised above her head. Armin scratched the back of his head. “Cool. But what’s that to do with me? “

“Pfff, isn’t that obvious? You are a part of it! “

“But…I have a job. “

“Right, a damn part-time in a coffee shop. “, she wiggled her finger at him, “and don’t try saying that the work is like fulfilling you or anything, I know it doesn’t. Come on. “, she pleaded, “ It will be fun! Amazing! Just the three of us, working to create a place to get drunk and pass out in the bathroom while not being afraid of someone robbing you. Pleaseeeeeee. “

“I…uhm… I guess? “, Armin still wasn’t completely in on the idea, but Sasha was right. In the end, what did he have to lose, apart from his house and savings and everything else. That didn’t matter. This activity, this could fill the void that Annie left in his heart, in his soul. Seeing Sasha’s enthusiasm, he couldn’t hold back his own smile. “ Okay. I’m in. “

“Amazing! “, she hugged him as closely as she could, considering her handicap, “We already have a location and the renovations are starting next week. We even started thinking about a name, right Con? “, back in her dramatic setting, took a deep breath, “The Third Wheel. “

“Ehm. What? “

“See? It’s perfect, cause it’s the three of us, and“, she slapped her wheelchair, “this bad boy has four wheels, so the number three is also funnily referencing that. Get it? “ Seeing that he was still far from sold on the idea, she shrugged. “The name is still subject to change. “

The laughter exploded from Armin, the absurdity of this whole situation setting in. When he woke up this morning, hoping that he could just go back to sleep, he didn’t see his day going like this, far from it. But Sasha…Sasha was just something else. On the other side of the table, Hange ran out of paper and swiftly pulled out her second notebook to start filling it with her notes. This visit was proving more and more valuable every second.

Mikasa wasn’t surprised when she heard the bathroom door open behind her, the sound soon followed by the shower opening and closing, a newcomer announcing his presence by running his fingers up and down her body.

“Came to wash my back? “

“Of course, what would you do without me? “, asked the voice she would recognize anywhere.

“So I get beaten up one day and the next you don’t even trust me to take care of myself. “, she sighed, but didn’t look at him.

Eren replied by pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “This is what I love about you, you know. Anytime anyone offers you help, you keep lashing back, saying that you are strong enough to take care of yourself. “, his lips slowly traveled over to her neck, “I know that you can do stuff yourself, of course, you can wash yourself, you can get up yourself, you can stitch your own wounds. “, he ended his journey by dragging his mouth over her scar, kissing the raised tissue, “But I like doing it, so what’s so wrong with letting me? “

“Well, if you put it like that, “, satisfied with his explanation and admittedly a bit turned on Mikasa said, dropping her hands, “you can wash my front too. “

The lips on her cheek curled upwards in a smile.

“With pleasure. “

It didn’t take him long for her to be melting into his hands, as he gently glided over her skin, not leaving out any piece of her. It was a bit cramped, as the shower was smaller than the one they had at home, but neither of them minded. In their history, they made do even with a smaller thing back at the dorm, although having sex in those tiny cubes was a stunt they had to master over the course of their studying years. When Eren kneeled down, she almost gasped because she thought that he will finally get to it, but all he did was wink up at her before starting to wash one of her feet. Tease. Mikasa had just about enough of it. But when Eren straightened and she tried going for a kiss he used the height difference between them to deny her, edging away.

“Miki, there was only one place where I touched myself more often than my bed, and its this shower. We are literally standing on a burial ground of millions of my children. Do you really want to take part in a genocide? “

But she was far beyond his jokes.

“Oh no you don’t. “¸she hissed, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his face towards hers. Even when their lips finally met, she could hear the laughter bubbling inside him and had to roll her eyes. When Eren pushed her up against the wall and finally got on with it, her last coherent thought was if Sasha managed to break through Armin’s shell.

As Annie came down in the morning, her father was sitting in the same position he was when she went to sleep, which made her question if he even slept at all. But when he saw her, the tired eyes lit up, and he somehow managed to look ten years younger.

“Hey Annie, I made you breakfast. Did you sleep well? “

She walked over to the stove, grabbing the eggs and coming to sit on the table next to him.

“Yes. And thank you. “

He kept watching her, seeing the way she stabbed into her food, refusing to meet his gaze. “Annie? What’s wrong? “

“I just... “, she sighed, “I don’t like what I did to Mikasa. She was tired, I shouldn’t have gone at her at full strength. “ the fork clicked against the plate and she gritted her teeth, “We were supposed to have a friendly spar goddamn it, not a deathmatch. “

“Annie, Annie, calm down. “, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You keep seeing her as your friend, you have to realize that she’s not one. She’s your rival, you have to become stronger, faster, better than she is, overcome her, not become her ally. “, he reached out and tapped his finger against the magazine on the table, the one that had the interview with Mikasa in it, “Your goal is to be here, on your own, in the spotlight, not in her shadow. “

“I know dad. “, she took a deep breath. Somehow, his words did nothing to soothe her. “I’ll do my best, I swear. “

“I know you will. “, he smiled at her, “If….if your mom was here, she would be so proud of you Annie. We both love you. “

She forced herself to smile back, secretly wishing he would stop talking about her.

“I love you too dad. “

I love you too….

#fanfic #eremika #springles #aruani #shingeki no kyojin #bad father #breakup #feels

31 notes · View notes

megabadbunny · 6 years

Note

For the DxR fic meme: Nine x Rose; 01 G ☯

(Nine x Rose, Jackie’s flat, midnight, Rose’s diary; from @doctorroseprompts )

***

He knows he shouldn’t, and yet, here he is.

(But it’s not exactly his fault, is it? If she didn’t wanthim to see it, maybe she shouldn’t have left it lying around all public in theopen, conspicuous and winking at him and daring him to take a little peek,wriggling its (figurative) hips like a minx in red throwing a perfumed kissover one shoulder. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t lying around in public somuch as it was in her room, that it wasn’t in the open so much as it was tuckedunder her mattress.)

The Doctor glances around furtively, even though he knows noone will catch him in the act; the flat is empty of any other living thing,save for him and the dust motes colonizing the space beneath the rug. Rose andher oddity of a mum have whisked off somewhere or other (“a proper girls’night”, Jackie might’ve said, or might not have, as the Doctor might not havebeen listening) and Jack is goodness-knows-where with goodness-knows-whom, sothe Doctor figures he’s got a good few hours to himself before anyone returns.And he’s got to find some way to occupy himself, hasn’t he?

