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beauregardlionett · 3 years

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hands and tears and bedsheet fears

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Yasha wasn’t sure why she was leading the way to Beau’s room, but it felt right. Beau was so clearly eager to keep going, to lie in bed with Yasha and find infinity. But there also remained a quiet hesitance to everything Beau said and did around her.

Especially tonight.

Yasha knew Beau didn’t want to push her too far too fast—which was sweet—but Yasha was in the mood to be a little dangerous. She was in the mood to press Beau into the mattress with her body weight alone, to taste the salt on Beau’s skin, to chase the pleasure of her tongue. Call her reckless, but Yasha sometimes did better that way.

Besides, they had the whole tower to themselves. Yasha figured they could afford to be a little stupid for one night.

She turned to glance over her shoulder at Beau, a giddy grin tugging the corners of her lips upward. Beau looked somehow soft and wild all at once, her visage sending a shock of thrill through Yasha’s veins. There was a flush high on Beau’s cheekbones, her bright blue eyes glinting with unshielded desire. But Beau was also drowning in Yasha’s tunic, her bare legs only visible from just above her kneecaps down. Her hair fell loose and damp, leaving dark patches of water against Yasha’s shirt.

Yasha squeezed Beau’s hand where their fingers wove together, chest full of indescribable emotion.

They pushed open the door to Beau’s room at long last, Yasha tossing aside the bundle of their mismatched clothing. Beau barely stepped through the door before Yasha had her pushed up against it.

Without hesitation, Yasha’s lips pressed against Beau’s, kissing her with the same fervor as before. Months of repressed feelings and desires that she had attempted to funnel through stunted conversation and longing glances poured out of Yasha. Her lips were the floodgates and Beau’s the receiving river.

Yasha eventually came up for air, forehead pressed to Beau’s as they gasped in each other’s space.

“Bed?” Yasha asked, breathless.

“Bed. Definitely,” Beau agreed, giddy and hoarse.

Yasha laughed, soft and clear, as she ducked in to seal her lips against Beau’s neck. A low noise of pleasure slipped past Beau’s lips as her fingers sunk into Yasha’s messy, damp hair. Fingernails scraped lightly at Yasha’s scalp and she doubled her efforts, hands moving to hold the underside of Beau’s thighs. She straightened up, bringing Beau with her. Beau yelped at the sudden shift before hooking her ankles together around Yasha’s waist and leaning her weight into Yasha’s mouth so she didn’t fall backward.

Yasha turned and carried Beau further into the room, humming her approval against Beau’s carotid she had captured between her teeth.

Her bare feet against the cool stone of the bedroom floor echoed dimly against Beau’s quiet sounds of approval. The fabric of Yasha’s tunic clung almost uncomfortably between their damp and sweaty chests, the only barrier to them being skin to skin. But Yasha found she didn’t mind so much since Beau was wearing her shirt.

Yasha’s knees eventually knocked against the edge of Beau’s bed. She took a moment to firm up her grip on Beau’s thighs before tipping them both onto the mattress. Beau’s breath huffed from her upon impact, dissolving into a moan when the jarring motion caused Yasha to bite at the spot on Beau’s neck she had been attending to. Her fingers tugged at Yasha’s hair with unsteady desire—an encouragement.

Yasha kept at her task of pressing the most obvious hickey into Beau’s neck for another handful of moments before pulling away. She deemed her work satisfactory and grinned down at Beau’s flushed countenance, inordinately pleased with herself. The color in Beau’s cheeks and the dazed but excited light in her eyes gave Yasha all the reassurance she needed. Teasing her fingers against the hem of the tunic, she pushed the garment up and off Beau’s chest.

Beau’s hands moved faster, circling Yasha’s wrists with gentle pressure, but enough to halt the movement.

“Wait,” Beau’s hoarse voice stopped Yasha.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Yasha’s instinct was to fret, to worry that she had made a mistake. The hesitation that had so quickly overcome Beau’s expression left a terrifying chill that settled like a rock in Yasha’s gut.

“Yeah, I just…” Beau rolled her head to the side as she looked away. Her hair—loose and damp—splayed out on the pillow like a halo, her skin still glowing with a light shine from the hot tub. For all that Yasha bore the blood of angelic ancestry, Beau was a celestial vision. (Perhaps her bias was glaringly obvious, but what did that matter when your lives were at risk in a frozen wasteland?)

Yasha slid careful fingers against the sharp line of Beau’s jaw and cupped her cheek, drawing Beau’s attention back to her. All the confidence and bravado that Beau usually wore was absent; left in its place sat everything tender and vulnerable that she kept secret and safe behind the innumerable walls of her daily facade. Yasha knew it was an honor to be privy to Beau’s honesty, one she refused to take for granted.

“What is it, Beau?” Yasha murmured. “Talk to me.”

“This date has been…incredible,” Beau whispered after a moment, tone awed as much as it was hesitant. “And I know this is what others might think is the natural conclusion to a date they have a good time on. But I don’t…want you to think this is an expectation. I meant what I said earlier about no expectations, no matter what we confessed earlier.”

Yasha blinked down at Beau, stunned. They truly must be the biggest fools in all of Exandria. She could see it all now, in hindsight. The glances, the lingering touches, the blatant concern for each other piled and slid between healing hands and violent acts of protection. They had been pining after one another for months. The tension reached a breaking point ages ago, but they somehow stalled the shattering until now. And here Beau was, keeping their fragile composure held together with her bare hands. The jagged edges digging into her palms from the desire to transform into something new, but held back just in case.

All for Yasha’s sake.

Beau seemed to take Yasha’s stunned silence as some kind of confirmation because she started babbling reassurances.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to do this if you want to, but I don’t want you doing it because you think I expect it. And if you don’t want to, we can stop here. We can go to sleep. We also don’t even have to sleep in the same bed—or even the same room. Hell, we can sleep on different sides of the tower if that would make you feel more secure. I mean—”

Yasha scooped her hands beneath Beau’s back and lifted her up, holding her close as she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Beau’s legs straddled Yasha’s, her knees either side of Yasha’s hips. The movement silenced Beau, her lips clamped shut, eyes upset and guarded all at once as her fingers clung to the damp skin of Yasha’s shoulders. She looked down at Yasha before her gaze flicked to the side, looking almost ashamed.

“Beau,” Yasha murmured, her hands settled on Beau’s hips. “I want this. To be specific, I want this with you. There is no more hesitation on my end—I am all in. But if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I meant it too when I said no expectations.”

Beau seemed to deflate under Yasha’s hands, breath gusting out of her chest with a mighty exhale.

“I know that, and I want this, but—” Beau looked a little reluctant here, but she pushed on, gesturing to the bed over Yasha’s shoulder. “I’ve done this part before—quite often—and I know you’re aware that. There is the logical part of me that knows that you understand you aren’t just another one-night stand to feel something. But the other part of me is terrified of the morning.”

The pieces fell into place for Yasha. She firmed up her hold on Beau’s hips in response. Yasha leaned in, pressed her forehead to Beau’s jaw, and left a chaste kiss against her neck.

“It’s okay, Beau,” Yasha murmured with her lips against Beau’s neck. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

She thought she said the wrong thing when Beau choked on a sob above her. But before Yasha could pull back or say anything else, Beau wrapped her arms around Yasha’s shoulders and hugged her fiercely.

Yasha wound her arms around Beau’s waist and held her, let her cry into Yasha’s hair for as long as she needed. At some point, Yasha started rubbing a hand up and down Beau’s back over the tunic in soothing, even strokes. She kept up a steady litany of reassuring murmurs, hoping Beau would understand.

Yasha would not so easily leave again, not if she could help it.

Eventually, Beau’s tears subsided and Yasha got her to pull away so that she could thumb away the tears from Beau’s cheeks. Beau sniffled softly and murmured an apology that Yasha immediately dismissed.

“You do not have to apologize, Beau,” Yasha said as she brushed away another stray tear. “I want every part of you that you are willing to share with me. And that includes this.”

Beau looked like she might cry again, but there was also something lighter to the sheen in her eyes Yasha hadn’t seen before.

“I would like to kiss you again,” Yasha confessed as she continued to hold Beau’s face between her palms. “But only if that is okay with you.”

For all that she looked a mess and her voice croaked from crying, Beau’s answer was eager and immediate.

“Please. Please kiss me.”

They met in the middle, Yasha tipping her head to one side and Beau the other. It was easy and gentle, unassuming. They were content to linger on the other’s lips for as long as they both needed.

Yasha provided the inertia, however, when she moved her hands. Her fingers had gone a little numb where they rested against Beau’s hips. She slid her hands up Beau’s back, just to get her limbs moving, and her hands caught under the hem of the now dry tunic. The pads of her calloused fingers were a warm contrast against the small of Beau’s back, a comfortable heat.

Beau gasped into Yasha’s mouth at the touch, back arching slightly and fingers tightening on Yasha’s shoulders.

Yasha grinned up at Beau’s flushed face, amused and endeared. Perhaps a little reckless again as she put more pressure through her hands to Beau’s back.

Beau would never admit to pouting in that moment, but her lower lip stuck out as Yasha teased her gently.

The tunic didn’t stay on much longer.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #my writing #writing #beauregard lionett #yasha

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heximagines · 3 years

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HOLY FUCK ANOTHER SEV AUTHOR- YOU'RE DOING THE LORD'S WORK, MY FRIEND. Whilst I'm here- can I get a Severen and Vamp!reader wherein the reader is the only person who can shut Severen up/get him to calm down? 'Cause I feel like if Sev had a s/o, they really would have that magic touch 🥺🥺💕

I love this bastard man so damn much it hurts tbh. This one was fun to write and I hope you like it!

CW for allusions to an abusive relationship

Severen was rough around the edges anyone with eyes could see that. But somehow you’d managed to soften some of those edges. Even his family was surprised at how effortlessly you’d wrapped Severen around your finger. It seemed to of happened so suddenly. You were leaning over the bar, flagging down the bartender for a shot, when Severen took notice of a patron paying you a little too much attention. He watched as the man sauntered up and leaned next to you, telling the bartender to make it a double and grab him one too before placing a bill down. Severen knew that you were only going to make a meal out of him but he couldn’t help but feel jealousy bubbling up in his chest. He watched as you turned to him and gave him a smile that was only for him and the soon to be deceased. The man spoke to you in a hushed tone and reached out to card his fingers through the hair just above your ear when Severen decided he had seen enough. Maybe it was because he was feeling territorial that day or maybe he was just antsy but he slipped out of the booth that they’d all chosen to occupy and advanced towards the poor son of a bitch. He snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you away from your dinner, making you shoot him a sour look. “Well howdy there, I do believe you’ve made the acquaintance of my lil honey here.” His fingers came under your chin and he tilted your face up to look at him. You pouted stubbornly and Severen chuckled before pecking your forehead, a promise to make it up to you later. “I’m Severen, and you are?” He turned back to the man had a wicked grin on his face. “Well pardon me, I’m just a stranger. It seemed to me that your lil honey here needed a drink. So I just thought I’d be so kind.” Severen’s eyes flickered to the side as the bartended set the shots down on the bar and retreated with his cash. “Well that is mighty kind of ya.” Severen grabbed one of the shots and downed it, sighing in contentment once the liquid cleared his throat. “That’s the good stuff huh?” The booth behind ya’ll tittered with laughter but you only rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. That was your meal your kill, and here was your boyfriend trying to cut in so his stupid big ego wouldn’t be bruised. He looked down to grin at you when he realized you were still glaring at him, your jaw set. Suddenly he was worried he’d stepped out of bounds. “Severen. Go sit down.” The man beside the two of you laughed loudly. “You heard? ‘ey said go sit down.” Severen’s eyes shot between you two, trying to decide if he was going to let this guy talk like that to him or if he was going to get in trouble with you. “Severen...” At your word he backed up, shoved his hands in his pockets and plodded back to the booth. Not only did the man in front of you laugh but you could hear Homer snickering behind you too. You take a step closer to the man and place a hand on his chest. “Attention down here big guy, I still want that drink.” There was no time to process your words before you were leaning up and sinking your teeth into his neck. You wanted to play with your food a little more but for now you decided Severen was humbled enough. But while watching you stop Severen from getting into a fight was already impressive watching you make Severen completely stop a fight was monumental.

They had always wondered why you were alone when Severen found you. Most vampires stuck together, taking in anyone they’d sired like family. It’d always made Jesse nervous that you came from outside their circle, made it harder to trust you. But you’d carved out your own little niche in his family and Jesse’s nerves eventually subsided. That was until you’d been traveling through Nevada. You’d mentioned having lived there before and they figured you wouldn’t mind a return visit. However, once your stolen Spirit hatchback rolled over the city line to LAs Vegas you requested Jesse pull over. He reluctantly obliged before they all watched you calmly exit the vehicle and start walking the opposite direction, back into the desert. Severen stared back at you, open mouthed and baffled. Quickly he scrambled out of his seat and ran after you. “Wait! Y/n Wait! Where the hell ya think you’re goin’?” You turn and point back towards the city. “Anywhere but fucking there.” For the first time since you’d entered the state of Nevada Severen could clearly see the panic that had been surging through you clear on your face. Your pupils were blown wide and your hands were shaking ever so slightly, he approached you cautiously, eyes soft with concern. Grabbing you gently by the wrist Severen pulled you in. You gladly wrapped your arms around him and held onto him tightly. His fingers scratched soothingly at the base our skull and he squeezed you. “Darlin’ what’s wrong?” He finally coaxed you back to the car and on the side of the road, just outside the city limits you told them about the man who made you like this. It wasn’t a sweet story. It wasn’t one you liked to share. But int the end you’d gotten as far away as you could and leaned to survive this new life all alone. Jesse set his jaw eyes looking to Diamondback who nodded before looking back to Severen who did the same. Jesse patted your knee before turning around to start the car again. “We’ll only stop for a bite, we’ll be in the suburbs before daylight.” You’d known you wasted some of their time already, so you only agreed. You all needed to eat. The entire rest of the ride in you gripped Severen’s hand tightly and chewed your bottom lip. He moved only to wrap his arm around you and hold you close. After a moment he pressed his lips to your ear “Don’t worry baby, I’m here. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you. I promise.”

You quickly realized Jesse didn’t really know where he was going so you stepped in to direct him to yet another tiny dive bar. It was one you used to frequent, but by now you knew it’d be all new staff and patrons. The city moved fast but you stayed the same. When you walked in your guess was correct. The bar was just as low key as you remembered, filled with only four customers, and not a single face was recognizable. You and Severen sat at the bar, waiting to be served, and the others took the corner closest to the door. The bartender was taking her sweet time polishing a glass instead of serving you two and you could feel Severen buzzing beside you, restless. Finally a deep voice from behind the two of you drew her attention, a familiar voice that made you go rigid. “I believe you have customers waiting! And important ones at that. Get a round of shots, the good tequila.” You watched as the bartender jumped, nearly dropping the glass she’d been cleaning before scrambling to work. A heavy hand fell on your shoulder and a familiar scent flooded your senses as the man behind you leaned in. “You still like tequila, don’t ya?” You supposed that in hindsight, coming somewhere familiar wasn’t the right choice.

Severen was out of his seat and Jesse was across the room before you could even turn to confirm what you already knew. Severen was about to grab him up when Jesse stepped in, holding his arm out and keeping your boyfriend at bay. But that wouldn’t be enough he practically had to wrestle Severen back to his chair as your own was turned slowly towards the predator behind you. A cold hand that felt nothing like Severen’s comforting one cupped your cheek and he leaned in close. “I knew you’d come back. I waited right here.” “We ain’t lookin’ for trouble, stranger.” Jesse cut in, making him turn away from you. He eyed Severen and laughed. “Might wanna tell that to him.” And just like that Severen ripped himself from Jesse’s grasp and launched at your creator. The two men tumbled to the ground and you jumped to your feet. But before you or anyone else could do anything a well landed punch to the face sent Severen flying back, across the bar. His head cracking loudly against the opposite wall in a way that made you gasp. The man before you calmly go to his feet before moving to take a step towards Severen. At the same time you and Jesse closed in, standing shoulder to shoulder to block his path. “I see you went off and found a new family. I’m hurt. No calls? No postcard? Is that how you treat me after all I gave you?” Jesse placed a hand on his chest, drawing his attention once again. “Like I said we want no trouble. We’ll be out of here.” He shook his head at Jesse, smirking. “Not with her you’re not.” In this time Severen was able to recover enough to slide off the bar and wipe his own blood from his busted lip. You quickly ran back to him and grabbed him by the jacket. His hands instinctively went to your waist as he glared across the bar. You shook him until his gaze finally landed on you. You could still hear the two men conversing tensely in the background but you tuned it out. “Severen, you can not fight him. He’s going to kill you.” Severen barked out a loud laugh, “I’d like to se ‘em try! That punch tickled.” You shook him again but his gaze stayed firmly put across the room this time. You glanced back to see Diamondback at the door standing guard and Jesse doing his best to ease the tension on his end. “Severen you promised. You promised to protect me. And I don’t feel very fucking safe right now.” And he could hear it, the way your voice wavered. He’d never once seen you afraid. Not like this. Your grip on his jacket tightened and finally he relented. His posture relaxing a fraction. His hands reeled you in closer. “Then let’s go...” You directed Severen towards a back door, Mae and Homer quick to take the queue to follow. They filed out just ahead of you. Severen stayed firmly put just inside the bar and you were just outside, both waiting for Jesse and Diamondback. Slowly they both retreated as well. Diamond back grabbed your shoulders to guide you away and Jesse grabbed Severen’s to do the same. Before the door could fall shut you heard it, one last taunt. “You’ll be back!”

When you all piled into the car, still hungry and a bit shaken, you wanted to cry. For the first time in a long time you wanted to sob. But you didn’t. Instead you tilted your head back and looked up at the roof of the car, cool hands running over your face. You hadn’t been that scared since you left. And now you were sure if your heart could still beat it’d be palpitating painfully. Silently Jesse started the car and took off. None of you knew where to go from here other than out of Vegas.

#near dark severen #severen x reader #severen #near dark #slasher x reader #slasher imagines

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veterveter · 3 years

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Soulmates au pls!

send me a (horribly cliched) au + a pairing for a drabble/ficlet/fic!

Martín’s heavy sigh dramatically commands Andrés’s attention, and Andrés turns to look at him.

He finds Martín perched on the edge of the sofa, a half-drunk beer by his knee, a solemn look on his face, his tie loose around his neck. Debauchery. He looks like he belongs in the era where gay men died for their illicit love.

Andrés has painted him many times, but he wants to do it again, now. The shadows his body paints provide magnificent contrasts, full of emotion. His posture is effortlessly beautiful, and the lines he’s made out of are the perfect mixture of sharp and soft. Andrés could steal any painting from any gallery and replace it with Martín, and no one would mind. They would simply look at him and marvel.

“This is going to be stupid,” Martín starts in a quiet drawl, the alcohol having done its work in loosening his tongue.

Andrés nods, to show he’s listening, but says nothing. Allows Martín space to say his piece.

Martín waits a few beats before continuing. “I just… Wonder, sometimes. I have a soulmate, right?” He demonstratively gestures at his left wrist. He never covers it, doesn’t seem to believe it’s anything clandestine. Often, he rubs a thumb across the letters. Sorry, they read, written in Andrés’s sloppy and slanted handwriting, not the careful cursive he has come to favour since meeting Martín. The first thing he said to Martín, cautiously chosen to conceal its weight. “That’s why I have this. Right?”

“Of course you have a soulmate,” Andrés reassures him languidly, gesturing with his own beer.

Everyone has one, he doesn’t say.

And I just so happen to be yours, he certainly doesn’t confess.

Martín rarely brings this up, seldom complains. He clearly thinks about it often, but he doesn’t allow that uncertainty and sorrow to define him, and Andrés appreciates that. He appreciates his soulmate.

“I mean, many people have said this to me, first thing. Mostly people I’ve never seen again, but a couple of friends as well. Matías, from my engineering course.” He grimaces. “Oh, and Mirko.”

Something about Martín’s previous roommate irritates Andrés, but he doesn’t allow himself to comment.

“And, well, you.”

The way Martín doesn’t even allow himself to entertain that thought, it makes Andrés want to make mistakes. It makes him want to not only paint Martín, but also dip his fingers in ink and trace Martín’s every muscle, tendon and ligament.

“But nothing’s ever…” Martín sighs, “Maybe I’ll say something so mundane that neither of us will ever even know.”

Well, that’s not a worry Martín should be having.

Andrés’s own soulmark is… different from Martín’s, to say the least.

La concha de tu madre, hijo de puta, honestly what the fucking fuck is this, you fucker, puta madre; words that stubbornly refuse to wrap around his wrist, but rather spread down his forearm, covering more than half of it in a hurried, sharp scrawl. Martín’s. Andrés has stolen so many of his notes over the years, just to look at them and admire that thought. This is his soulmate.

When Andrés first met Martín, who had just crashed his bike and would earn seven stitches down the length of his arm, Andrés felt… caught off guard. Exposed, somehow. He used to always wonder what kind of a woman would curse like this, but he never even stopped to consider the full implications of those thoughts.

Him and Martín have slotted into place, since that day. Martín seems to never have even questioned it; one moment he was yelling at Andrés in the middle of a crowded street, and the next they had struck a fast friendship on their way to the hospital, Martín’s blood all over both of their clothes. Ever since then, Andrés has always been able to trust his companionship, his loyalty.

It’s such an obvious match that it feels laughable, to imagine someone else by his side. No one else is Martín, after all. To be made whole by someone else? Blasphemy.

“He’ll be drawn to you, regardless of what you say.”

“I suppose,” Martín agrees, nodding to himself. Trying to make it so, he turns his wrist over to inspect his soulmark. Every time he does this, something in Andrés soars. That one word, which Martín has always turned to, in times of uncertainty. Andrés has always been such a fundamental part of his life, even before they met. “I hope we’ll get along. I can’t imagine…” he trails off, looks at Andrés.

The implication is as clear as it is flattering, and Andrés smirks at him.

“Shut up,” Martín huffs, like he hadn’t just been making quite a statement, takes a swig of his beer. “I just mean, I can’t imagine what they’re like. My soulmate.”

That’s a sentiment Andrés gets. He has come to understand, in hindsight, that it would have been impossible to imagine everything Martín is, every single way in which they complement each other. It’s impossible to imagine anyone else taking that place, either.

Andrés wasn’t ready, when he first met Martín. And he’s still not ready now.

But he’s starting to feel like soon he will be.

“You’ll meet him,” Andrés says, reaching out to trace his own handwriting on Martín’s skin with careful fingertips. Martín lets him. Martín has never stopped him from doing this, no matter how private, how intimate. “And he will worship the ground you walk upon. I have no doubts about it.”

Martín draws a deep breath, closes his eyes, opens them again. “I’m not sure I want them,” he confesses suddenly, entrusting Andrés with this enormous weight he has been carrying. The doubts that must have plagued him at night.

Andrés doesn’t know how to answer that; a declaration of love, one of such weight. Martín thinking he’s destined to be with someone else, and choosing to tell Andrés this regardless.

Andrés is not ready yet.

But soon, he will be.

“Of course you will want him,” he reiterates, because he wants Martín to think back to this conversation, once all the cards are finally on the table. “You’ll be a perfect match.”

#thank you mystery friend!! I hope you (and whoever else sees this) liked this #I repurposed an old WIP that went nowhere for this #here’s a detail from that I couldn’t fit into this:#Martín outs himself to Sergio as Andrés’s soulmate the first time they meet #saying ‘oh I crashed my bike and swore at him - that’s how we met’#Sergio looks at Andrés like ‘you were never going to tell me were you?'#Andrés was indeed planning to keep that to himself for the next x number of years #I hope this brought you good vibes et cetera I'm happy to have written non-angst for a change so thank you for asking #ficlets #asks #au ficlets #tumblr prompts #anon #or as I like to call you #mystery friend #berlermo #lcdp #'an old WIP' whom am I kidding I've been in the fandom for three months but it was a dead WIP okay haha #anyway I totally would like to write more soulmate AUs in the future watch this space but also don't trust me because inspiration is fickle #soulmate AU #(if you're wondering why this is uncharacteristically in present tense - I just wanted to use the 'now' thing that badly)

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orangegreet · 3 years

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No Minor Miracles | Chapter 10

In the End, In the Beginning

In which we get a jail break and some deaths and some light and some life and maybe the end of the world.

The shrieking cries of the volcra overhead melted into the drumming of hooves across the earth.

All of it, loud and incessant and completely cancelled out by the pulse of blood pounding in his head. The circling thoughts that spurred him forward.

He is going to kill me in the morning. She had said.

Aleksander had never seen her look frail. Not in his memory.

The Grisha slaver bar that kept her powerless, kept the wrath of her Sun at bay, flashed through his mind again.

Fucking cowards. The Darkling pushed his horse harder. Faster.

The Shadows of the Fold reached for him as he passed just as worshippers extended hands of blessing for their Saint.

Behind him, Ivan and Fedyor urged their horses forward, almost falling out of the dome of Light he held overhead.

It had been easy this time—effortless really, to call the Light up from within himself. As if Alina herself had searched through his cupboards and produced it for him with a gentle smile.

Alina. His Alina. His person.

Held captive by a megalomaniac. A fucking degenerate otkazat’sya scum who would sacrifice every Grisha life in Ravka to gain a fraction of power.

Zlatan would soon learn true power. Would see and know it intimately as the force of his Darkness crushed Zlatan’s bones from the inside.

The horses were huffing but none of them faltered their gait. Aleksander was grateful. Fedyor had chosen well.

His Heartrenders had not questioned him when they learned Alina was in trouble and he would be going across the Fold to get her. Feydor left immediately to prepare the horses and Ivan, after a long look at his General, proceeded to delegate duties to the next in command.

It had not slipped Aleksander’s notice that Ivan would elect to follow his General into the Fold deferring his right to become the acting General of the Second Army. As was his rightful succession.

Ivan had scowled for the duration of the preparations which effectively relieved Aleksander of the urge to thank him.

The Darkling lowered his brow, narrowing his eyes as they neared what must be the middle of the Fold. A white stone building was crumbling on his right and the mirroring of events was painful to recognize—the way history often did repeat itself.

He had lived long enough to see that the adage was true.

A woman he loved, killed for fear of what she was, for fear of Aleksander himself, by a power-hungry individual trying to stamp out any threats to his reign.

Only now it felt like a chance to do it all again. To change it all; to rescue and to fix instead of fail and destroy.

It would be different this time. This was Alina. She, a Sun Summoner, an immortal like him and a woman who was stronger and more powerful than anyone could imagine.

A woman whom he had crushed mercilessly just a few weeks before.

Not for the first time since he had met Alina did Aleksander curse his own pride.

This might not have happened had he been able to come to terms with everything she had done and just forgiven her in that fucking cell. Forgiven her on the journey through the Fold.

Not left her alone in a field. Not buried her under the weight of his disappointment.

Had he not learned this lesson from years of experiencing the same treatment from Baghra? Another immortal who would use her years and her influence to leverage pain and guilt over him—shame him into doing as she wished? Into feeling the weight of her expectations with an unyielding rigidity?

Could he not have at least given her something to hold onto—something that said, I am angry and I am hurt but I am yours all the same?

No, instead he had crushed Alina and sent her back into the arms of a Grisha-loathing Secessionist to play spy. Fucked with her head and her heart and expected her to recover fine.

Expected her to be stoic in her duties and not slip up. As if he had been able to keep his head after their every encounter. He was a fucking fool.

They were so alike, he and Alina. In hindsight, her reasoning and her motives and decisions all seemed remarkably easy to understand.

He had been bitter at her for shutting him out. Hurt at her apparent lack of trust that she would not confide in him. It was fair that he should feel that way and yet, would he not have done the same?

Had their years been reversed, had it been Aleksander who was so fresh and new to the world, would he not have hungered and grasped for his own independence?

Alina did not want to need him anymore than he wanted to need her. He could not fault her for her actions—not for long anyway.

When he removed himself from the torturous back and forth they had both endured and inflicted on each other the last several years, Aleksander could not deny the plain truth before him: Alina was his match in every sense of the word.

Alina was and would always be the only one who could meet the depth of his power and counter it. Descend into the cavernous pain he carried and draw him out of it. Climb to the heights of his passion and somehow drive him higher.

It might be cosmic or ancient or fated by the Saints but even outside of all that, Aleksander simply wanted her. Alina. His Alina. Just as she was.

Aleksander wanted her very soul for himself and he would tie their Light and Dark together more completely than any paltry tether if given the chance again.

He is going to kill me in the morning.

He pushed his horse forward.

The city was eery in it’s quiet.

Aleksander shrouded their party of three in shadow as they trotted through the streets. His eyes were sharp but half of his focus was on the pull of the tether, guiding them closer to Alina.

He had zero intention of visiting her friends, despite her requests. Getting to her himself was far more important. Still, he slowed as they were nearing the place he knew they had held him weeks before.

“I fucking knew it! You will pay, Darkling.” A voice shouted from his left and he raised a fine blade of darkness only to feel that clenching in his chest once more. That blood thickening, heart seizing clutch of a Heartrender.

Aleksander growled at the spasm and the screaming Heartrender emerged from an alley. Ivan immediately used the same technique against her and Aleksander was free from the thrall once more. Fedyor sat on his own horse, working to restore his General.

“Stupid girl! He did not do this.” Baghra said, joining the fray from her hiding spot. “Stop. All of you!” She demanded, grabbing the Heartrender from the ground where she had crumpled under Ivan’s will.

The Darkling snarled at them both as he darkened the street with his irritation and shadows sloughed off of him in billowing sheets.

“Good. You’re making this quite easy then.” He said through clenched teeth.

He gripped his reins and cricked his neck to keep from killing both of them and barked out Alina’s message, “Alina is being held captive by Zlatan. She said he knows she is the Sun Summoner and asked me to warn you.”

Aleksander turned his gaze on his mother, growling the words at her, “Your Sun Summoner held captive by the man you traded her to in the first place.”

He glared at her. His thoughts screaming at her. Was this a better life for her, mother? Do you believe I would have done worse to her—worse to the world than terror Zlatan intends to unleash now?

He wanted to ask it. To make her hurt. To make her regret. There wasn’t time.

The reins were tight in his hands and he could not help the added insult he bit off as he left. “Do what you will with that news, you glorified Grisha slavers.”

Picking up his reins, he kicked his horse back into motion and continued through the streets.

“Darkling! Stop!” They called after him. Aleksander did not heed them. Alina called to him in the night and he would not give them another second of wasted time.

“Follow him then, you fools! He knows where she is!” Baghra’s voice echoed up the street. The sound of hooves followed and he knew they would not be far behind.

Aleksander tracked Alina all the way to a mansion on the wealthy end of the capital.

Ivan and Fedyor flanked him on either side as they dismounted. His gaze flicked to the people they now had in tow.

The dark haired woman he recognized as the Heartrender who tried to knock him out again. Next to her was large man and behind them stood four others, unknown to him and irksome merely in their culpability of Alina’s engagement and enslavement.

“I assume you are here because you are loyal to Alina.” He said with a clipped edge.