(Besides, it isn’t as if he went snooping specifically for it.More like, he snooped, and there it conveniently was. Also, he’s bored.)

Plunking himself down on her bed—not nearly as soft or plushas her TARDIS bed, he thinks with a smirk—the Doctor opens the book to thefirst page.

Dear dairy readsthe first line.

The Doctor chuckles. There is no date scrawled anywhere onthe page, but the scribbles and misspellings amidst very careful and deliberatestrokes tell the Doctor these words were written by someone who had only recentlylearned penmanship, and was determined to do it well.

Dear dairy

Hello how are you? Myname is Rose Marion Tyler. It is my brithday today I am 6 years old.

It’s almost impossible to imagine Rose ever being so young;far easier to picture her emerging fully-grown and stubborn-willed and jeopardy-friendlystraight from inception. But the Doctor tries, and in his mind’s eye he canalmost see her sitting on the bed—no, lying on it, stomach-down, her sock-cladfeet kicking idly in the air. Her hair, unbleached and light brown, would be pulledback into a ponytail, held in place by one of those what d’you-call-it’s. A scrunchie. Her head would bend down inconcentration over the diary as she clutched her pen tightly in her small fist.The Doctor imagines the pen to be pink, glittery, one of those gel-things, hopelesslyand wonderfully childish and girly, and his grin broadens.

Mummy and me had aparty in the park and Lottie and Fred cud not come but Shireen was there andMickey to and his gran and my grandad Prentis. Grandad brung cake from thestore it has had a heart drawed on and my name and there were candels.We had ice cream to. And I had prezents there was a barby and shoes and a newbell for my bike…

The list continues and the Doctor rolls his eyes fondly.Clearly, six-year-old Rose had decided to commit only the most pertinent ofdetails to memory. He flips through perhaps the first quarter of the diary, pausingat a mention of Mickey here, a drawing of a flower there, and watches as Rose’shandwriting grows more confident, her entries more substantial. Her diary is amicrocosm of her adventures with mates, days at school, developing crushes, thelikeability of some of Jackie’s boyfriends and the caddishness of others. Atrandom, the Doctor slips a finger between the pages and opens the diarymid-entry, perhaps a year or two along its timeline.

and it felt awful butI didnt say anything bc he was right I dont have a dad but Keisha got angry andtold him to butt out and mind his own business. So then Nick laughed and madefun of Keisha bout her mum and I thot Keisha might cry so I punched Nick in thenose and it bled and the head teacher says I cant come back to school for aweek. Mum says Im in trouble but she didnt stop granddad from buying me a 99 onthe way home and she said next time do a slap its easier on the nuckles.

The Doctor can just picture Rose, eight years old, eyesflashing and stance wide as she bloodies some little twerp’s nose with herfist. Now that—that is a Rose he has no trouble imagining. Laughing, the Doctorshakes his head and flips to a later entry.

8 Nov 1996

Dear diary,

We went to go see Dad yesterday.

The Doctor pauses, hesitates. He knows what the words mean—they’refigurative, not literal, because it would be another eleven years before Rose sawany more of Pete Tyler than old photos and a grave—but the memory of the daynine years earlier still sends a shiver down his spine, clenches something inhis gut in a guilty-sick feeling he can’t quite explain.

Mum told me the storyagain. She seemed all right definitely better than the last time. I think thephotos help. Granddad came to and I don’t think he rly liked Dad very much buthe was nice about him today nicer than on other days. Afterwards Mum went todrop me off with Mickey but he said she needed me so I went on home and she seemeda little happier but she still cried a bit.

The Doctor wrinkles his nose. Something about Mickey theIdiot doing a good turn makes him grumpy. Who does that idiot think he is,anyway?

We had tea and fellasleep in front of the telly. I wanted to make her dinner but there was nothingin and I couldnt find anything in her purse so I went down to Ms Nodd’s bc she’sout seeing her grandson and I got the spare key from under her flower pot and Ilooked in her bedroom and found a few pounds and took them. I bought Mum aChinese from her favourite place and she didnt ask where I got the money so I didnttell her. I dont think Ms Nodd would know it was me that took it but I stillfeel bad I just didnt know what else to do. Ill pay her back when I get somemoney for my bday.

Nice old bird, that Ms Nodd. Much nicer than some of theother tenants on the Estate, with her blue-tinged hair and cheerful smile andwithered old hands that freely distribute home-baked biscuits to errant TimeLords who just happen to be handy with a squeaky front door. The Doctor makes amental note to liberate an ATM of a couple hundred-pound-notes at his earliestopportunity and slip them into her flat.

He reads a few more pages—comfortably silly stuff, all ofit, more crushes and rants about school and discussions of celebrities andfashion and Rose’s favorite things on telly—until his fingers land on an oddlybrittle page, warped in places, buckling. Several of the words are nearlyimpossible to discern, smudged as they are, and it takes the Doctorapproximately .003 seconds to identify the water marks as tears.

(There’s no dear diaryhere, no date. The words simply begin, as if writing anything more than theabsolutely necessary would take too much energy. Like it would hurt too much.)

Granddad’s gone.

The Doctor sighs, and his hearts each break a little foryoung Rose, curled up in her bed and crying bitter tears into her pillow. Tenyears old is far too young to experience the cruelty of such a loss. But it isn’tas if it gets any easier at any other age. The Doctor knows that to be painfullytrue.

Had a heart attack.Doctors said he went in his sleep and didn’t feel anything. I hope that’s true.Mum said he’s with the angels now but that’s stupid. The angels don’t need him wedo. I already miss him.

Mum can’t stop crying.I wish Dad was here.

And there’s that feeling again in the Doctor’s gut, thesquirmy-sicky one. Almost as if his stomach knows he shouldn’t be doing this,like his body is punishing him. It was all well and good reading about the funfrivolities of a carefree primary-schooler, but this sort of thing—this issomething else. Something deep and personal, a compound fracture of emptinessand hurt. The Doctor knows should stop reading now. He really should.

(He doesn’t.)