The woman’s eyes narrowed at him but she nodded.

“Very well. Seeing as I don’t know how many people we can expect inside, it would be foolish not to work together.”

They looked uneasy and the Darkling growled at them, his barely controlled rage spewing from his hands as his shadows blanketed around their ankles, “In case you are missing something, Alina is to be executed in the morning by Zlatan. I’m certain she is inside that home at this very moment and I will not waste time fighting the Grisha who put her there.”

He twitched his fingers and his shadows tightened around their calves. The Darkling watched with a sick grin on his face as they lurched in place.

“We are not following you, Darkling. We will get her out ourselves.” The woman said, pulling her leg free.

“I don’t think you will.” His voice was quiet and dangerous now. Ivan and Fedyor stood to behind him, preparing for a fight. “It was you who gave her to Zlatan in the first place. You’re the reason she is in there now.”

A few of the members shifted guiltily and the Darkling barked at them again, “How long since she lost contact with you?”

A few of them jumped but the Heartrender simply glared at him.

“A little over a week.” The man beside her said.

Aleksander growled at them, condemning them once more. “Reckless. Sloppy pieces of shit.”

“We will fight alongside you, Darkling. Tonight we will.” The man said. The woman glared at the ground but nodded.

Aleksander scrutinized them, loosening his shadows and forcing himself to turn away from them. “Alina is being held underground. Kill anyone who gets in your way but hear this—Zlatan is mine.”

Zlatan was not home.

Or, at least, those were the last words the guard could squeeze out of his throat before the Darkling snapped his neck.

It felt different to kill with his hands. Different wrap his fingers around a throat and twist. Different to physically touch the skin of someone as their life force abandoned their body. Still, it was the only thing that satisfied on this night.

The place had been crawling with First Army soldiers. West Ravkan soldiers, as they preferred to be called. He and his Heartrenders and his borrowed Grisha army had swarmed the home like a plague and he winded his way toward the back of the house, looking for access to the basement.

Underground. He knew she was underground.

“General!” Ivan called from the next room over. Aleksander entered the small parlor where Ivan was unceremoniously shifting a corpse across the floor and lifting the rug from the edge of the room.

A hatch.

The Darkling lifted it and grasped a lantern from the wall.

“Find Fedyor.” He said to Ivan as he began to descend the stairs into the floor, “I will get Alina and we will set out for the Fold again.”

Ivan hesitated by the door.

“Fedyor, Ivan. Find him first. Then we will go together.” Ivan nodded and left.

When he found her, she was asleep.

Beautiful, even with dark circles under her eyes and a pallor to her skin. Both of which had little to do with captivity or starvation and everything to do with the fact that she was an extremely powerful Grisha forced to suppress her power.

Aleksander gingerly lifted the slaver bar, extending her arms out in front of her and laying the bar on the ground.

He conjured the Cut and sliced through one end, as close as he dared cut near her wrist. He took a breath and severed the other side.

Aleksander tucked his arms beneath hers and pulled her into his lap, her head lolling back against his shoulder as his hands met around her stomach.

“Alina.” He said in her ear. A kiss to her cheek. Another to her hair.

“Wake up, solnyshka. You are freed.” Alina stirred in his arms and, with little ceremony, he brought her hands together, forcing her to conjure the tiniest amount of Light. Hoping to feed her a little before they had to move again.

The chamber around them was forced into relief, putting the little gas lantern to shame.

Her eyes fluttered and Alina sighed, sinking into him. Her back pressed into his chest. “You’re here.”

Her forehead fell against his jaw and he could not help the way he held her face there, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the Saints for this moment. For her voice and her Light and her life. That she was not gone from him.

When his prayer was done he whispered more words to her. “I’m sorry, Alina. I am so sorry, my love, my Star.”

Her hand caressed his jaw and he nuzzled her in return. Her silence now assuredly attributed to her fatigue as opposed to malice for him. “Come along, we will help get you out.”

And then, to his added relief, “General!” Ivan and Fedyor emerged. Fedyor, clutching his side but otherwise smiling at the sight of Alina and her Light and the way she was sitting up in the arms of the General.

“If the Sun Summoner is able, we must move. They are calling in others now. We cannot face many more soldiers tonight.” Ivan advised.

Aleksander nodded, pushing from his legs into standing and bringing Alina with him.

Her thin, white shift snagged against the buckles of his kefta and with a sharp pang he remembered how she had clasped them together herself in the dacha.

How she had dressed him in his black kefta and his traveling cloak and her hands had smoothed the core cloth and then she had begged him to run away with her.

“Ivan. Come hold her up for a moment.”

Aleksander removed his kefta and threaded her arms through the sleeves. His fingers worked quickly on the clasps and when she was covered in the warm black shield, the only protection he could give to her right now, he lifted her into his arms.

The other Grisha, her ‘friends’ were waiting by the exit. At the sight of her, it looked as if they would reach for her. Expect him to turn her over to them.

The Darkling practically hissed at them, holding her away from them, but it was Ivan who was done with it all.

“Out. Everyone. More are coming. Get to the horses and disperse. They cannot chase us all.”

Everyone dispersed, the woman with a lingering glance at Alina. The three men hurried to their horses and the other Grisha to theirs, quick and silent in their movements.

They had just mounted, the General adjusting his posture in the saddle as Ivan lifted Alina into his arms, when the unmistakeable sound of a dozen horses echoed through the streets.

The General looked at Fedyor, hunched on his horse and waiting for Ivan to join him—he would need assistance on horseback with his injury. Ivan and the General locked eyes.

“Go. Get a head start. We can handle them.” Ivan said.

Aleksander almost protested and then Ivan had slapped his horse on the haunches with a firm hit and Alina jolted in his arms as his horse took off down the city streets.

The pursuit was something of a blur.

The West Ravkan soldiers followed them through the streets, tracking them until they reached the edges of town. Aleksander and Alina were saved more than once by the help of a Tidemaker or Squaller who was hidden in plain sight and ready to impede the pursuing enemy.

He was glad for it as he felt helpless to do much else at the moment. Alina seemed so precarious in his arms and he wondered if they had not done more to her in captivity than prevent her from using her Light.

Wondered if they had performed experiments on her. Bled her and drained her. She should not be so frail from a week of captivity. Not his Sun.

Still, they were nearing the Fold now and Aleksander would need his hands to gather Light if they were going to cross.

“Alina, please. If you can, sit up and lean against me. I need your help to get through the Fold.” Alina stirred, her eyes flickering again.

“‘M sorry.” Feebly, she brushed her hands against each other and sighed as she illuminated everything around them. Like the burst of a dawning Light she lit up their location and Aleksander panicked.

“No! Alina! Stop!”

She did not know. Could not know what she had done. Horses gathering in force sounded behind them, locked on their location now and Aleksander pushed his own horse hard toward the safety of his creation.

The blight he left on the earth. The thing which he meant to protect him and all Grisha would now have to protect him and his Sun.

History would not repeat itself. He would not let her die tonight.

“The Sun Summoner!” He heard the shouting echo across the field even as they neared the black curtain. True dawn was breaking on the horizon. The reddish glow mixing with her bright white.

Aleksander tucked Alina further into his chest, holding her with the frame of his arms and she was finally waking up.

“Sasha. Where are we going?” Her eyes opened, the black Shadow Fold billowing across their vision.

“Oh good. I do like it in there.” She said, absently, “It’s like being covered in you. So familiar. Always so familiar. Even before I ever met you, going into it was like being home.”

Alina sounded delirious now and Aleksander wanted to cry. He swallowed it down and answered her.

“Yes. We are going into the Fold now. I might need your help to Light it—I don’t have my hands free.”

Alina nodded, squeezing his thigh in response and Aleksander heard another set of hooves drawing closer.

“Now Alina!”

Alina conjured her Light and the dome put his to shame. It was broad and beautiful and white, splitting the curtain of the Fold as they entered.

The Light was too big. Too bright. Others had joined them under the dome.

Aleksander urged the horse faster but he knew it was long tired from their long evening.

“Alina, please, pull your Light in just a little.” He urged.

It was useless. Alina’s hands were no longer touching and her Light shone from her anyway. Persistent. Bright.

Her consciousness was wavering and the Light brightened and he could not tell if he was adding to it or not.

“Sun Summoner! Halt!”

Gunfire. His horse faltered. Aleksander looked around frantically but realized it was only a graze to the flank. His horse was good, strong, used to battle and gunfire. It carried on.

Darkling! I know you’re in there! The voices from the past echoed in his head and he knew they were not there and history would not be repeated on this night.

Aleksander could not bring his hands together though. He was terrified Alina would fall and their horse would slow down and all would be lost again.

They neared the center of the Fold. He could feel the pull of the creation point. It called to him. More than it ever had before. A persistent tug on his tether. The same tug he felt when Alina called to him.

Perhaps something in the Making at the Heart of the World was rooted into the Fold as well. Perhaps creation simply echoed from this very spot.

The beginning of time, the creation of the earth, the creation of the Fold.

Perhaps it all centered here in this magnetic pull and out of it’s gravity, Alina and Aleksander were born. Shadow and Light. Magnetic poles arrived to stabilize an otherwise wavering world. Arrived to hold everything and everyone in balance.

More gunfire. “You are still my betrothed, Sun Summoner!” Zlatan was with them, taunting them.

Here’s the little witch who’s been stitching him back together. Aleksander shook his head, willing the words away.

Adrenaline was spiking and Aleksander looked helplessly up at the white Light overhead and brought his hands together to conjure the shadows. He tried to direct them and felt Alina slip a few inches in his grasp, her feet lolling dangerously around the front legs of their horse. A few more inches and she would impede his gait. Would pull them all down.

“Fuck.” He cursed, anxiety mixing into his fear as he clutched Alina by the stomach and pulled her back up.

“The Black General! Did you see the shadows. That’s the General of the Second Army!”

“Are you intending to kidnap my fiancée, General?!” Zlatan shouted behind them.

Stand down, Grisha! The white stone building illuminated beneath the dome as it had not been illuminated in centuries. So bright he could not look at it directly.

Darkling! I know you’re in there!

More gunfire and this time a bullet found his back. He lurched and clutched Alina to him, willing her to hold on in case he lost his grip. Willing her to be hidden completely from their range. Shield her with himself.

The horse was slowing. The graze from before was bleeding profusely now. More than a graze evidently. Blood was spilling heavy down the buckles of the saddle.

“Sasha?” Alina questioned. His hands brushed over the black kefta he had covered her in, bulletproof and safe.

History would not repeat itself.

Another shot. Their horse was trotting and the enemy was upon them, just yards away as the beast came to a stop. As it kneeled.

He and Alina rolled to the side, hidden behind the safety of their horse. The horse who was giving it’s life for them.

Aleksander was growing cold. Shock. Bullets in his back. Bullets in his side.

He looked at her. His Light. His love. Bullet now lodged in his stomach. That was the one that was killing him.

He peaked over the top of the horse. His eyes caught on the anxious West Ravkan General who kept one eye on the wavering Light overhead. One last act. Aleksander could do this for his love. One last act to show her no one would dare hurt her on his watch.

He lifted himself to kneel. His arms sweeping out from his sides and gathered the lingering Shadow—it was waiting—ready to do his bidding. One last dark deed. The thin blade was formed so quickly. Aleksander released it.

The surge of victory at watching the head and shoulders of Zlatan detach from his body filled his chest and warmed him even as he watched Zlatan’s soldiers stagger their horses away from the mess in horror. Those men did not matter.

She was safe. He had done what he should. History would not repeat itself on this night. Aleksander was so tired. He could not reform the Cut if he tried.

“Aleksander?”

Alina looked more awake. He was relieved. Finally, she was bouncing back. Too late for him but early enough for herself. To save herself. Everything would be okay for her. That was what he wanted.

A better world for her. She would lead it.

“Alina?” She looked at him and he realized he had seen this look before. Only, he didn’t remember until now.

“I am having the strangest sense of déjà vu.” He said.

Tears were slipping out of her eyes and he was watching her and he felt certain now that he had seen this all before. A snowy battlefield, flecked with blood.

“What are you doing?” She asked. She tried to pull his face up to hers. A Fjerdan wolf dead beside him and Alina yelling at him on the other.

“What are you doing? Stop. No. You said—not again. Please.” Aleksander watched her eyes close and her face was pinched in pain and it hurt to see her hurt. She had called him weak, weak for leaving her. For dying.

“Don’t cry, solnyshka. You will be safe and that is what matters. You will make the world safe for all of our people.” His hand touched her cheek.

Zlatan’s men had not come close and he could only assume it was for fear that she would rescind the Light or fear he would send another blade of shadow. His mouth tasted like bile and tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

“You have the advantage in here, Alina. The Fold is a place only you can conquer.” He smiled and it was almost whimsical in nature. “It was made from me, after all. You were made to conquer me, were you not, little Star?”

Alina hiccuped a laugh and grimaced at the pain in her weakened body.

“Don’t leave me, Sasha.” She said and he frowned at the sign of defeat in her shoulders. His own eyes filled with tears. He had done this with her before.

“I do not want to, Alinochka.” He whispered and his vision was blackening and only had a few moments to say what he wanted. “You have inspired me, Alina. Made my life good. You will inspire everyone. Do not doubt it.”

Her mouth kissed his and he saw blood on her lips when she pulled away. “Please, Sasha. I cannot go on without you.”

Their tether was sizzling and splitting in his chest, itching to burst forth.

Aleksander was dying. “I’ll find you in the after, Alina. I swear it.”

Her hands were shaking.

They trembled as she touched his face.

His features were slack, no quirked brow, no glare for her. No devious, cunning smirk.

No breathless, open smile, as if he just realized he was caught staring.

Instead she smoothed her quaking hands over his cheeks, pulling him fully into her lap.

The horse at her back took a shuddering breath. It too, was dying. Would be dead in another minute.

Zlatan’s men were there. They were still yelling. That much registered in a distant back room of her brain but then she closed the door.

Everything was muffled.

A tiny pinprick of light illuminated them now. It was small and Alina felt it dying out inside herself, growing dimmer with a smothering loss.

The men moved to stand closer than she would like, their exit from the Fold far too far away to survive on their own.

She did not look at them. They did not move toward her, their fear of the volcra kept their eyes turned up.

It was possible to pull him back. Aleksander. She could bring him back.

She had done it once. Reforged the broken tether and tied his life back to hers. They were Inevitable. One would not exist without the other—not while she was around to ensure it.

He was dying and she was suddenly reaching desperately for their tether. Their lifeline. She forced it to the surface, the fractured electric thing barely connected to their chests. A sliver of light held onto his body.

She wrapped his limp hand around the tether and covered it with her own.

Together they ventured into the abyss. Into the Making at the Heart of the World. That place that belonged to them alone.

Only—

Aleksander was just as lifeless here. His eyes were still closed and she could not feel his breathing.

Alina felt herself beginning to panic. Anxiety and panic and chemicals in her brain lighting her up with a dying surge of energy.

She poured into him all the Light she contained. Drove her beams into his chest over and over and over. Could not explain why she was doing it. It made no sense. She was no healer and maybe her Light would only drive his Shadow farther and farther away from her.

But, it could only be them. It could not be one without the other.

Where Light traveled, Shadow was compelled to follow and she will not allow him to abandon in his duty.

Not now.

Nothing was happening and as her Light surged, the abyss itself began to fade around them.

Quite suddenly, they were back into their pocket of the Fold and those insignificant West Ravkan soldiers were still surrounding them. Crowded close. Terrified that her light would blink out completely and the volcra would descend.

Alina clutched for their tether again. Nothing but the frayed end of rope was returned. Spitting and hissing electricity like a live wire.

Nothing to ground her anymore. Nothing to hold her to the earth. Nothing to balance her out.

Hemorrhaging Light filled up inside of her chest.

Aleksander was gone. She was alone.

In the beginning, Light had joined Darkness. In the end, Darkness had left the Light and all this debating she had done over whether or not to end the world and start over was so silly.

It had never been a choice. A path she could choose to take or not to take.

Alina was alone and the wrongness of it was impossible to overcome. This was not choice. This was Inevitable.

In the end, Light would shine bright enough to blind all of creation. Blind everyone and everything and nothing would be seen but Darkness. Beautiful, glorious Darkness.

In the end it was not a choice that she made.

In the ending, this was as Inevitable as they had been.

Alina stared at the soft, blank face of her love, lost to her in the here and now.

Saint Alina, Sun Summoner and Mother of the West looked up toward the sky.

She opened her mouth and let loose an unholy wail.

White hot Light burned out of her mouth in a beam that ripped through the Shadow around her and overhead. She could not stop the wave of energy anymore than she could stop her own anguished grief.

Aleksander was limp in her lap and it was finally happening. The Sun Summoner was combusting from the inside and the power of the Sun would ravage her body and rend it to shreds.

That did not matter anymore.

Nothing else mattered in this moment.

The heat surged around her and she did not even register the shrieks of Zlatan’s men or the volcra as they burned up in the light that touched them. Gone with very little fanfare in the end.

But then, the entire earth would be gone with little warning and no time to grieve. No time for regret even.

Light poured from her body and scorched the earth and expanded within the Fold farther and farther in a growing radius around her.

Her and her Shadow, alone at the center. The center of the Fold, the center of life itself.

Had he longed for Alina before he created the Fold? Had he known she could exist before he unleashed his Shadow and necessitated a Sun Summoner join him? She could not ask him in this life and so she did not want this life anymore.

At last, she was going to blink out of the world.

Shining out of it with the blinding, fiery fury of a collapsing star, imploding from the inside.

Alina was powerless to stop what had begun.

What force could possibly contain her anymore?

She was so young. She could not keep it in any longer. Never learned to control it properly. Perhaps she was never meant to.

The radius of her light had expanded to the edges of the Fold and where it was erased from the earth, more daylight rushed in and illuminated the scene.

The fire Light was hotter than any she had ever created. Maybe hotter than anything that had ever existed.

Hotter than the fire and combustion of creation itself. Hotter than the Light that burned at the Making at the Heart of the World. She should know, shouldn’t she?

It was past the point of return and the Light would surely swallow everything in its path.

It was beyond anything known. It was beyond the beginning. She would forge a new beginning, though she did not mean to do it.

It was happening now and no one could stop it.

And then—

Something was knitting itself inside her chest.

Born from the fiery core or maybe born from that solitary cool bit of Shadow that she knew lay just beneath her power. That bit of Shadow inside of her that stabilized it all.

Her chest was itching and then Shadow was swirling into her Light.

“Alina.”

His voice reached her and she prayed her thanks to the Saints that he was on the other side of all of this. He was waiting for her.

She had collapsed the world to get to him and it had worked.

Aleksander stirred in her arms, flesh untouched by the ancient power emanating from her being. They were not in the After. He was returned to her on earth. Untouched.

Untouched because Light would never be able to conquer Shadow. Not completely.

Her wailing stopped but she looked at him helpless as she continued to burn. Light beams emanated from her limbs and out of her chest and her gut and every inch of her skin.

Who could stop a star from dying?

Aleksander cupped her face. “It is going to be all right, solnyshka. I know what to do.”

His thumb stroked her cheek, soothing her.

Of course he knew what to do. He had done this very thing four centuries before. Only he had not had Alina to help him. To push back on him and his Shadow.

Aleksander closed his eyes. Shadow denser than she had ever seen—denser than the Fold itself, poured out of him.

Where her star fire was loud with the vibration of radiating energy, his dark matter was deadly silent. It slithered to the very edges of her Light’s reach and encapsulated it.

The world went dark around them. There were no volcra here. No screeches or voices. There was only they two. Shadow and Sun. Dark and Light.

A dying star, shining it’s brightest at it’s imminent collapse and the black hole born from the sheer power of the supernova.

The dark matter swirled and undulated and it was an unyielding master of the Light.

Alina watched it awe as it pulled on every ray that attempted to escape. The Dark curled around it, cooling it, taming it into submission.

Alina gasped for breath, the column of light pouring out of her was gentling at last and cooling off.

“Look at me, little one.”

Her eyes blinked with bleary tears.

“At me.” He said again, coaxing her face.

Her eyes met his steady gaze.

“Breathe with me. We will survive this.”

His voice was soft and unwavering and she burrowed into the assurance it offered.

Her Light gentled and dimmed and then faded entirely at the center of the black hole he created.

Her eyes stared into his. She gave him a small smile which he returned. Both of them captivated in the silent awe of what they created.

Alina laughed. A watery laugh as tears poured down her cheeks and he kissed them over and over.

She sighed, weariness overcoming her and Aleksander soothed her and she let her eyes close, submitting to her exhaustion.

Only then did he call the dark matter back into himself, allowing the natural light of the morning to beat down on them.

They huddled together, centered in the fresh, circular lesion at the heart of the Fold. The buildings of Novokribirsk discernible on one side of him and the army outpost in Kribirsk on the other.

He surveyed the damage, miles wide inside the fold. Wide enough for a small village.

The only casualties were easily explained away. Zlatan and his men no more than dust in the desert. Who would care for the disgraced general and his men? The monsters who would seek to kill the Sainted Sun Summoner?

No one need know how close she came to rending the world apart. No one would know this was an accident—that her powers got away from her.

He could spin this. This—an obviously intentional attempt to banish the Fold—the people would weep and bow at her feet as they were meant to do. The people would not come for her in their fear.

His hands cradled her sleeping form and he allowed himself a smile.

“You cannot escape me now, Sol Koroleva. You watch us. Together we will drag this world into a new age.”

He kissed her cheek, her answering breath somehow, miraculously cool against his skin. He pulled her head close and held her, whispering in her ear.

“When you wake, the world will have been made new.” He stroked a hand over the back of her head, her hair white and gleaming in the morning sun. “You delivered it another miracle." He laughed to himself, tears tracking into her hair from his cheeks, "My cursed, relentless little Saint. Just another miracle.”

#darklina fic #darklina fanfic #darklina #alina x aleksander #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #power dynamics #politics #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #physics #theoretical physics #darklina server

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heroinepose · 4 years

Text

two a.m.

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader Word Count: 2,316 (Yes, I lost control of this.) Warnings: None. We’re in fluff land again, friends. Someday the porn fairy will visit, but today is not that day.

Finals are stressful, even in your second year, and sleep doesn’t come easy with such a tall order ahead of you. It’s a damn good thing the company is so good.

This was written as an entry to @heroheads’ 500 follower contest! Congratulations on hitting a milestone -- your work is amazing and you deserve it!

The looming final exams are becoming a menace in more ways than one. Almost all of your spare time has been dedicated to studying, training or sleep in the last three weeks. The challenges your teachers will issue in realtime are less worrisome to you as a second-year than the ones that come on paper, now that you think you know what they’ll be like. They’ll focus more on problem-solving and working on the fly; beyond making sure you’re as physically prepared as possible, you know your time is better spent studying for the written exams and making sure you’re rested.

… which makes it all the more infuriating that you can’t sleep.

The last couple of nights in particular have been rough, but at least last night you’d managed to get a few hours of good rest. Tonight it’s been a fruitless endeavor, and the weariness settles down to your very bones as you shut the door of your dormitory behind you as quietly as possible, stepping out into the faintly humid night air with a mug of tea clutched securely in your hand. Sitting on one of the steps leading up to the entryway, you heave an exhausted sigh as you settle down, lifting your mug to your lips and inhaling the sweet, herbaceous scent of chamomile and honey.

Heights Alliance is peaceful at night. It is the one blessing attached to being up so far into the wee hours: the solitude is truly tranquil out here on the front steps, with little but the humming of the streetlights and the rhythmless chirping of crickets to distract you. With the light pollution from campus and the surrounding area, you can’t see the stars as well, but the moon hangs full and only a little hazy above the treeline, dampening the orange glow from the always-on walkway lighting. Sipping carefully at the hot liquid in your mug, you tip your head back and close your eyes, pulling slow even breaths through your nose to try to lull yourself into some kind of meditative state. If you could just relax, force your body to slow down …

You’re not certain how long you’ve been sitting like that when you hear the telltale crunch-and-slide of someone’s footfalls up the walking path to the building, eyes snapping open to see who else could possibly be up at this hour. It takes a moment for you to refocus, tired eyes struggling to make out the figure from this distance in the dark. It isn’t until he passes directly under one of the lights lining the pathway inside the gate that you can clearly make it out as your classmate, Shinsou Hitoshi, very clearly out past curfew. His hands are jammed in his pockets, eyes low but ahead of him, lost in thought. You’ve watched him for so long -- since that first Sports Festival, naturally, but particularly after he joined the Hero Course -- that it’s a posture you recognize almost as much as you recognize your own tells, and while you’re no stranger to his dark circles, you would never have called seeing him here, now.

It makes your heart swell to aching to cross paths with him alone in daylight, but the lack of sleep and the stillness of the night makes it worse. You’d tried, you really had, to simply be content with a collegial relationship with the boy who didn’t join the program to make friends, but somehow that had twisted itself into the kind of friendship he had been avoiding so adamantly. … and then, on your part at least, it had gotten worse. He's clever, straightforward, and although he's certainly reserved, he’s been a remarkable support in the last year. In hindsight, it seems natural that it would have evolved on its own, out of control. You can’t help your feelings, but you do keep them buried, certain that he’s not at all interested in you.

Rather than call out to him, you choose to wait it out, sipping idly at your tea. He doesn’t appear to notice you as he draws closer to the front steps, hidden as you are near one of the columns. You’re not actually trying to scare him, but with his face tucked penseively into the top folds of his capture weapon, he won’t notice you at all if you don’t say something. Swallowing the tea in your mouth, you manage a smile as his foot hits the second step.

“Someone’s breaking curfew,” you singsong from your perch in the shadow of the dorm, watching his shoulders hitch slightly. His hands remain in his pockets as he turns, and you lift one hand from your mug to wave good-naturedly at him when he registers your presence and inclines his head to glower directly at you.

“Someone should speak for themselves,” Shinsou mocks, although there’s no venom in it. “Should you be out here?”

“Ah, but I’m still on the front steps! I’m not out anywhere,” you reason, pointing at the remaining stairs that lead to the footpath he’s just taken through the courtyard. “Can’t get in trouble for breaking curfew if I never left, can I?”

You hear him chuckle before he changes direction, walking across the steps to sit next to you and finally removing his hands from his pockets. “I think your Hero Law scores have gone to your head. You’re drunk with power.” The backhanded praise and the grin that lingers on his face makes the heat creep into yours, and you take a long sip of hot tea to cover it.

“If only!” It’s a wistful sigh, head tipping back dramatically as you roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m mostly drunk on lack of sleep.”

“Which is why you’re sitting on the steps at two in the morning,” Shinsou guesses, and you confirm the assumption with a slight shrug, turning your mug around in your hands.

“I’ve tried everything else, so I thought fresh air might help.” You nudge him with your shoulder, jostling him only slightly in his seat next to you. “Now, why are you sitting on the steps at two in the morning?”

He leans in conspiratorially, and you find yourself leaning too, before you can stop yourself. “Because some creepy woman lurking in the shadows startled me.” Your face falls.

“Shinsou,” you scold, and he cracks a smile, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Seriously, you were already gone when I got out here and you’re only just getting back. Where did you go?” A thought occurs to you, a mild tightness in your chest, and you risk asking the question in the form of a joke. “Did you get a secret girlfriend when none of us were looking?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmurs, averting his gaze and dropping his hand so both of his elbows rest on his knees. There are a few beats of silence between you.

“... secret boyfriend?”

He moves, as if to stand, with a great sigh. “Okay, I’m going inside --”

“I’m joking!” You’re whisper-shouting, to avoid calling attention to either of you, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Shinsou, please. I know, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry I asked.”

The movement stops, and he settles on the step next to you, reaching over to take your mug right out of your hand. You’re so startled that you don’t stop him, watching him lift it slightly. “If that’s what you think, maybe you’re drunk on whatever is in here, not power. When would I have even had the time?” He reaches behind the both of you to set it down as your fingers slip from his sleeve, the dull clink of ceramic against concrete surprisingly loud in the quiet of the night.

“It’s just tea,” you grouse, but you make no move to reclaim it. The brush of his arm against you is comfort enough to replace its warmth -- that and the relief that he isn’t off seeing someone, not that you have any right to feel that way. “Anyway, I’m entitled to be a little worried when my friends wander home so late.”

“Your friends come home after midnight that often?” Shinsou’s tone is light; he knows he’s caught you out. He’ll make you say it, though, because that’s always his game.

“No,” you sigh. “You’re the first. Still ...”

There’s another lull where he says nothing, considering you as you look out into the empty courtyard. Your brows are furrowed, like you’re thinking much too hard about something. Maybe it’s the late -- early? -- hour, but he seems emboldened slightly by your aversion to looking at him.

“Still …?” He presses. “Why would you worry about me?”

Your breath hitches a little when you draw a breath to respond, cutting your eyes over to him briefly as you choose your words. His dark circles are more pronounced here in the shadows, and maybe it’s the way the fiber of his capture weapon looks like spun silver at night, but it brings up a flood of concern you haven’t voiced since he was accepted to the hero program at the start of the year.

“You worked so hard to get here,” you say, words slow and deliberate. You’re concentrating so hard on being careful that you fail to notice how he stops breathing. “I think you might have worked harder than anyone else I know. Saying it out loud sounds stupid, I guess, but I worry about how you handle it all.” One breath and you’re rambling, mind racing with the effort to dance around what you want to say: that you care for him, that you’re always cheering him on, but how much he worries you. “You deserve to be here, Shinsou. You deserve to become a hero, and you’re -- you’re my friend, and sometimes I worry that if you’re not taking care of yourself --”

It happens so quickly you’re not quite sure how he’s done it, but you’re silenced by the assertive tug of fingers beneath your chin, pulling you to face him. Then all you can feel is his lips on yours, the scent of cedar and something faintly minty overwhelming you, and even the crickets seem to stop. All you can process is the fact that oh, he’s kissing you. Shinsou Hitoshi just kissed you.

You feel as if you might implode. It’s soft, and warm, but unpracticed -- somehow, though, it’s everything you’d imagined it would be, the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. You didn’t think he’d be the type to really go for it on the first try like others you’ve kissed who were all teeth and tongue right out of the gate, and a private part of you is gratified to be right, a shiver working its way down your spine as he adjusts his fingers against your jaw.

He pulls away carefully, but the warmth in your chest spurs you on, looping your fingers in the capture weapon draped around his neck to pull him in again, lean in further. You feel him sigh against you, a soft exhale through his nose, and can’t help the twitch of your lips into a smile against his. You hold him there a few long seconds more before you pull away, realizing how warm your face is now that he’s not so close.

“Finally,” Shinsou breathes, his voice close to a whisper. “Took you long enough.” Your jaw drops immediately, hand still curled in the fabric draped along his shoulders.

“Me?” You say, loud enough to actually get him to shush you quietly, reaching up to grab your hand where it rests against his capture weapon in an attempt to distract you, calm you down. It works, if only because the feel of his fingers wrapped around yours sends something akin to electricity rocketing up your arm. You take a breath, release it in a huff, before lowering your voice. “What about you, Mr. I’m Not Here to Make Friends, and Therefore Not Date People?”