It takes a few weeks for the mentions of Granddad Prentice tostart fading, but eventually, they do, fading away to be gradually replaced bythe normality of everyday life. Sometimes months pass between diary-entries;other times, years. The Doctor smiles as he glances over recountings of schooldays and formals and skipping classes, of Jackie’s eccentric cluster of boyfriends,of fights with friends and happy makings-up after, of holidays and gossip andhopes for the future. The day Rose and Shireen fall out over a boy is marked byan obscene amount of swearing and words crossed-out and pencil-punctures dugdeep into the page; the day Mickey asks Rose to be his girlfriend is noted withexclamation points and a lipgloss-kiss.

The day Rose meets Jimmy Stone is noted with a single heartthat simply reads Mrs Rose Stone.

Grimacing at the words, the Doctor forces himself to presson.

OMG met this bloke Jimmyyesterday n he was soooo fit reads the next entry. Shireen and Keisha and me went down the pub and he was playing in theband and I thot he fancied Keisha at first but after he asked for my number ♡ ♡ ♡I kno it doesn’t mean nothing so I didn’ttell Mickey cos no point in him worrying and he gets so jealous anyway lol

Awww, poor jealous ickle Mickey, thinks the Doctor. He snortsderisively. Human beings—so quick to such petty reactions. He’s very glad hedoesn’t have to worry about silly things like that.

Still, it’s a little surprising when, just a few pages later,things have already progressed by leaps and bounds. Jimmy kissed me! leaps out from the page, followed by things like Mickey and me had a fight and Snuck out to hear Jimmy play downtownand Went to the cinema with Jimmy and he puthis hand up my sk

Hearts hammering, the Doctor flips past that page before hiskeen eyes have a chance to read any further. For some reason, the thought ofJimmy putting his hand up anything of Rose’s—indeed, of Jimmy or some otherfool even thinking about touching her, anywhere, with anything—makes him burn abit under the collar. Unpleasant, that. Maybe he’d better take a look at Jackie’sthermostat, make sure it’s doing its job, because it certainly doesn’t feellike it.

(Still, he skips the several pages that follow, just to besafe.)

said if Iwalked out that door I’d better not walk back in and you know what screw her.She’s wasted her whole life crying about Dad and never doing anything withherself and never doing anything for me. I hate her I would rather die then belike her

Eyes widening in surprise, the Doctor quickly scans over thenext few pages, his concern deepening by the second.

love Jimmy andno one can tell me any different and if Mum really knew what love was then she’dunderstand

Im so glad I’mwith him now he gets me like no one else ever has or ever will, ♡ him forever

didnt want totake my a-levels anyway not like it means anything out in the real world

moving into aflat together next week can’t wait ♡♡♡

and I love himbut I wish he’d get a job cos the gigs don’t make enough n I can’t covereverything on my own

came home drunkagain last night n wouldnt tell me where he’d been

told me I’dbetter cough up the rest of the rent by next weekend or else he would

And then, nothing.

The Doctor frowns. Whatever he would do is left unexplained, torn away along with a wholecluster of pages in the diary, leaving a ragged little scar behind where wordsand feelings used to sit. The Doctor runs a finger along the page-stumps leftin the spine, and wonders.

What could have happened that was so bad that even the memoryof it had to be ripped away?

The next entry picks up a few weeks later. It does notmention Jimmy. Instead, the page displays only a handful of lonely words:

He wasright. I’m so stupid.

It takes a moment for the Doctor to realize that the diaryis shaking in his hands. But that’s only because he’s gripping it so tightlyhis knuckles are glowing bright white in an attempt to jump out of his skin. Andsuddenly he’s glad, in quite a perverse way, that he has witnessed thedestruction of the Reapers firsthand, because otherwise the temptation to pilotthe TARDIS back in time to ensure that Jimmy Stone never hurt Rose—that henever so much as existed, never so much as blighted this planet with even asingle vile breath—would be so strong that he’s not entirely sure he’d be ableto stop himself.

Forcing himself to calm, the Doctor skips forward, hopefullyto an entry that won’t cause hisblood to boil angrily in his ears. Now phrases like moved back in with Mum today and applied at Henriks greet his eyes, and he feels the muscles in hisshoulders begin to relax.

and a sweet ginger boy’sstarted coming round, Mum named him Jonesy

but the new job’s notso bad

going out to the clubswith Shireen

Mickey stopped by withflowers today and it was like nothing had ever gone wrong

anyway we’re datingagain

nothing’ll come of itbut some blokes won in Bristol last week so who knows, maybe we’ll win a littlesomething n I could get Mum something nice

a little boring Iguess but prolly about the best I can expect for now

So my job blew uptoday???

Now a grin spreads across the Doctor’s face, lighting it upfrom ear-to-ear. Finally. Took longenough to get here. Now for the reallygood stuff.

Fingers tingling in anticipation, he turns the page.

Nothing.

The Doctor flips through the remaining pages, hunting forsomething, anything, but nothing buta sea of white greets his eyes, winking up at him obnoxiously without so muchas a single date or scribble or scrawl to capture his attention. The rest ofthe diary is completely, utterly blank.

Huffing in irritation, the Doctor sits back, flipping thebook closed with a scowl. It makes a certain sense, he supposes, but still.Really? She’ll write about ice cream and Barbies and school gossip and Mickeythe Idiot but no mention of the TARDIS, no asides about traveling through timeand space, no discussion of Dickens or Slitheen or bitchy trampolines or 900year-old Time Lords taking her by the hand to show her anything her littleheart could ever possibly—

CLANG.

“I just found it!” blurts out the Doctor without eventhinking, pushing off the bed and whirling round to face Rose’s open bedroomdoorway. But no one stands there; indeed, if his superior hearing is anythingto go by (and it usually is), there’s no one within several meters of him, certainlyno one in the flat. And the continuing ding-dang-dongbell’s sound, ringing at twelve lazy but significant intervals, informs himthat his nervousness was for naught—it’s just Jackie’s old grandfather clock,noisily (and unnecessarily, the Doctor thinks with a grump) proclaiming thetime.

It’s midnight. Probably Rose and Jackie will be home soon. Andprobably he shouldn’t let them know he was nosing through Rose’s diary.

(Even if it wasn’t his fault, seeing as they left him aloneand bored and unoccupied in the flat, and even if he didn’t find what he waslooking for—even if he’s not entirely certain what that was.)