The man in question quirks a brow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I don’t believe I ever said that last part.”

“Does one not kind of preclude the other?”

“I suppose that depends on your point of view,” he laughs, “but we can argue semantics in a few hours if you’re really that hung up on it.”

“Shinsou!” It’s more of a hiss than anything, trying to regulate your volume as he lets go of your hand, reaching behind you for your long-forgotten mug and standing up at last. You’re pouting up at him when he offers you the other, his grin only a little smug as you take it and allow him to pull you up. He uses the momentum to pull you into just one more kiss, little more than a brief peck against your lips, a way to silence your argument for now. You let him, breathing deeply as he pulls away.

“It’s late. Just sleep on it,” he offers, “and if you still feel that strongly about it in the morning, let me walk you to class so you can yell at me some more.”

That sly bastard. You smile in spite of yourself, watching him as he pulls you up the stairs, closer to the door. Once inside, he keeps hold of your hand as you deposit your mug in the sink -- you can deal with the whining about leaving things there in the morning -- parting ways with you only when you need to split up and head to your respective sides of the building, barely-there whispers of goodnight and seriously, go to bed the last of your affectionate gestures for the moment. The full weight of what’s occurred on the front steps hits you as the elevator doors close, leaning against the interior wall and looking at yourself in the reflection of the metal.The smile stuck on your face widens a little, giddy with the knowledge that he likes you back.

Suddenly, a peaceful few hours’ sleep doesn’t seem so difficult.

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #heroheads 500 follower writing contest #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #i still don't know what tags to use aaaaah #anyway i'm glad i could write this!!!#even if i lost all control over it at some point

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spidercakes · 4 years

Text

Have some mob boss!Tony and kept!Peter!

Warnings: mentions of abuse.

Peter shivers, upset and hurt but Tony has a hand on his shoulder like he’s trying to steady him. “Are you okay?” Tony asks and Peter knows this won’t come without a price but he’s ready to pay it, even when he knows he’ll regret it. He shakes his head slowly and Tony sighs softly, “oh course you aren’t. Come on, lets sit you down,” he says like he isn’t working through a list of his own plans with Peter but it has to be better than what he left. Maybe. Probably not, but Peter needs a plan and if Bucky has taught him anything its that abusers don’t abuse right away. Tony will play nice for awhile, he can plan then.

So he follows Tony, allows him to put him into a car while he takes deep breaths. “What do you want for this?” he asks after a few long minutes.

Tony is sitting beside him, watching him pensively. He stays like that for a moment after Peter speaks, considering. He reaches out and tilts Peter’s chin up a bit, “nothing much baby, just loyalty. Think you can do that?” he asks.

Peter nods like he has a choice, arms curling around himself tightly. “I didn’t think you’d do that out of the goodness of your heart,” he murmurs.

“Well, you’re not wrong in assuming I’m a bad man. But I do draw the line at domestic violence,” Tony tells him.

Yeah, like Peter is stupid enough to believe that. “But murder isn’t something you have qualms with?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tony shrugs, “nature of my business.”

He waits for the other shoe to drop, Peter knows its going to happen because Tony is nice, too nice. He somehow found all of Peter’s stuff and brought it to him, the room he’s staying in is huge, and Tony never pushes anything. He barely even talks to Peter most days, invites him to dinner others and expects nothing. He doesn’t bar Peter from leaving but he’s not fucking stupid, the cops think he killed Bucky and they aren’t totally wrong about that either. Its because of him, he’s sure, that Tony decided to get involved and now Bucky’s dead not that Peter can bring himself to feel bad about it.

Still, its not smart to leave the house right now so he doesn’t. Tony doesn’t contradict that unless there’s an off chance that he wants to take Peter out himself, then he’ll go. The price was loyalty and Peter can do that for now, when Tony doesn’t expect much so he does what little Tony asks and that’s when the gifts start.

He’s not stupid, Bucky was nice at first too, showered him with love and attention, told him all about his life. Tried to endear himself to Peter too quickly, he knows, and played too hard at being perfect to actually be perfect. Hindsight taught him a lot but at the time he’d been young, hadn’t really dated much. He didn’t know what he was getting into and that was probably a draw too. Easier to manipulate younger people than older- the younger ones haven’t been through it enough to know the red flags. Peter was easy prey but he’s not so stupid now, he knows Tony is playing some type of game he just needs to figure it out.

The shoes are nice though, red and gold heels that he actually really likes and if it weren’t for the situation he’d be grateful. But for now he’s sure its some type of trap.

Peter was a fucking tough one to crack, took months to get him to let his guard down enough to get him to laugh but Tony thinks its worth it, so worth it. By then he’d started to wear the things Tony gifted him, maybe out of necessity seems how a lot of his clothes were a little worse for wear. Still, it’d been a small victory to see Peter laugh for just a moment before he seemed to realize what he’d done and then the laughter falls away.

It takes longer for Peter to come to him about anything but when he does its to ask permission to spend some time with a friend. Tony doesn’t much care, he already knows Peter will come back, its not like he has anywhere else to go and Tony paid for the lawyer that got him out of the hot water Tony accidentally stuck him in. Peter had asked what he wanted for that but it was Tony’s fault Peter was a suspect in his ex’s murder anyway so its not like he expected anything out of that. It’d been the least that he could do, clean up his own mess for Peter’s sake. But Peter goes to the movie, comes back and seems a little lighter. He asks for permission to hang out with the same friend the next day too and Tony tells him to stop asking for permission, he’s not a damn prisoner he can do whatever he wants.

Peter takes him up on it too, and he wonders if maybe Peter will go if he knows he has the option to. Tony wouldn’t chase after him anyway, Bucky isn’t the first person he’s killed and they both know he did Peter a favor. Peter didn’t mourn for his death even if he was clearly distraught about it happening in front of him. He doubts Peter will tell anyone about that all things considered.

He always comes back though, and every time he leaves he comes back a little more confident, a little more himself as Tony has come to know him. Slowly he starts to let himself relax and that includes around Tony.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Peter asks Tony. They’re at a party neither of them want to be at, which is kind of part of the fun, but the question is strategic. Tony won't do much in public, they never do. Won’t stop anything from happening at home but it does mean Peter is free to ask what he wants right now with minimal repercussions in the moment.

Tony frowns at him, “because you’re a person?” he asks more than states, like Peter’s question confuses him.

He shakes his head though. “You’re not nice to most people,” Peter says. Exceptions are his sister but then anyone would be nice to her with the vibe she gives off. If Peter thought Tony was the dangerous one of the family it’d been because he hadn’t met Natasha yet. He doesn’t know what she’s gotten into but he knows that she’s a hell of a lot worse than Tony ever could be. Other than that he’s nice to his driver, Pepper, and Rhodey. He’s polite to most other people, if barely, but anyone else? He goes from irritated to out and out cruel in seconds and he has no guilt about it either. “So why are you nice to me?” Peter asks him again.

Tony sighs, “because you’ve been through enough,” he says evasively like he actually thinks that matters. Everyone Tony talks to has a history, someone they’ve lost along the way because that’s what happens when you tangle with mafias for too long. He’d think there’s a target on his back but he’s learned that people don’t like to mess with Tony too much. Out of all the other mafias hanging around it seems Tony sits at the top of the heap at least in this part of the world. Peter has had a handful of incidences and every one of those people have turned up dead and in some rather unpleasant ways. People tend to avoid him now, or treat him with a level of respect he doesn’t understand. Sometimes its from people he doesn’t even know.

“That’s not the real reason,” Peter says, pressing his luck he knows but he wants to know why Tony is nice to him. No, needs to know.

For a few long, uncomfortable seconds he thinks Tony will avoid the question again or worse but he doesn’t. “Because you’re beautiful, Peter, and smart, and sweet, and a half a dozen other things that I love about you. And because you deserve better than what you’ve been handed.” Tony walks away after that, leaving Peter to sit with the weird confession. He makes his way to the bar and sits because his feet are sore anyway. He loves those red and gold heels but they’re a pain in the ass to stand in for an extended period of time.

He feels like he’s learned nothing from Tony’s answer and a lot all at once but he choses to leave it alone for awhile. He knows he’s not going to leave Tony’s place, he’s grown used to the meals and the space and he likes it there. Ned is worried about him, so are MJ and Liz, but its been more than long enough for Tony to have gotten comfortable with his presence there. He has yet to try anything and Peter has learned his distaste for domestic violence extends far beyond Peter. He has no patience for it, sometimes even kills them about it but he never takes in anyone like he had Peter.

On the way home Peter sits beside Tony and settles a hand on his thigh. Tony carefully wraps his arm around Peter’ gives him time to pull away but he doesn’t. They stay like that all the way home and its nice, comforting. Peter wants to let himself get used to this but he doesn’t know if he should. Tony isn’t a good man and Peter isn’t sure he’ll always be good to him, good for him.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Tony murmurs as they arrive on the estate. Peter looks up at him and Tony looks dead serious. “You can go, do whatever you want, never speak to me again if that’s what you want. You don’t need to do this.”

Peter knows he’s telling the truth, he can feel it. “I know,” Peter tells him. “I’m here because I want to be.” He doesn’t know its true until he says it but he can feel how much he means it.

Tony doesn’t know how the fuck he got so lucky but he’ll take it. He sure shit doesn’t deserve Peter but he can’t bring himself to tell Peter that he deserves better than him, not when he’s curled up in that pretty red dress Tony got him, red and gold heels still on his feet because he’d been too tired to take them off when he came to bed. He’s selfish for keeping Peter to himself but he loves him, has almost since they met. It’d been a feeling then, the kind that he gets every once and awhile that lets him know that he should pursue something.

Now he sees what he’d felt then because Peter is perfect for him. He’s smart, and caring, and he doesn’t shy away from Tony’s dark side maybe because he’d encountered worse. And he’s beautiful with his brown curls, pretty brown eyes and bright smile. Tony never gets sick of seeing him smile or laugh, those reactions were hard fucking won and he’ll be damned if he ever breaks that trust. He doesn’t ever want Peter to suffer the way he had ever again and he will ensure he doesn’t. People learned very fast that Peter isn’t to be trifled with. Usually its Natasha people fear more than him, rightfully so given that she’s fucking nuts and in a cold, calculated way that makes her dangerous rather than unhinged, but mess with Peter and she becomes the preferable option.

Even she’d been surprised by that given that she’s always thought his distaste for murder was irritating at best, cowardly at worst. But Tony doesn’t like the cleanup, takes too much work so if he can avoid it he does. Not with Peter on the line though, he’ll do whatever it is he needs to for Peter to be safe, happy, and healthy. And so far its working well enough that people actively avoid targeting Peter and they’d do well to keep that up.

When Peter stirs Tony feels his stomach flutter. He’ll never get used to being with someone as amazing as Peter but he’ll at least do his best to deserve being with him even if he’s bound to fail. Peter blinks himself awake, looking up at Tony and smiling. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, stretching out and wrinkling his nose when he realizes he’s still in his heels. He makes a disgruntled noise so Tony shifts his position, moving down the bed and carefully grabbing hold of Peter’s ankle so he can take off his shoes.

“Happy anniversary,” Tony says, smiling a little as he pulls off Peter’s heels.

Peter grins, smile bright. “You remembered!” he says, excited. As if Tony would ever forget something so important.

“Of course I did. Come here,” he says, pulling himself out of bed before he leans over and scoops Peter up in his arms, carrying him to the bathroom.

“You put rose petals in the bath tub!” Peter says, grinning down at the full bath. He’d just been waiting for Peter to get up so he could take Peter to it.

“You said you always wanted to take a bath with rose petals,” Tony says. The way Peter beams is so worth the trouble of plucking the petals off of all those roses. Took forever because he didn’t want to ruin any of the petals, it needed to be perfect for Peter.

“I love you,” Peter tells him, radiating happiness and this is just the beginning. Tony has a whole day planned for them comprised entirely of things Peter has said he’s always wanted to do.

“I love you too, baby,” Tony tells him, setting him down by the tub. “Now, not that I didn’t get you anything for our anniversary, but if you could have anything at all, what would you want?” he asks.

Peter smiles, “I have everything I want and then some, thanks to you.”

“Baby,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow.

Peter huffs. “Fine, I’ve always wanted to go to Greece,” he says and done.

“I’ll book us a ticket,” Tony tells him. “Now, get in the tub. We’ve got plans today.”

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #fanfiction

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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

PART SEVEN: CONFESSION

Story Summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they’re reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they’ve both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan’s side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six

Words count: 3235

Elianna, generally speaking, was extremely stubborn by nature. As such, the more people told her that she couldn’t do something, the more she resolved to do it. She had been like that for her entire life, and very rarely was she convinced to concede.

However, she no longer had any qualms about passing off the Zsasz case. The day before, she had been pretty insistent upon keeping Victor as a patient, but that had been before he had not only escaped what was supposed to be a very secure institution for the fourth time, but had also found out where she lived. Unless he had somehow already found out from whoever must have helped him after their first session. God, had he been planning that from the beginning? El thought back to what he had said when he had passed her and Jonathan in Arkham as he was being escorted back to his cell.

“Leave your door unlocked for me.”

She shivered at the memory. In hindsight, she couldn’t believe how stupid she had been to have still gone to her apartment after that. While she wasn’t unintelligent, it was true Jonathan had always been the smarter one. But, Jesus, that was the worst thing for her to have done in that situation. I guess I’ll blame that on being stubborn too.

She pondered all of this, still in bed next to a restfully sleeping Jonathan, hours before she even needed to be awake. After sleeping for only a few an hour or two herself, she had woken herself out of a nightmare and had been unable to fall back asleep despite how tired she felt. It seemed that all of her sleep lately had been cursed by restlessness.

Suddenly, she was struck by the memory of the strange, shadowy figure that had saved her life in the parking lot. What was that thing? It had been man-sized and shaped, but she clearly saw pointed ears on top of the head in her memory. Even after being in Gotham for such a short period of time, El was acutely aware of the masked criminals that ran the streets. Still, in her tired haze and confusion surrounding the whole situation, she couldn’t recall having heard of a man dressed as a…a dog? Some kind of bat, maybe? Either way, it seemed a very poorly made costume.

The fact that whoever it was had attacked Zsasz was somewhat comforting, she supposed. But the question remained, was this person malevolent and just happened to have a personal vendetta against Zsasz, or was he some sort of vigilante that no one had heard of yet? Assuming this is a new development, I imagine we’ll find out over the coming months.

In the meantime, El was plagued by the feeling that she was being watched, despite being several stories high in a relatively safe part of the city, not that anywhere in Gotham could truly be considered safe.

Despite the knowledge that nobody could be watching, she shifted closer to Jonathan and cast a wary look around the room to identify the source of her discomfort, finally deciding that there was something about the window that made her uneasy. It seemed too dark outside, given that they were in a large city, but she knew better than to get up to close the curtains. She had seen enough horror movies to know that when she did, there would be a face pressed against the glass, watching her sleeplessness.

The image in her head of a person waiting on the ledge outside, waiting for her to fall back asleep scared her, even though she knew it was impossible. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself not to think about it. It’s amazing the things almost being murdered will do to your brain.

Jonathan shifted in his sleep suddenly, effectively taking her mind off things for a few seconds. She could tell that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep the previous few nights (she blamed Scarecrow) and made an effort hold still, hoping that she hadn’t woken him up. After a few seconds, he settled back into his pillow. She sighed and allowed herself to relax as well. I should try to get back to sleep before work. She would be damned if she had to stay home, even after everything that had happened. She needed the people she worked with to take her seriously. Going about a normal routine after almost dying twice seemed a good way to establish rank. Maybe stubborn and stupid, but what was the worst that could happen at that point?