As he slips the diary back into its hiding-place beneathRose’s mattress, it occurs to him that there are any number of reasons Rosemight not be writing things in a diary any more—she forgot it at home, or she’stoo tired after their adventures, or too distracted, or maybe she’s even got anew one aboard the TARDIS, hidden somewhere equally silly. But there’s anotheroption too, he realizes; that she’s simply too happy to see the need forwriting things down, that she is too busy living her memories to think of takingthe time to document them. The thought warms him, contentment blooming in hischest, and he leaves Rose’s room with a smile, closing the door behind him.

(He still checks her room on the TARDIS just in case.)

***

part ii

#ficandchips #nine x rose #ninerose #ninexrose #nine/rose #prompt fill #thanks for the prompt dear!#<3 <3 <3

65 notes · View notes

artistic-writer · 7 years

Text

Remedy : A Captain Swan Fanfic

Authors: @artistic-writer / itrustyoutokillme

Tags: @ilovemesomekillianjones @thesschesthair @deathbycaptainswan @laschatzi @lifeinahole27 @rouhn @teamhook @roseyflush @yayimallamaagain @winterbaby89 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @kmomof4 @sdmh1977 @blowmiakisscolin (i hope i have got everyone, but please reblog to your pals so they get this!)

Notes: So here it is! So sorry it took so long, but better late than never, right? Pfft, DIY. Big thank you to @deathbycaptainswan for letting me break her beta virginity ;) And actually giving me the idea for the title, because i couldn’t think of one for a while. And thank you to @thesschesthair for listening to me rant about how it needed to be smuttier and my awful day at work, even though she was dealing with her own shit. Thank you, love. This is for you, to wash away your ills ;) <3

Chapter Summary: Emma has a particularly thought provoking day at work but it is nothing her husband cannot fix.

Rating: E

Word Count: 6406 (sorry, not sorry)

AO3

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There was nothing quite like drawing a hot bath after a particularly long day. Emma had been practically dreaming of it all day. In fact, the only thing that would make it better would be if Killian had run it and offered her a pre bath massage to ease her aches. Sadly, Killian was out doing a spot of grocery shopping. It had been his day off today, so they had pre arranged his outing.

Today had been a tough one. Being the sheriff never was easy. Half the town found an outsider being the sheriff a personal affront, often snubbing her in the street. The other half welcomed her quietly, not making a fuss either way. A very select few would only deal with her husband, often seeing a woman in charge as an issue.

Emma had dealt with narrow minds all her life. It was nothing new to be ignored by a man. In her experience, the older the man, the more old fashioned he was and less open to her career choice. Today, Emma had visited one of those men. He was older than anyone else she had met in Storybrooke, and upon first meeting her, insisted she run back to the station and fetch Graham.

Emma had wondered for a good long while how he had managed to live in Storybrooke and not know of Graham’s demise. It had been so many years ago now, and if Emma had not been completely dumbfounded, she may have laughed. An apology had not soothed the man - who, as it turned out was not in need of the sheriff after all - instead, just ended up riling him up further.

His name was Godfrey. Surname unknown as he had rather offensively declined to give that information to a woman. Godfrey had insisted that there must be a man he could talk to about his complaint, but Emma had just given him a kind smile and shook her head. She was it, and after telling him such, he had unleashed a string of abuse towards her which made her reach for the cuffs on her hip.

Emma would never have arrested the old fool Because that’s what he was. A Fool. He was stuck in the past so far Emma wondered if he still thought he was in the Enchanted Forest. That was until he confirmed her suspicions and, finally relenting, had told her why he had sent a letter to the sheriff’s department. Godfrey did not and would not own a phone, so he was further perturbed by the fact it had taken the sheriff a few days to reach his property on the outskirts of the Storybrooke forest.

Ogres that’s what it was. Godfrey had seen ogres behind his house. Emma had refrained from rolling her eyes as she scribbled down nothing onto the cream pages of her thing, spiral bound notepad. Her pen was poised above the thick, off white paper and the second Godfrey had leaned in and whispered the single word, with fear buried deep in his heart, she had sighed. It was in that moment that Emma was certain Godfrey would become a problem.

It had taken her two hours to try and excuse herself from his property. At first, he did not want her there, and rather than try to explain the past, Emma had promised she would pass on her report to Graham. For a sad moment, Emma wondered if Godfrey had any family with him in Storybrooke, because clearly he was suffering from some sort of dementia related illness.

In an even sadder realisation, Emma probably knew the answer to her question was a resounding no and until he was a serious danger to himself or others, Killian and herself would have to answer every one of his letters with a smile and an open mind.

Next time, she would send Killian.

Emma reached into the water as it thundered from the large silver taps. They had remodeled the bathroom so that the tub was bigger and as such the taps had grown too. The tub was a large, white oblong with a slight reclined lip at one end. It was perfect for relaxing and perfect for two, which had been the point of the remodel.

The massive, chrome taps were situated near the side of the tub and plumbed in right next to the frosted glass of the nearby window. Emma rarely ever pulled the lever for the cold water when she ran a bath, instead letting the tub fill with the hot, splashing liquid and the room with its accompanying steam. Filling the room with a pore opening mist was almost as sensual as the bath sometimes.

Just to equal out her relaxation, Emma added a few drops of essential oil under the running water. Instantly her nostrils were filled with the scent of the floral lavender, the whole room suddenly smelling like a field of the bobbly, purple flowers. Emma hunched over, her back relaxing its upright position and letting the sound of the water overtake her. It was all she could hear and for a second, she was somewhere else.

When the bath was over half full, Emma leaned over the bluish water and turned off the tap. With a squeak, the water stopped, a few drips escaping the funnel shaped end and disappearing into the rest of the bath water. Emma ran her hand through the water once more, watching it coat her fingertips in its warmth.

Emma never had bubbles because she didn’t like the greasy feel it left on her skin. She always wanted her bath pure, pristine and as though it had just been drawn directly from an arctic glacier. Only warmer. Emma loved the heat against her skin, the tingle of the scorching pain that followed. Killian was the only reason she ever turned the cold tap on, because after so many years at sea, he preferred his bath drawn on the cooler side.