All things considered, she felt surprisingly stable for someone who had had three near-death experiences in the past few years. Maybe there was something wrong with her that just hadn’t manifested yet? Thinking about that possibility, she wouldn’t be surprised. It might explain how she was finally on the verge of falling back asleep.

Eventually, her exhaustion got the better of her. Jonathan’s building had much better security than hers; surely, she would be fine to sleep those last few hours away…

.xXx.

Four hours later, El’s phone alarm sounded, blaringly loud in the previously silent room, and she scrambled to turn it off while Jonathan rolled onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow.

“Why do you wake up so early?” His voice was muffled.

“It takes longer for me to get ready than you. It’s nothing new. Go back to sleep.” El yawned and patted the back of his head before standing up, stretching and cracking her back.

He seemed to take her advice, and his breathing evened out again as she retrieved her duffle bag from the living room and headed to the bathroom to get ready for work. She had just finished washing her face and brushing her teeth and was starting in on her makeup when Jonathan walked in, looking tired.

“I’m awake now.” He yawned as he leaned back against the counter next to her and rubbed his hand down his face.

“I can see that. I’m sorry,” El replied genuinely—if a bit distracted by her foundation.

“It’s fine; I was starting to dream about Granny again,” he dismissed; El nodded and continued her routine as he watched.

“Can I help you?” She asked, slightly perturbed by the attention. He shrugged.

“There’s nothing better to do at the moment. Besides, I want to find out how it’s possible that you actually use all those brushes every day. It seems like overkill.”

“They’re all good for different things, now hush,” El mumbled in response, trying not to let him distract her from her eyeliner. “You know, if you talked to more women, you might be able to see them put on their makeup, and maybe even naked sometimes.” Now she was actively trying to get him to leave her alone; it was far too early not to be annoying about it, though. Sometimes she just couldn’t resist embarrassing him.

“Don’t give Scarecrow any ideas this early in the morning, or he’s going to think about you like that all day, and I have to hear it,” Jonathan said in mild disgust and shut his eyes in exasperation.

“Ooh, gross. Really?”

“Yeah. Breakfast?”

“No, thanks, love.”

“You should eat.”

“I should, but I’m not hungry, and you’re distracting me. Thank you, though,” she replied more forcefully. He shrugged again and meandered toward the kitchen. “Tell him to behave!” She called after him.

No longer distracted, El finished up and picked an outfit for the day, getting dressed quickly and walked out to the kitchen where Jonathan had already dressed and was making his way through a bagel while glancing over the newspaper. “They didn’t know your name. Would you mind if I started calling you ‘lucky woman?’”

“Sure! Would you mind if I start 'giving Scarecrow ideas’ every morning?”

“Still not a morning person, I see.”

“Nope.” El stole a quick sip of his coffee before grabbing her purse. “Carpool?”

Jonathan agreed, finished his bagel and coffee, and they walked to his car. In a few minutes were on the road sharing comfortable silence. El found herself reminded once again of the stranger that had saved her the night before. She decided to ask Jonathan about it; maybe he’ll know more than I do.

Then again, what if he thought she was crazy? A man dressed up like…oh, who could tell? What if it had been an adrenaline-fuelled hallucination? Jonathan wouldn’t turn her in, would he?

Of course not. The personality with whom he shared a mind was violent and murderous and had convinced him to kill his great grandmother—although, the old crone had it coming. Where the hell did that thought come from? That’s a horrible thing to think.

Either way, compared to that, seeing a man dressed as a…as something while fighting crime seemed perfectly sane, especially in Gotham. Not to mention the fact that whoever it was had definitely tackled Zsasz. It had to be real, or she wouldn’t be sitting there in the car.

“Jonathan?”

“Mm?” He responded right as they pulled up to Arkham. Damn, she had thought for too long; she didn’t feel comfortable talking about this where other people might hear. Jonathan might not think she was crazy, but someone else might.

“Remind me to talk to you about something later,” she conceded with a sigh and waited for him to park so that she could get out of the car. He caught up to her a second later.

“Why not now?”

“Because you already know I’m not crazy.” He looked at her pointedly but didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Do I?”

“Oh, shut up,” she smiled and elbowed him gently as they walked inside. Jonathan allowed himself a soft smile.

“I have to stop by my office for a minute, but then I’ll meet back up with you in your office before your first appointment. I have to talk to you about something.” El nodded.

“See you in a few minutes, love.” She walked herself to her office, stupidly worried now that she was alone. She knew that she relatively safe with security everywhere, but even so, she pulled on the door after it closed to ensure that it was locked. Paranoid. Zsasz wasn’t even there. She had seen in Jonathan’s newspaper in the kitchen that Victor was facing trial that day.

Not to mention whatever it was that Jonathan had to talk to her about. Knowing him, El didn’t even want to try to guess what that discussion would be like.

She killed a few minutes organizing paperwork that she had allowed to pile up, realizing that she would need to stay late to file that night and reviewing her schedule. Her first session wasn’t for a few hours yet, which gave her time to stave off the fear that another of her patients would attack her. I just got off to a bad start. A really, really, really, really bad start.

A knock on the door made her jump and then roll her eyes at herself. “Who is it?” Seriously? Nobody that would knock wants to kill you, El.

“Three guesses who.” Came Jonathan’s response, and she pressed the button to open the door for him. “I’m gonna have to stay a bit late tonight.” He informed her as he walked in.

“That’s alright, me too.”

“Well, that works out.” He sighed, pausing in the middle of the room for a moment. “I also need to leave for a while right now, but first, there’s a lot that I need to explain to you, and it can’t wait, so I need you to listen.” What?

“O-okay.” She nodded slowly. “What’s up?” She leaned back in her seat as Jonathan came around and leaned back against the desk in front of her, setting his briefcase next to him.

“Alright, there really isn’t a good way to ease you into this given the time crunch, so I’m just going to tell you all at once, okay?” Still confused, El nodded again. “First of all, I’ve been conducting experiments on patients here, research not sanctioned by the asylum.” He paused for a beat, giving her a chance to think about the confession. “A while ago, I perfected a recipe for what I call a 'fear toxin.’ In short, it causes the subject to hallucinate whatever they fear most, which allows me to study the effect of fear on the human mind.”

“What the fuck?” The question escaped El quietly as she closed her eyes in an attempt to help herself process the information that her friend was offering up out of the blue.

“I know, but I’m not finished yet, okay? Stay with me.” El found herself nodding on reflex. “The key ingredient that I need for each version comes in from overseas, it’s shipped here, and I’ve been working with Carmine Falcone, the mob boss, to bring it in.”

“Wh-what does this have to do with me? Why are you telling me this?” El asked in a panic, shaking her head, her eyes still shut. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing or how easily Jonathan said it. He was lucky that the security system was video only, no audio. Or maybe she was unlucky; it all depended on what his motivations were for sharing this information.

“Because Zsasz used to work for Falcone, but Falcone won’t risk Zsasz going to prison and leaking the secrets of the organization; as long as he’s here, regulations dictate that he has to be kept relatively comfortable and isolated, so he has no reason to leak information. I’m going right now to testify on his mental state so that he gets admitted back here.”

“Stop-stop talking for a second, hold on.” Elianna lifted a hand and tried her best to control her breathing. Jonathan did as she asked and waited while she began to gather her thoughts. “Just please, please tell me that you aren’t the one who’s been helping him escape.” She demanded quietly, finally opening her eyes but staring at the carpet. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him until she knew that he wasn’t the one to put her life in danger. She had never before felt unsafe around Jonathan. Scarecrow, yes, but never Jonathan, but this sudden dump of information had her suddenly questioning everything that she knew.

She should never have come back to the east coast. She should have stayed bored in California and just contented herself with their long-distance friendship.

Jonathan lifted off the desk and crouched down in front of her, making her look at him, however reluctantly. “Listen to me, El; I know that I’ve done a lot of horrible things, okay? I can admit that. But one thing that I could never do is put you in danger on purpose.” In a calm voice, he spoke slowly, and against her better judgment, Elianna found herself believing him. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Alright, I trust you, but I still don’t understand why you’re telling me any of this.” Her mind was still racing to make sense of anything that he had said in the last few minutes, although she began to realize that she shouldn’t really have been surprised. From the second that she had found out about Scarecrow, El had known that there was something—someone inside him that was more than capable of horrific things.

She found herself wondering, not for the first time, how Jonathan would have ended up if Scarecrow had never come along. Granny Keeny should have been the only warning that she needed to stay away from Jonathan, starting years ago.

Then again, if she had managed to look past and even help him cover-up the “accident,” the strange circumstances of the old woman’s death (or so they had passed it off), then she could find a way to look past this. There had to have been a reason he was telling her any of this, besides making her an accomplice. There needed to be.

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

“If I’m going to get Zsasz back here anyway, then I can get him transferred to my caseload, which puts us in the perfect position to make him regret coming after you.”

“Whoa, hold on,” El lifted her hand again to interrupt him. She almost felt bad for interjecting so often, each time having to remind herself that she wasn’t in the wrong this time. “I’m assuming that you mean you would use this 'fear toxin’ on him? In which case, he could have a full metal break, and then they would have to investigate you, so won’t they be able to trace it back to us?” Jonathan shook his head.

“They won’t find anything. I already have it all figured out. It’s an original formula, if they examine him, they may find severely elevated stress levels, but unfortunately, that kind of break happens to people all the time in here; as long as he’s alive, anyone looking into Zsasz won’t bother to test for any externally administered chemicals.”

“I-” El found herself at a loss for words by how quickly Jonathan had worked this out. “F-fine, just…give me another minute.” She stood from her office chair and began to pace, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, trapped in by the sudden wave of disturbing new information.

She couldn’t deny that the thought of mercilessly dealing revenge upon the man who thought that he could get away with killing her sounded incredibly satisfying. It was a natural desire to exact one’s pound of flesh, and even before her involvement Victor Zsasz was a murderer. A deranged serial killer that had killed how many women before she had even thought of moving to Gotham?

Elianna began to realize that she could remain in denial about what had happened to her for as long as she wanted, but she would never feel truly safe again until something was done about him.

She knew it was technically wrong, but she wanted Victor Zsasz to feel the terror that she did when she pictured his face—Lovecraftian, skeletal, bathed in yellow light—and if Jonathan’s toxin could do the job, then she wanted to do it.

Before her logical mind had time to talk her out of her resolve, she stopped pacing and looked at Jonathan. He looked back expectantly, sitting on the edge of her desk again. With an air of finality, she nodded. “Let’s do it.”

“Good.” He checked his watch and stood, taking his briefcase. “I need to leave now, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Just go about your day like normal, and we can talk semantics tonight.” El nodded in response in a stupor over everything that had happened in only two short days. She wasn’t even aware enough to be surprised when Jonathan kissed her head as he left her office, instead returning trance-like to her seat and wondering just the wrong side of too late, did I make the right decision?

#the mind's power over the body #jonathan crane #scarecrow #batman begins #nolanverse #elianna montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #attraction to the insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 7

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phrynewrites · 4 years

Note

50 and scyvie please! thank you, i adore your writing 🥺

Thank you for the ask hun! I had so much fun writing this little glimpse into my Girlfriends Without Benefits AU.

Girlfriends Without Benefits is a Scyvie fake dating AU, where Scarlet, freshly dumped, asks Yvie to pretend to be her girlfriend to make her ex jealous. Yvie of course agrees, deciding that she’d do anything to help her best friend, especially if it helps her get over her terrible ex, who Yvie was never fond of. And besides, Yvie’s straight, so it’s nothing more than a kind gesture on her part. Until, that is, Yvie realizes it’s far more than a gesture. And Scarlet? Well Scarlet begins to wish there were benefits.

I hope you enjoy!

***

“Scarlet, I need to shower now!” Yvie yells, rapping her balled up fist against the bathroom door one more time.

Not that it was Scarlet’s fault, of course, Yvie reminds herself, continuing to bang against the door. Scarlet always took her shower directly after Yvie’s, around 7:30 or so, giving her enough time to fuss around with her hair styling products and complete her extensive morning skin care routine in peace, before heading off to work.

But today Yvie had woken up late, finding herself right in the middle of Scarlet’s bathroom time, in desperate need of a shower — and fast.

“Scarlet!” Yvie tries once more, but louder, assuming Scarlet can’t hear her over the running water and her own carelessly off key singing.

“It’s open.”

Yvie turns the knob without thinking, fully unprepared when she sees Scarlet standing in the fogged up shower stall, reaching up to grab a bottle out of the corner shower caddy. She’s encased in the scent of sweet mint and honey. It’s intoxicating and entirely Scarlet, reminding her of when they’d take the train home from the bar late at night, and Scarlet, still a touch too tipsy, would fit her head in the crook of Yvie’s shoulder and ramble on about how Yvie was the best fake girlfriend she’d ever had because Yvie knew she always wanted her hair played with when she was drunk.

“What do you need, babe?” Scarlet shouts, pumping out some of the product, pausing, turning to look at Yvie, before running it through her hair.

Yvie swallows at the thought, diverting her eyes. “I need to shower before work,” she says, more to the woven bath mat below her than Scarlet. “I woke up super late. And I still smell like last night's weed.” Yvie laughs, thinking back to the two of them sharing a bowl, watching House Hunters: International, ripping on a couple from Iowa who decided to move their whole family to Paris and were shocked by the fact that they’d be paying nearly a million dollars for an apartment no bigger than hers and Scarlet’s.

This led to Scarlet asking what would happen if they moved to Iowa and got a huge house instead of living in this glorified closet, then laughing about somehow finding herself back in the closet, elbowing Yvie until she made the connection that their home was closet sized and Scarlet wasn’t straight, and then coming in closer, leaning against Yvie’s side, letting an arm lazily fall into her lap and asking “no really, what if we just picked up and moved to Iowa? We could get goats and shit. Big kitchen we never use. Think about it.”

Yvie did think about it. She thought about it, up until she woke up late, realized she’d have to teach chemical bonding to a class of tenth graders today at 8 a.m., came into the bathroom, and had that thought forcefully replaced by a never ending and increasingly intrusive slew of thoughts about Scarlet in the shower.

“I mean, I’m kind of in the middle of it here.” Scarlet says, pulling Yvie out of her trance, calling her gaze to meet her own. Scarlet piles her conditioner coated hair up on the top of her head, reaches down for a clip, and fastens it. “Fine, come on in.”

Yvie’s eyes blow out as Scarlet elbows the stall door open, inviting her in. The crack in the door teasing her, rendering her silent and still as she stares at it, like she’s waiting for the shower door to flinch before she does. She wants to ask Scarlet for her reasoning, or maybe even consider dousing herself in the Warm Vanilla Sugar body spray Scarlet kept in the console drawer for ‘emergencies.’

Avoiding being sopping wet and naked only a few inches away from your roommate, who inexplicably made your stomach tight and heart press urgently against the wall of your chest every time you thought too long about her, who in this scenario is also naked and wet, seems exactly like an emergency, Yvie thinks.

Scarlet cleared her throat before crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you had to shower?”

“Right, yeah,” Yvie fumbles, trying to psych herself up as she pulls off her pajamas, pushing them into a neat pile in the corner with her foot. She reminds herself that she just needs a shower. So she can go teach school. That she doesn’t need to think any harder about what she’s going to do here at all. She just needs to open the stall door, get in, clean herself, and get out so she can go to work.

And that Scarlet’s emergency warm vanilla sugar body spray is also filled with glitter because of course it is.

She opens the door tentatively, maneuvering carefully around Scarlet, desperately trying to avoid any contact, cursing their stupid, small shower at every turn. Scarlet, however, seems unbothered, squeezing some shower gel onto a loofa, holding it under the water to let it suds up before trailing it over her body. She throws her neck back and hums, letting the soap cover her chest.

Yvie doesn’t think about the tattoo she knows is under Scarlet’s left breast, the detailed ivy leaves trailing from her ribs to her sternum.

She tries very hard not to think about it.

She definitely thinks about it.

Just past Scarlet, who’s now humming a few notes again, Yvie spots her shampoo, immediately reminded of the plan she set in place, the plan to shower and get out, which she immediately deviated from. She grabs the bottle and concentrates on the pearlescent liquid pouring out and onto her hand, beginning to spill out of her palm as she begins to wander from the shampoo to the curve of Scarlet’s back.

“Shit,” Yvie mutters before raking the shampoo through her hair and weaving her arm past Scarlet’s waist, placing the shampoo back in it’s spot. She pulls her arm back a little too quickly, brushing against Scarlet’s waist, halting her humming, making Yvie slink away quicker, forcing her other hand into her hair, as though if she looks occupied, Scarlet won’t notice the touch she clearly already registered.

“Uh, can I get under the water?” Yvie asks tentatively, still adamantly massaging the shampoo into her scalp.

Scarlet hangs her loofah back on the hook and nods brightly. “Perfect timing. Let’s switch, hun.”

Before Yvie could manage to press herself against the tiled back wall of the shower, and strafe across until she was under the water like a video game character trying to avoid assassins, Scarlet grabs her by the arm and pulls her closer, skin to skin, the two sharing the water for a moment before Scarlet reaches behind Yvie to take her razor and shaving cream, her chest just grazing Yvie’s back.

And before Yvie registers it all, Scarlet’s already gone, setting herself up a few inches away, facing the back of the stall.

“Needed to shave anyway,” Scarlet explains, propping her foot up on the unused soap ledge next to her, shaking the shaving cream, and spraying it in a puffing line up her toned calf.

Scarlet bends to lather the cream and Yvie’s sure she’s teasing her, though she can reason that Scarlet might just want to shave her legs. And that maybe she’s just teasing herself with the image of Scarlet bent just so, right in front of her, how if Yvie moved forward only two inches or so, she’d have the gentle curve of Scarlet’s ass pressed against her thigh.

Yvie washes harder, until she feels her hair squeak between her fingers, wishing the stream of warm water did a better job of soothing her.

At least they’re further away now, saving Yvie from any more close encounters. Yvie can simply turn away from Scarlet, drawing her razor up her leg as tantalizingly as she possibly can, Yvie’s sure, and face the shower head — you know, like serial killers probably do — and wash herself off. Just shower gel, wash cloth, wash her body, rinse, and out the shower she goes. It would be very simple, Yvie decides. She’d make this very simple.

She takes her shower gel out of the caddy and searches for her wash cloth.

Scratch that. It would not be simple. She could not make it simple.

Scarlet’s foot is on her wash cloth.

Scarlet, who is wet, naked, objectively mind-numbingly physically attractive, shaving, and back to humming Dolly Parton to herself, is also standing on her wash cloth.

“Ugh, fuck me,” Yvie whispers to herself before looking back up at Scarlet, who seems not to have registered what Yvie said, still focused on shaving and humming the chorus of 9 to 5.

She could just ask for her wash cloth, Yvie reasons, but then Scarlet would stand up and face her and Yvie’s not sure she can handle looking Scarlet in the eye right now. Instead, Yvie decides to just snatch it from under Scarlet’s foot, like a magician swiping a tablecloth out from under a full course candle-lit Italian meal. If she can do it quickly enough, maybe Scarlet won’t notice and Yvie can continue with her shower.

She crouches slightly, extending her arm just enough to hook her finger around the hole she cut in the corner of her wash cloth. She curls her finger. She pulls sharply. The wash cloth hangs from Yvie’s finger.

And Scarlet yelps.

Then hisses.

Then says “fuck” about twelve times.

And when Yvie sees the shaving cream turning pink, candy red blood running down Scarlet’s ankle and onto the sky-blue tiled floor of the shower; when she feels her heart sinking until it’s pressing against her stomach, Yvie’s sure she made the wrong choice.

In hindsight, she should have just spread her shower gel all over her body without the wash cloth. Or maybe steal Scarlet’s loofah — then she still could have lathered, and smelled like warm sweet honey, had the scent of Scarlet lingering all day.

“God, Yvie,” Scarlet begins, before yanking the washcloth out of Yvie’s hand, pressing it against her ankle to stop the blood. “What the fuck?”

“Oof, that looks like it hurts,” Yvie says before cursing herself. The blood’s just hitting the drain. Of course it would fucking hurt.

“Uh, yeah. It does.” Scarlet quirks a brow.

And in what feels like an instant, Yvie opens the shower door, scrambles out, and decides that dousing herself in the sparkly body spray is probably her best option now.

#for dawningofdrag #rpdr fanfiction #scyvie #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #girlfriends without benefits au #gwb #tw: blood #gwb au #ask phryne #asks answered #drabbles #phryneff #gwb scyvie

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rainbow-okapi · 4 years

Text

Binder Breaks

Damn Jason and his stupid fucking face. Damn his fucking thighs. Just staring at him made his boyfriend's blood boil. It wasn’t fair he had such intimidating eyes or how Jason could throw him around however he pleased; which is exactly how they got into this situation in the first place. Being on the bathroom floor was half a surprise and Jason’s smirk was not helping in the slightest. 8 hours wasn’t enough. It came and went too quickly and dammit if Jason wasn’t an overprotective ass it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.

No, Maisy’s partner just had to ask for the time. Sure, he might have skimmed the care manual that came with the binder but Maisy didn’t expect Jason to follow it. Neither of them had the best self-care routines for the most part. He half expected it to be brought on by Roy and Kori after both had shown similar tactics when this issue came up. Somehow it always ended up with Maisy in the bathroom getting undressed one way or another, but he’d be lying if the memories weren’t the cause of his fluttering breath and rosy cheeks. Roy had been the first one to tackle the issue during a late dinner date. Jason was on a crucial patrol to get intel and Roy had just gotten back from off-city business with some suppliers. The marksman had simply decided to drag Maisy out to some dainty 24hr Diner without any forewarning whatsoever. What he didn’t know was Maisy had put on their binder earlier that morning and was running the gauntlet for wearing it for his longest time yet. Roy probably wouldn’t have known had Maisy not fidgeted as much as he had. It bit into his ribs and no matter how he twisted and pulled, the feeling would not disperse. Of course then came the explanations to a curiously well intentioned Roy; prompting smothering before a pointed jab sent Maisy towards the restrooms. There he spent 10 minutes or so chilling in a stall before Roy finally convinced him to come out without it in exchange for a milkshake. Being so vulnerable was refreshing in hindsight, and the endless praise that came with it wasn’t bad either. Roy, being the stubborn romantic that he was, had made it his mission to make the boy as flustered as possible, even getting the waitress in on it too. Whatever traditionally masculine compliment he could think of dripped off his tongue; starting off innocent but gradually dipping into filthy innuendos for the foreseeable future. Roy knew exactly what he was getting into by the time Maisy’s forehead pressed into the plastic tabletop and the only coherent word he could relinquish was his tormentor’s name. Finally, to top everything off, Roy grazed his hand through the shaved crown of Maisy’s head and whispered in that honeyed voice exactly what they should expect at home. It left him wondering if Maisy was always a sucker for firm hands and a sweet voice, since the results were absolutely precious. There’s a reason he earned the pet name “Pup” from Jason. Kori had been another story. Maisy assumes that Roy held an impromptu meeting afterwards to assign tabs since nearly every other day afterwards, he was getting hounded over the group chat. While Roy may have been maternal and swift, Kori was firm and absolute. It just happened to be a slow day round the safehouse where they gathered. Maybe it had been a little silly looking back at it; Maisy hadn’t even planned anything outside of the compound but he had put on a binder anyway. Kori was presiding over a frustrated Roy when the dreaded question was brought up, an innocent reflection as ever. Too long. He was always wearing it for too long. His body wasn’t his own, the excessive skin and fat never mirrored him. Wearing the binder helped relieve that burden of flesh and at times like this; those words clawed at his throat. He didn’t care if his ribs bent and his spine contorted. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breath anyway. It didn’t matter to him, but it did to them. Maybe there was fear in his eyes, or the stoop of his spine gave it away, but Kori was there with him anyway. Maisy would never admit it directly, but he loved when they cradled him. All of their little group was tall and muscular, compared to his own tiny frame. Kori knew this though; they all knew it, so there he was; pressed against her collarbone while she gravitated towards the restroom. One of her hands was teasing his ear and he didn’t have the heart to bite back and demand solitude. It wasn’t until she kicked the bathroom door closed did the realization seep into his stomach. Kori was patient when it came to their comforts though, that much was given due to the way she held him like a child tucked against her hip, lazily drifting above the tile. She was soothing, the way her hair faintly glowed to illuminate the dark restroom and her warmth all but enveloped him. Their positions’ shift and Kori takes the boy into her lap; still floating leisurely but turning her low spin into sluggish bobbing. He couldn’t bring himself to stir as her hands toyed the hem of his spandex bindings, nor did he protest as his shirt was removed. It was folded across the boy’s own thighs but he hardly noted it. He was more focused on the resuming digits tracing designs across the scars of his torso and the foreign hums echoing across acoustic porcelain. If he sighs when her hands ghost across his now exposed chest and sides, she doesn’t mention it. Spandex joins the shirt in a similar fashion and they stay there. They stay there amidst sweet whispers and soft tears. Kori warms them away, and returns the shirt onto him but leaves the spandex behind. The others don’t vocalize anything aside when the pup is deposited into Jason’s lap moments later and he grunts in acknowledgement; their eyes say enough. Roy chuckles when Jason drops a hand from his book and cards it across the boy’s scalp. There, he curls in the damned prince of Gotham’s lap, like he was always meant to. As if it was the most natural thing for the both of them. Then Jason, sweet fucking Jason. If Maisy didn’t know better, he’d say Jason was waiting for this. Waiting for his chance to get the boy under him and draw out the scene he wanted. That’s just how he was. It was as if all Maisy could do was fall into those Lazarus eyes. They glowed in the dim light of the restroom, containing the heat of his cold body. Fuck, he was so cold. Sandwiched between the living dead and cold tiles, any warmth given was pulled into Jason. Instinctively, he arched closer to the man above him. A chuckle echoed out, rumbling low in the looming body and tightening the hand across the boy’s wrists. “Now,” Jason breathed out, letting the breath fan across a blushing cheek. “This is being generous of me. You’ve got some options…” His hands are more callus than both Roy and Kori’s, larger too, however there’s a reverence to them as one strokes across the body below. A finger snags the spandex hem and yanks sharply towards him; shirt coming taunt with the movement. To anyone else, his snarl would paralyze those who heard it, but Maisy finds himself whimpering at the sight of vicious canines. “I could tear this off of you.“ Maisy knows he’s not joking, not with slightest uptick of strength against his wrists. Another breath crosses his skin, this time tickling his ear and finally bringing forth a fruitless struggle. Jason’s voice lowers to a bare whisper, “Or… if you really are a good boy for me.” The same hand that jerked at his clothes smooths them before sneaking under and tracing the faintest edge of Maisy’s chest. “I can peel this off of you, nice and slow. We can get off the floor.” He adds the last part like an afterthought. It almost makes Maisy laugh. He didn’t feel like a good boy just yet. Jason must have seen the hesitation in the boy’s eyes, so he shifts his weight back. What was an almost bruising grip on his wrist turned into a soft caress. His thumb wedged itself into Maisy’s tense palms and pried them open. “You’re my good boy aren’t you?” The question seems to get drowned in the silence and pulled in by each shared breath. There, under his Lazarus eyes and sly tongue, does Maisy finally feel the flaring vestiges of flames. When he grins, of teeth and charm, Jason matches it. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Maisy breaks his own silence. “Hell yeah I am!” The snap of words clear across tile, chased by a groan when the barest edge of lips trace his throat. The charcoal of his shirt separates the two bodies in a fleeting severance before it’s tossed haphazardly into the corner. The reverence is still there, dipping into the spaces between his ribs and once more, the spandex is pulled. Jason baritone purr stokes the smallest shard of embarrassment blooming across his chest for the man to reveal. There is air in his lungs and the cold steeps in with excess and the lack of protection; soothed only by the husky whisper burning him up. Spandex joins the shirt with impatience in the throw. “Of course,” The sass drips and pools in their guts, Jason’s own Cheshire grin hidden against Maisy’s jugular. “You’re always such a good boy for me.” Arms slip under and across the boy’s pale scarred back driving tremors in their wake until Maisy is pulled flush into Jason’s lap. In his arms safe and secure, it’s like nothing else can touch him. In his arms, Maisy fists his black shirt and claws desperately for some semblance of warmth. His own warmth still taken and taken until Jason’s body matches. Only then does he begin to give. He gives with his words and soothing hands, tracing concave scars and jutting vertebrae. Sweet murmurs are muffled against skin and drowned in accompanied whimpers. The two stay in the wake of burning tears and choked confessions, murmuring still; only to be quelled by those ever worshiping hands. When the silence does come, it breathes relief. When the silence comes, Jason rises with the boy still embraced, top bare and rosy. In the bedroom, silence stays. It stays and blesses the damned pair with sleep. Finally, in Jason’s arms, there is warmth. From his chest, it blooms and curls into his palms; gracing his lips when they brush the boy’s forehead and coating his voice to deliver them to rest.

#self ship fanfic #my wriitng #self ship #DC #jason todd #Red Hood #jason todd fanfiction #kisses and cuddles #my f/os #f/os #they speak #my s/is #fanfic #trans #lgbt+#trans s/i #roy harper #starfire #Joyfire

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you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus · 5 years

Text

45 reasons why

summary: cyrus tries to think of all the possible reasons that tj hates him following the events of costume day. (inspired by this post)

ship: tyrus

word count: 9235 (she’s a hefty one)

notes: happy late birthday amanda! @swingsetboys i hope you like this! 1. I’m annoying

That one was a given, Cyrus thought. He always asked one too many questions, laughed a little too loud, and complained a little too often for people’s likings. It only made sense that this was probably one of the main reasons that TJ probably hates him.

Hate. He doesn’t like that word; it’s so strong, it has so much power. Yet, it almost seems to fit the mood. After all, the costume was TJ’s idea, not his. TJ was the one who looked so excited to do the costume based on an inside joke. And yet, TJ was the one who bailed on it. TJ was the one who did a costume with a girl he, supposedly, barely even knew.

He sighed, putting down his pen and leaning back in his chair. Maybe this didn't just start right around costume day. Maybe it went further back, but how far back? A week? A month? Cyrus shook his head, breathing out forcefully. Might as well start from the very beginning, he thought to himself.

The whole thing started with that damn muffin. The muffin, he pointedly thought, that he couldn’t get for himself because he was too much of a coward to cut in line and get it for himself.

2. I’m weak

3. I’m helpless Just like Jonah said, he thought, but left that unwritten. He already knew that; he didn’t want it written down. That day with the stupid muffin seemed almost like a far away dream to him. He was almost certain that TJ. . .smiled at him? It was kind of fuzzy; if you’d asked him a week ago, he’d be able to tell you how many steps TJ took towards him before saying ‘he’s with me’. But now, he doubted that the whole exchange even happened. All he remembered was that he looked at TJ like this monster, like someone who could and would crush him underneath his sneaker. But. . .he didn’t. He was surprisingly friendly.