Slipping out of her robe, Emma moved to hang it on the back of the closed door. The entire room at eye level was a foggy haze from the steam, and she felt her skin become sticky in the created atmosphere. Her hair stuck to her brow where it was too short to tie back, and Emma reached up to release the rest of her ponytail. Her blonde, slightly curled tresses tumbled over her shoulders and Emma let out a sigh of relief.

She moved to the tub, her bare feet falling silent on the dark grey tiles. The floor was heated from underneath and the soles of her feet felt soothed by the warmth. Being sheriff involved a lot of walking, sometimes running, and Emma had learned long ago that a pair of flat shoes were far more practical than the heeled boots she used to wear. The room was silent apart from the dripping of the tap as it emptied its pipes, and Emma lifted her leg to swing it into the tub.

Instantly her skin itched from the heat. Her foot, ankle and lower calf burned, the searing hot water enveloping her aching bones and making her shudder. Emma held onto the opposite side of the tub edge, curling her fingers around the smooth, cool ceramic and gripping it for dear life as she lifted her other foot into the tub. This time the water seemed cooler against her skin, but soon her foot pinked to match the hue of her other.

Holding both sides of the tub in an iron grip, Emma leaned backward and slipped into the water. Boiling hot water splashed up her back and Emma quickly scratched at the skin to ease the burn, hissing through her teeth until her behind touched the smooth tub bottom. Emma’s fingers relaxed on the edge of the tub and she let her hands fall into the water, the intense sting of the hot water washing all of her worries.

Emma wasn’t sure how long she had been in the tub when she heard a soft knock on the door. She had reclined down the sloping side, the water lapping at her collarbone lazily as she breathed in and out, and she peeled her eyes open when she heard the soft click of the door latch. The wooden door opened with a tiny creak and revealed her husband, standing in the doorway with a worried smile.

“Hey,” She breathed, returning his smile tiredly. Emma looked small in the expansive tub and Killian often worried about her falling asleep and slipping beneath the surface.

“Hello, love,” he beamed, his worries subsiding. Emma noted he was still fully dressed, not having taken his coat off when he had returned, or leaving the shopping bags in the kitchen. Instead, it seemed that Killian had only wasted time opening the front door and had instead sought out his wife to make sure she was okay.

Killian moved further into the room and a whoosh of steam escaped out into the hall behind him. Emma felt a sudden chill against her heated skin and scooped some water into her hands and splashed it over her shoulders. Killian rested the grocery bag into the sink, the brown paper bag rustling against the leather of his jacket and he moved. He perched on the edge of the bath and let his fingers trail into the warmth of the water.

“Rough day?” He asked her sweetly, even though he could tell by her expression it had been.

Emma nodded, her eyes falling closed again and her fingers finding Killians under the water. Her knuckles bumped the side of the bath but any discomfort was soon gone when Killian smoothed his thumb over them.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Killian asked softly, looking over Emma’s entire body as its image rippled under the water. She was a beauty, there was no denying it, and he thought himself lucky every single day.

“Will you get old?” Emma asked, watching their hands idle with each other under the water. Her brow knitted together in a frown and she sighed heavily.

“Of course,” Killian assured her, squeezing her hand until she looked up at him again. He cocked his head to the side and his too long hair flopped with the movement. He gave her a confused look.

“I mean,” Emma began, her lips twisting sideways. “You are old, Killian…”

“Aye, I am,” Killian agreed quickly, hoping she would stop dwelling on his years and get to the point.

“But you still look so young,” Emma hoped he would understand what she meant as it seemed all of her words were failing her between her thoughts and her mouth.

Killian smiled warmly and lifted her hand from the water, tiny droplets of the lavender scented liquid running down her arm and dripping from her elbow back into the filled tub. He lifted her hand to his mouth and planted a soft, wet kiss to the back of it.

“I think, what you mean to ask, is how do I retain my devilishly handsome good looks, despite my considerable age?” Killian kissed her knuckles and thumbed over the ridge of her fingers. Emma nodded.

“I have traveled between many realms, and through many different eras,” Killian told her with a smile. “But I can assure you, in this time, in this place, I will age.” Killian gave her digits another squeeze and Emma looked up into his blue eyes. They were impossibly blue, like the sky, but the edge was shadowed by a darkness and flecks of grey littered the hue. “With you, love,” he assured her, preempting her next question. “I will age with you.”

Emma felt a little better about her troubled thoughts, but they had only been started by meeting Godfrey. The old man had clearly once lived through a horrible time period and now, even though he lived in a time where he was probably the safest he had ever been, he was losing his mind. Literally and figuratively. Godfrey was demented and had regressed to a time when he was most fearful.

“I met a man today,” Emma admitted suddenly, sitting forward in the bath. The water surged forward and lapped at the overflow, calming its waves around her body. Emma pressed her damp body to the side of Killian’s jeans and rested her head on his lap.

“Do I wish to know anymore?” Killian teased, combing his fingers through her damp hair. It was darker when wet, like the colour of dry straw, and he enjoyed its change in hue. Darker hair suited Emma, even if it would dry a much lighter shade.

Emma lightly slapped his knee and he chuckled. “An old man,” she corrected herself.

“I am an old man,” Killian smirked.

“You know what I mean,” Emma let the frustration into her voice, a sign Killian knew well. It meant he had to cease his jest and listen. Emma didn’t like to open up too often and it would have been more than easy for her to end their conversation right now.

“I’m sorry, love. Please continue. You met a man,” Killian prompted.

“Yes, a man. An old man, from the Enchanted Forest before the first curse.” Killian raised his eyebrows at her, impressed he had not met anyone from so long ago. Everyone in Storybrooke knew everyone, so he was intrigued.

“He wrote a letter to us, because he had seen ogres in the forest behind his house.”

Killian laughed. Ogres were impossible in this realm. “To us?”

“To the sheriff,” Emma remembered the way Godfrey had looked at her when he realised she was a woman and the sheriff. “To Graham, actually. He thinks Graham is still the sheriff.”

“Why did he pen a letter?”

Emma shrugged. “Well, I don’t think he has grasped the use of a phone.”

“And I presume there were no ogres in the forest behind his home?” Killian let his hand slip from her hair and rest on her shoulder where he danced his fingers over her skin.

“I think he is suffering from dementia,” Emma said sadly, her gaze drifting to a patch of damp on the grey tile floor.

Killian sighed and leaned forward, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled like lavender and he inhaled a little, letting his lips linger on her crown. “And this has you perplexed.”

Killian always knew what she was thinking and could read her mind almost as well as she could spot a lie. He had always been able to weed out the most obvious of her worries, even if they were not that obvious to herself, and instantly knew exactly what to say to make her feel better.

“It does,” Emma admitted.

“You think that when I am older, aged by this realm, I will somehow become unable to distinguish between what is and what was,” Killian hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. “Or that I will forget you.”

Emma nodded again. She felt like all she was doing was agreeing with his wisdom, but his kind, boyish smile soothed her. “A little,” she confessed, letting her eyes roam his.

Killian gave her one last twitch of a smile before he stood up and ran his hand through his hair. Emma wondered what he was doing for a second until he moved back towards the tub, his whole demeanor sultry and dark. “I assure you,” Killian began, stepping into the bathtub at the straight end. “I will always know you, Emma.”

Emma fell back against the slope of the tub, a grin spreading over her face. “Killian, what are you doing?” She giggled.

“Taking a bath with my wife,” he told her like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world.

Emma felt his shoes bump her feet and she pulled her legs up to her chest. Killian grabbed his hook, twisting it in its socket and releasing it from the hole, pulling it free with a click. He tossed it aside and it clattered against the floor, sliding across the tile with a bump until it hit the back of the door.

“You are insane,” Emma laughed harder, her vibrations causing the water to ripple. Killian gave her a wry smirk, wrenching his jacket back over his shoulders and then tossing it towards the sink. It hit the porcelain with a clink, the zip of his jacket hitting it first, and then fell to the floor anyway.

“Insanity has nothing to do with it,” Killian chuckled, his darkening eyes roaming over her body beneath the cooling water. Steam still swirled around her and Killian watched the water lap at the side of her breasts and her nipples harden.

“But you are dressed,” Emma chided him with a quirked brow.

“Aye,” Killian agreed darkly, unbuttoning his shirt with the fingers on one hand. Emma watched his fingers work, biting her bottom lip and sucking it into her mouth seductively. She could make out the planes of his chest and the thick, indulgent chest hair peeked into view as he worked his way down the shirt.

Killian watched her squirm and press her thighs together under the water. He knew what that meant; Emma was aroused. This was why they had widened the bathroom and installed a bigger bath. So Killian could show her exactly how he planned to remember every inch of her.

Reaching the last button, Killian let his shirt fall open. His shoes were now filled with the warm water and his toes squelched in his socks. It was an odd sensation, but he ignored it, instead content to watch Emma’s hungry eyes roam over the layer of hair on his chest. Her gaze stilled down by his waist when Killian moved to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather through all the loops of his jeans and throwing it aside.

“You wear too many clothes,” Emma wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Killian dragged his hands through his chest hair, teasing his nipples into hard nubs that grazed the inside of his shirt edges. He moved to his shoulder, undoing the buckle of his brace and letting it fall slack against his back. “I am currently working to rectify this situation,” He said smoothly, pulling the brace and its straps free from his shirt, down through his sleeve and casting it aside as well.

“I can see that,” Emma sounded excited, her voice jumping higher each time a piece of his clothing flew across the room. She pressed her legs together again, feeling the familiar ache between her thighs roar to life under the water. “Would you like some help?”

Emma didn’t wait for his answer and leaned forward, thrusting her hands underneath the water and pulling on the string of his shoe lace. There was a little resistance because the fabric cord has swelled, but Emma made short work of them and pulled one boot from his foot. She held it up high, tilting it sideways and letting the water pour out of it back into the bath. Making short work of the other, she dropped them and his socks over the side of the tub and they bounced underneath the golden claw feet.

“Thank you kind lass,” Killian said smoothly, his bare feet now free from their soggy confines and rubbing the bottom of the tub.

Emma grinned up at him and laid back in the tub once more, the water lapping around her shoulders. Killian looked at her, his eyebrow raised mischievously. “No,” Emma warned, thinning herself out in the tub and tucking her legs between his feet.

“Aye, you mean,” he droned, his voice almost like a growl.

Killian dropped to his knees, the water in the bath surging forward and rushing in a huge wave over the lip of the bathtub. Emma squeaked, grabbing his shoulders as he towered over her and a second wave of water sloshed around her neck. The sound of water hitting tiles filled the room, first a huge splash and then tapering off into tiny drips as the level in the tub subsided.

“You’re going to flood the bathroom,” Emma scolded, running her hands down the front of his chest. His chest hair had collected droplets of water and tickled at her fingertips. Emma tilted her head back against the edge of the tub and grabbed the edges of his shirt, holding him to her.

“We are going to flood the bathroom, love,” Killian corrected her, dipping his head to lick the water from her collarbone.

Emma’s body reacted instantly, her back arching from the bottom surface of the tab. A rush of warm water filled the gap, heating her spine and she felt Killian’s hand dive under the water to grip her hip. His fingertips felt cold against her flushed skin, the metallic of his rings causing her to gasp at the contact.

“We just…,” Emma mewled, her throat turning dry when Killian’s mouth found her nipple that had crested the surface of the water. His tongue teased the hardened nub and he latched his lips to it hungrily, sliding his hand under Emma’s back and holding her chest to his face.

“Hush, love,” Killian whispered against the swell of her breast, nuzzling the valley of her bosom with his damp whiskers. Emma’s eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a sigh she didn’t even know she had waiting in her throat.

“But…,” Emma whimpered, fighting her brain when her hands slid back into the hair on his chest and flattened over his pecs.

Killian pulled his face from her skin and looked down at her. He gave her a wry smirk, letting her fall back into the water when he sat back on his heels, the heat in the room not enough to soothe the chill that flooded over her body. He rolled his shoulders backward, shrugging his arms out of his shirt, the material now a midnight blue from soaking up so much of the bath water. Again, Emma sucked on her bottom lip, watching the muscles of his abdomen flex and vibrate as he panted, tiny droplets of the now cooling water running over the surface of his wiry stomach covering.

“Tell me to stop,” He growled, bunching his shirt and throwing it across the room. It hit the back of the door with a wet slap and slid to the tiled floor with a similar noise.

Killian’s arousal was evident, his already skin tight jeans becoming even firmer against his skin and outlining it perfectly. He grabbed her ankle, lifting her leg out of the water and flashing a quick glance at the apex of her thighs, obscured by the ripple in the water. Anticipation thrummed through his entire body because he knew what was there. Killian knew where it was and what it tasted like. It was his treasure, and he had never needed a map to find it.

“You know I won’t,” Emma purred, following his lead and pressing the sole of her foot to his jean clad erection.

Killian trailed his hand down her leg, never breaking his heavy lidded stare away from hers, rolling his own lip between his teeth. He knew she wouldn’t say no, and even if she did, he could persuade her to reconsider. His fingers toyed with the button on his jeans and a surge of relief hit his groin as the pressure in his underwear evaporated into the steam filled room. Killian tugged on his fly, sliding it down slowly.

“Are you absolutely sure you want me to show you how much I am going to enjoy growing old with you?” Killian tickled the inside of her ankle again with his cleanly scarred nub and reached into his jeans to take himself in hand. He teased his length with a long, languid stroke. “I wouldn’t want to…”

“Shut up,” Emma growled, her voice changed with her own arousal as she watched him tease himself. The patch of hair over Killian’s pubic bone glistened with bath water in the dimly lit room, and Emma felt a surge of adrenaline.

“But, you said…,” Killian teased, his boyish grin expanding as Emma’s foot hooked around his hip and attempted to tug him towards her. He held fast, knees painfully planted on the bottom of the tub between her legs now that Emma had moved them on either side of his thighs. Her smooth, naked legs pressed against the side of his wet jeans, but he was sure he could feel the electric of her skin as if there was no barrier.

“Fuck what I said,” Emma panted, slipping her hand beneath the water and down her taut stomach. Her fingertips bounced over her ripped abs, down over her lightly furred mound and she sucked in a much needed breath as she slipped a single finger into the slickness between her thighs.

Killian pulled his hand from his jeans, pushing them roughly down over his hips and letting his erection spring free. It bobbed against his wet stomach, and he tucked the elastic waistline of his boxers underneath his scrotum. He fell forward, seizing Emma’s mouth with his, his lips finally soothing the fire spreading all over her skin that yearned for his touch.

Emma felt his member brush her inner thigh, his hand snaking into the damp tendrils of her hair and stretching out over the back of her head. He held her face to his, tongue delving deep into the heat of her mouth, running over the ridges of Emma’s teeth with each swipe. A moan came from Emma’s throat and Killian felt his arousal twitch between her legs, begging to be allowed home.

Killian broke the kiss only when he needed to breathe, forehead pressing against Emma’s and his thumb caressing the soft skin of her chin. Emma peeled her eyes open, drowsy green orbs searching his expectantly. There was nothing behind the blue except love. Killian had fought for their love, never giving up on finding his way back to her each and every time they had been ripped apart. Fate had been the cruelest of mistresses, but with their marriage came their new beginning, and their chance to build a new path to everlasting happiness.

Emma’s hand cupped his cheek and Killian leaned into her touch, his own eyes only closing briefly enough to memorize the feel of her touch on his skin. Killian’s scruff tickled her palm and Emma smiled at him sweetly, the cooling water lapping around their bodies in the expansive tub.

“Killian?” Her voice had changed again, the desire subsiding and letting in her misgivings. He shifted a little and the water jumped out of the bath again, slapping against the floor around them.

“I’m alright, love,” he assured her quickly, angling his hips so that his tip brushed her entrance. Emma groaned, sliding herself further down into the water, yearning for him to fill her and make her feel whole.

“Then are you going to fuck me or what?” She wiggled her eyebrow at him and giggled under him, her chest jiggling side to side with the slosh of the water. She lifted her knee slightly under him, pushing her foot into the apex of his jeans and pushing them down his legs. They balled at his feet, and Killian pulled one leg free in sync with her movements.

Killian inhaled hard, his hardened length shifting by itself once more and brushing over Emma’s sensitive clit. She arched her back at the sensation and Killian raised his eyebrow at her seductively. “As the lady wishes,” he purred, pushing into her scorching core with a single thrust of his hips.

The hot, rigid, velvety length of him slipped into Emma like it was a missing puzzle piece. Her body reacted instinctively, her back spasming and arching off of the tub floor. Killian buried himself inside of her, moving slow and moving deliberately. Emma’s entire body relaxed under his assault, her muscles fluttering around him as he coaxed her into a heightened state of arousal.

Killian had memorized the way Emma felt around his length. There were times when she felt tighter, or harder, but right now she was perfect. The ribbed walls of her cervix gripped at his member as her muscles clenched around him, pulling him deeper towards her womb each time. Killian’s impressive length and girth stretched her with a pleasurable pain that made Emma whimper and Killian grow harder.

“Oh...fuck…,” Emma gasped when Killian angled his hips just a bit, the whole act easier said than done in the tub. His body pressed to hers, sinking her back into the depths of the clear, cooling water, and he smirked when he felt her shudder beneath him.

“That feel good, love?” Killian pulled out and watched her face twist, her mouth hanging open and her eyes squeezed shut. Emma’s hand on his arm was almost strangling his bicep, her fingernails turning white under her grip.

Emma bit her bottom lip and whined, a soft, animal like pleading moan vibrating deep in her throat as Killian pushed inside once more. Emma desperately wanted to open up her legs, widen his access but the sides of the bath made it almost impossible. Killian’s shallow thrusts were driving her insane, her climax raging behind her g-spot, begging to be released.

“More…,” Emma sighed incoherently. “I want more of you inside…”

Killian’s own arousal peaked a little, his belled tip slick and coated in Emma’s juices as it slid effortlessly inside of her. He was eager for her to find her end first, to fall so he could watch the way she disappeared into nothingness tethered only to him. He was her reality and he would bring her back every time.

Killian slipped a hand under the water, teasing it down the side of Emma’s body. His blunt fingernails scraped over the side of her breasts so lightly that Emma shivered under his touch. The mixture of a tickle and a tease gave her body pause to react, and her already erect nipples stretched even further against his delectably rough chest hair. Killian’s hand slipped under the swell of her buttocks and he lifted her leg, hooked her heel into the small of his naked back.

The newly opened Emma made for easier access to the bundle of her nerves, and Killian planted his bare feet on the flat end of the tub and pushed forward. His entire weight fell into command behind his thrust and his pubic bone slammed itself into Emma’s clit. White flashed behind her eyes and she squeaked, her hand erupting from the water to clutch the back of Killian’s head.

Emma went rigid, her orgasm rocking her to her very soul. She tried to speak, to tell him how amazing it felt, but her words failed her. There was a connection between her brain and her mouth that had been severed by her climax, and all she could do was whimper as Killian slowed his thrusts almost to a stop inside of her. Emma pulled on Killian’s hair, wrenching his head to her neck in a silent invitation to caress the skin there with his kiss.

Killian knew every single way Emma reacted to his touch. He knew what she wanted and when she wanted it. Right now, Emma wanted his mouth on her, and Killian obliged his wife, kissing down her neck and then sucking long, hard, open mouth kisses to the top of her breast. Killian felt Emma ebb beneath him, the remnants of her orgasm still leaving her sensitive to his touch, but having faded enough that she could speak now.

“God...Killian…,” she breathed, relaxing her hand in his hair and soothing his irritated scalp with a stroke through his dampened locks.

“Aye?” He grinned innocently, cock still buried deep inside of her and slowly working her body into its second frenzy.

“Don’t…,” Emma warned pathetically, her breath hitching in her throat when he lifted her hips and a fresh set of marvelous feelings invaded her body.

Killian inched out of her again, feeling her relax under his tirade. “Don’t?” he prompted, planting a kiss to the corner of her open mouth and inching himself into her tighter, fluttering core. “Don’t what, love?”

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed, her eyelids still bright and transparent from her first orgasm. She gulped hard and slapped her hands to Killian’s shoulders, scraping her fingernails over the bulge of his physique. Killian grinned against her skin, lips and tongue tasting every inch of her face and neck like he would never be able to again.

“Don’t...Don’t fucking stop…”

Killian growled, a primal urge overtaking him somewhere deep down in his being, and he began to move faster. Emma’s words leaving her mouth on a whimpering plea sent his blood surging through his veins, straight to his arousal, his own climax tingling at in the pit of his stomach. Emma’s entire body tightened under his sexual violation, her mouth only capable of begging for more.

“Fuck…”

Emma’s expletive made him shudder, his breath catching in his throat. Killian swallowed desperately, eager to remove the lump that had formed in his throat from the lust. There was never a dull moment with Emma, and with a forceful drive of his hips, Killian silently thanked her for convincing him to remodel the bathroom.

“Killian!” Emma squeaked, his name tumbling from her lips as he ploughed into her harder. Her back hit the bottom of the tub with a dull thud and her arms wrapped around his massive torso. Her hands splayed over his shoulder blades, the muscles of his back rippling under her clutch.

Killian made sure he entered her completely, the hilt of his erection hitting the bundle of nerves just inside of her on every thrust. Emma jerked her hips to meet his, her head thrashing from side to side, her cries echoing in the warm, tiled room.

“That’s it, Emma,” Killian panted roughly, his chest burning with exertion. He lifted his body from hers, hand leaving her skin to grip at the lip of the bathtub behind her head. He needed more leverage. He needed to totally fill her. Killian needed to make sure that Emma knew he would always be there for her and with her.

Killian pulled hard at the side of the tub, only stopping his thrusts when he was buried deep within her and could go no more. Emma screamed, her already tender body beginning to climb to another peak. Emma always had her most powerful orgams after her first, and Killian watched for the tell tale signs. Only when Emma was sated, her entire body unresponsive and numb from pleasure, would Killian let himself fall.

“Killian, I’m coming!” Emma squealed, her voice much higher than before and her body stiffening beneath him.

Killian felt her hot, aching core begin to tremble and quiver over his erection and his vision went black behind his eyelids. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him slide into her on weak, jerking thrusts as he spilled his seed all over her inner walls. Emma’s walls pulsated around him, milking him for every last drop he had to offer during his climax. Killian groaned, blindly falling to bury his face beside hers, careful not to fall beneath the turbulent surface of the water.

When their peaks subsided and they were spent, Killian moved first, the tightness of his wet jeans finally causing him discomfort. He let himself slip from her folds and Emma wailed at the loss of contact when he pushed himself to sit back on his heels. Killian ran his hand through his hair, pushing it from his face and then lightly scratched at the whiskers on his chin.

“Oh my god,” Emma rolled her eyes in the back of her head, a gentle laugh escaping her lips behind a smile she could not get rid of.

“No, love, it’s just me,” Killian winked at her.

“You’re amazing,” Emma smiled sweetly, unable to resist trailing her toes through the hair on his upper thigh.

“Just purging my wife of her ills.” Killian’s jeans were tangled by his ankle now and so he pushed himself to his feet and almost barrel rolled from the tub. Emma laughed and Killian shed the remainder of his clothes quickly. They hit the floor with a slap and he stood before her gloriously naked and unashamed.

Killian felt Emma’s eyes roam over his torso, down to his still semi hard length and then back up to his eyes. He quirked his brow at her and tickled the patch of skin behind his ear with a nervous scratch. “See something you like?” He smirked boyishly.

Emma’s body still tingled from the intensity of her second orgasm, but she had an insatiable appetite for Killian. Her eyes rested on his mouth, his thin, pink lips stretched into a salacious smile that she imagined elsewhere and then dropped to his imposing crotch. “You know I do,” she purred, tapping her lips with a single, slippery finger. Her tongue darted out to lick the water from her own skin and Killian felt his groin twitch.

“Maybe,” He began, striding towards her and reaching into the tub. Killian’s hand broke the surface of the water and fished for the silver, metallic plug, pulling it free and hearing the gargle of the drain as the water rushed into the plughole. He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet, helping her step from the tub and only the pile of discarded clothes near by. Emma’s skin had pruned, ripples forming on her fingertips and toes, but she ignored the odd sensation of her deformed fingerprints against his hand.

“Maybe?” She prompted gently, flattening her wet, naked body to his, her hand fanning out over his heart. It beat faster in his chest and Emma knew at that moment they would get no sleep tonight. Killian pushed some of her hair behind her ears, the dark straw like tresses beginning to dry and curl, and caressed her chin with his thumb.

“Maybe we should flood the bedroom,” Killian growled and seized her lips for a ferocious kiss.

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