4. I jump to conclusions

5. I get scared too easily

6. I’m a bad judge of character

For days after that, Cyrus had found himself lingering over their interaction, if you could even call it that. He’d absentmindedly draw a muffin on his biology notes. At lunch, he’d stare at his mashed potatoes so long that Buffy had to physically prod him to make him eat. And when his parents drove him home from school, the car ride was remarkably quiet.

He really thought that that would have been the first and last time that him and TJ interacted. He was fairly certain that was the taller boy’s name; Buffy had mentioned her disgust for him several times before. But their conversation had only just begun.

A little while later, Cyrus had found himself drenched in sweat from head to toe because oh his goodness, he couldn’t stop himself from getting tongue-tied in front of the camera. And it certainly didn’t help that he was with his, now-ex, crush. That only made him want to do well more, which of course led to a disastrous outcome. He’d ended up running towards the swings to try and calm down. He’d even sung that stupid song he made up in elementary school.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, TJ popped behind him, with a compliment for his song. And Cyrus. . .well, Cyrus just looked scared. He probably looked like a deer in the headlights from TJ’s perspective. And then of course, TJ had made some joke about what he sang on the slide. Probably in a pitiful attempt to make conversation

7. I’m pitiful

Somehow he’d managed to convince TJ to sit and swing with him. With him. It felt almost natural, them sitting together on the swings. Well, not together per se, but they were on the same swing set. Separately.

‘You don’t know me. I got stuff.’

He’d never forgotten those words, because in that moment, he felt almost comfortable around TJ. Like he just wanted to spill everything and get everything off his chest.

8. I get too comfortable with people I barely know

They’d barely even talked that day. All that Cyrus had learned was that, apparently, TJ had things that he needed to feel better about, which to Cyrus, sounded absolutely absurd. He was the captain of the basketball team, people were borderline terrified of him, and let’s be honest, he wasn’t ugly. Far from it, actually, save for the insane amount of hair gel he used to wear.

And when he gave him an underdog, he barely remembered feeling so light and so effortless all at once. It felt like he was on top of the world, and that nothing could touch him. And the smile on TJ’s face when he was squealing like mad. . .it was nice to see. Even then, Cyrus could tell he didn’t smile like that, or maybe even at all, much.

9. I’m scared of stupid things

And then Buffy had shown up and TJ instantly put up his walls again and wanted to hurry off. And for some weird reason, Cyrus didn’t want him to leave. He wanted his new. . .friend? (if he could call him that) to make sure that he knew that Buffy was cool, and understanding when she wanted to be.

10. I want things that I can’t have

‘Thanks for reminding me about swinging. That helped.’

For once that day, he felt useful, like he’d been successful in making someone just a little bit happier. He’d gone home that day feeling pretty good about himself. Even his parents seemed to notice his good mood, but when they asked him about it, he just shrugged it off, saying that he’d found a few dollars on his way in to school. He was fairly certain they didn’t believe him, but they didn’t pry anymore, simply letting them eat his dinner in peace.

11. I get happy at dumb things

A few days after their encounter at the swings, TJ somehow managed to find Cyrus again in the hallway. He looked oddly stressed, and he didn’t have the same easygoing ‘shrug it off’ demeanor that he’d sported just a few days ago. He looked like he wanted to say something, Cyrus could tell by the way he’d carried himself. He hadn’t forgotten their conversation from that day.

“Something on your mind?” Cyrus had asked, rocking back on his heels.

TJ had just shrugged, tugging on his hoodie straps. “Just. . .stuff,” he’d said lamely, but Cyrus could see behind his indifferent demeanor.

“You don’t have to tell me now, or ever,” Cyrus had assured him, and was ready to walk off when TJ started pulling something out of his back pocket.

“Here,” he mumbled, handing Cyrus his phone, “put your number in and I’ll. . .tell you about it sometime, I guess,”

Cyrus had nearly dropped the boy’s phone from pure shock. TJ was asking for his number? Well, no. More like TJ didn’t want to talk right now and instead wanted a second method of communication.

“O-Okay,” Cyrus had stammered out, putting his phone number in, all the while thinking about what he would write for his contact name. He wanted to make it something a little creative, but not something so stupid that it was embarrassing.

‘Cyrus (Underdog)’ he typed out, before handing it back to TJ. He had glanced down at his phone, and Cyrus had sworn he saw the ghost of a smile.

“Cool, I’ll text you,” he’d said, before running up to catch up with his basketball friends.

He’d waited all weekend for TJ to text him, but he never had. He’d even sent him a text himself.

[Cyrus: hey it’s cyrus! but you probably know that, anyways i’m here to listen if you ever want to talk :)]

He regretted it the moment he’d sent it.

12. I’m a dork

13. I’m clingy

When it had come time to invite people to his bar mitzvah, the last invitation was almost shaking in his hand. Why he was so nervous to hand it to TJ was beyond him, but looking back, a crush was definitely forming. Hindsight truly was a savior. He really, really wanted TJ to come, so much that he probably sounded desperate when he asked.

14. I’m desperate

15. I’m a geek

Luckily for him, TJ had accepted; heck, he’d even smiled at him. And then, he launched into a conversation about Buffy. Something about needing her to do something for him. And there it was, he thought, the reason that TJ had even talked to him at all. He need a favor. What? A date? Her number? TJ had ended up being pretty vague about the whole ordeal.

“Just use her two favorite words,” Cyrus had said confidently.

“I’m sorry?”

He’d paled, eyes bugging out of his head. “No, she hates those words,”

“Then what?”

Cyrus had hesitated. On the one hand, he did want to keep talking to TJ. On the other hand, he didn’t want to say something he shouldn’t. But one look up to him, seeing him almost smiling, he nodding up the sidewalk.

“Come with me. You might not like saying this, but Buffy will love hearing it.” The two of them had walked out towards the bus stop at the front of the school. After checking to see if the coast was clear, no Buffy in sight, Cyrus had stepped in front of TJ.

“You’re right,” he’d said.

TJ furrowed his brows in confusion. “About what?”

Cyrus shook his head. “No, those are her favorite words. ‘You’re right’. I don’t know what it is about them, but she just...seems to cave at whatever when you say them. It’s how I got her to sell me Tokyo,”

TJ looked at him, even more confused than before, but there was an air of fondness in his gaze.

Cyrus waved him off. “Monopoly. Long story.”

TJ nodded curtly, upon hearing the bus beep. “Maybe you could tell me sometime,” he offered, shaking his phone, “you can use emojis and everything,” he’d joked, before waving and heading onto the bus.

Cyrus couldn’t wipe that stupid smile off of his face no matter how hard he tried.

Sure enough, when he got home that night, he sent TJ a long text explaining how he just needed Tokyo to complete his collection, but Buffy wouldn’t sell it to him. He didn’t really remember what had happened, other than the fact that he’d said ‘you’re right’ so many times it started to sound like a foreign language.

And this time, TJ did send him a text back

[TJ 🏀: lol that’s funny. i’ll remember that. thanks for today]

Cyrus almost smiled as he added new things to the list. Memories of his bar mitzvah were fond, and he wishes times could be as simple as they were back then. He hadn’t seen TJ that much, save for the time that he couldn’t open a damn bottle.

“Hey, Underdog!” TJ had said above the music, approaching him.

Cyrus had just groaned in response, his shoulders slumping, He set the bottle back down on the table and swiped at his hairline. “Hey, TJ,”

TJ had looked between Cyrus and the bottle. “Need some help?”

Cyrus shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to do this myself, you know. Be a man and all that jazz,” he chuckles, cringing inwardly.

16. I’m cringy

17. I have no physical strength

TJ nodded, putting his hands in his pocket, before he’d stepped forward and grabbed the bottle. Cyrus had started to panic a little, but TJ assured him things would be fine. He’d started to open the bottle, just a little, and then had quickly handed it over to Cyrus to finish it off.

“All yours, dude,” he whispered, discreetly shuffling back towards the dance floor. Cyrus had stood stunned for a few moments, before he came to his senses and opened the bottle the rest of the way. It made a satisfying ‘pop!’ and the foam spilled over the neck. All of his family and friends were clapping, and if he squinted, he could see TJ, clapping his hands and smiling.

Things seemed near perfect that day. He hadn’t seen TJ for the rest of the party, but he assumed that he was enjoying himself. At the end of the day, when he was all dressed up in his dino pajamas, he heard his phone ding.

[TJ 🏀: hey that fortune teller at your party, is she for real?]

He had swore he was having some weird form of deja vu; what he said sounded just like what Buffy had said back at the party.

[Cyrus: no, she’s fake, she just likes to pretend she can see the future. why?]

[TJ 🏀: oh, she just said some pretty freaky stuff, like she was for real]

[Cyrus: rest assured, she cannot see the future]

[TJ 🏀: thank god]

[Cyrus: i, however, can. and i see you and me tomorrow at the spoon for taters]

[TJ 🏀: can you now? i’d love to but i have practice, sorry, maybe another time]

[Cyrus: yeah totally!!]

Cyrus had really hoped those exclamation points could mask his disappointment.

18. I get disappointed easily

19. I’m a burden

Had he already written that? He didn’t know, and he frankly didn’t care. If he wrote it twice, maybe it was really true.

After his bar mitzvah, things seemed to be pretty at bay. Buffy was playing well on the basketball team. Life with Andi seemed less dramatic than usual, and everyone seemed to be getting alone pretty well. That was, until he went to one of the basketball games and found TJ glaring at the court, not dressed in his uniform. He’d went over to check on him, but TJ had just brushed him off.

20. I’m a bother

21. I’m nosy

“Eating your feelings? I do that,” he’d tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but TJ’s face was a palette of annoyed and frustrated. The two of them had sat down at the table in the room adjacent to the court.

“Think they’ll win without me?” TJ had asked, his mind seeming to be anywhere else but in this conversation. It was weird not seeing him on the court, Cyrus agreed.

“I don’t even know who they’re playing,” he’d admitted with a shrug.

“The Raptors,” TJ had sighed, “I should be in that game.”

“Why aren’t you?” Cyrus had asked. Way to be direct, kid.

TJ grumbled. “‘Cause. . .I’m failing math. They won’t let me play basketball because I can’t do some stupid equations. How are those things even related?”

Cyrus had started putting pieces together, but he didn’t want to pry. He didn’t want to ruin the delicate friendship between him and TJ. “Maybe you should get a different tutor,” he’d suggested.

TJ had just brushed him off. “What I need is a different. . .brain.”

Cyrus had frowned, his brows knitting into confusion. “What’s wrong with yours?”

For the first time that day, TJ looked almost hesitant. “It doesn’t work. There’s a malfunction.”

That was one way to put it, Cyrus had thought.

“I might have this. . .math dyslexia,”

“Dyscalculia,” Cyrus had said, not missing a beat.

“Buffy’s the one who figured it out. She’s been bugging me to talk to Coleman. Constantly on my back about it,” TJ had sounded exasperated.

“It’s pretty common. Not worth replacing your brain over,” Cyrus had assured him, the beginnings of a smile starting to form.

TJ rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s a-” he was cut off by a few people entering the room, and he clammed up immediately, waiting for them to leave. When he was certain they were out of earshot, he’d continued.

“. . .learning disability. I don’t wanna go around announcing that,”

Cyrus had felt awful; TJ didn’t deserve to feel like this. “Dude, that’s an overused buzzword. There is nothing wrong with you.”

TJ seemed to almost stop frowning at that. Cyrus couldn’t back it up with evidence, he had just said it.

“And, your teacher can’t fail you for having it.” Of course he couldn’t. He just regurgitated facts.

22. I’m not helpful

“Coleman can’t fail me,” TJ had repeated, the words tasting almost strange in his mouth.

“You could be playing basketball. Right now.”

TJ had groaned, leaning back in his chair. “And Buffy’s been right all along,” he’d mumbled, almost chuckling to himself, “At least this time I’ll mean it when I tell her she’s right. That really is her favorite thing to hear.”

Cyrus had cringed internally. “I shouldn’t have told you about that. She’d kill me if she ever found out.”

TJ had scoffed at that, shaking his head. “Ah, don’t worry. She won’t find out,” he had paused for a moment, “and she may have been right, but you’re the one who really helped me.”

Cyrus hadn’t known what to say at that. He felt oddly proud of himself, and seeing TJ smile a little just made the whole moment better.

“Cheese puff?” TJ had offered.

Cyrus shrugged. “Sure.”

That day had been a good one, Cyrus had concluded. TJ had found him helpful, which almost made him want to erase the previous thing he’d written. But, he figured, he’d end up rewriting it anyways later, so why change it now.

Besides, what had happened later with Buffy only made him wince. How could he have been so careless as to tell TJ his best friend’s weakness?

23. I’m a bad friend

24. I’m not trustworthy

25. I’m a backstabber

26. I can’t keep a secret

27. I’m a liar

‘He wants to be friends with me. Who knows why?’

He still thought about that sometimes. Why did TJ want to be friends with him? Not for his terrible humor, or for his nerdy jokes, that was for sure. TJ did seem to take pity on him after Buffy left.

“Cyrus, hey!” TJ had called out, jogging up to Cyrus’ locker, only to find him staring into the void. He had waved his hand in front of his face. “Earth to Cyrus?”

Cyrus had flinched, nearly hitting his head on his own locker. “Huh? Oh, hey TJ.”

“Something on your mind?”

Pity. Pity was all that his mind could chant at him, but somehow, he still ended up talking. “I miss Buffy,” he muttered, closing his eyes. It was only his first day back at school, and he was already miserable.

TJ had slung his arm across his shoulder, tugging him down the hallway towards the cafeteria. “I know you do. But hey, she’s just a call or a text away right?”

Cyrus just shrugged, keeping his gaze down. “I guess so,”

“Do you wanna sit with me and my friends at lunch?” TJ had offered.

Cyrus shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Thank you though, really. I’ll see you around.”

28. I push people away when they just want to help

Cyrus seemed to be pretty good at pushing people away. No matter how much he’d isolated himself from people, especially when Buffy was away, they still managed to make an effort to sneak back into his life. Well, less people and more TJ. He’d even apologized to a piece of metal in order to sit down with him and Andi. And then of course, in typical Cyrus fashion, he just let his emotions flow and texted him his list of things he couldn’t do.

29. I’m pathetic

He’d even taken time out of his day to, first of all, drag him out of the drama between Andi and Jonah, and second of all, to teach him how to do a somersault. He didn’t forget how his heart fluttered after they chest bumped. It felt like it did around Jonah. . .well, used to feel around Jonah.

Even when Buffy had said that his disappeared, he had lied slightly. At this point, he didn’t want to admit that his crush didn’t “disappear”, but it. . .moved, almost. It was like all his feelings transferred to TJ; the sweaty palms, the fluttering heart, and the indescribable desire to spend more time around him, preferably alone. Time spent alone with TJ was some of the best time of his life.

“Okay, so go over this one more time?” TJ had sighed, swirling his straw in his milkshake.

“So,” Cyrus started, clearing his throat, “I’ll find a way to get Buffy to the basketball courts, and then you show up, I’ll disappear, then you two can talk for a little, I’ll come back and then you guys will play some one on one,”

TJ had chuckled, leaning back in the booth. “Wow, you’ve really thought about this, huh?”

Cyrus was probably blushing now, and he tried to hide it by shrugging and sipping his milkshake. “Just a little bit,”

“Well, it’s a pretty good idea. You’re full of them.”

Cyrus was now for sure blushing. “Eh, I try.”

“You succeed.”

Why did he have to say these things? It only made Cyrus more and more and more flustered.

That day was one of his fondest memories with TJ. It was also probably when he realized how intense his crush really was. And when the day came for the basketball game, it was a little shaky, but it had worked out. Heck, TJ had even performed an apology rap for Buffy.

‘I’m so confused.’

So was Cyrus that day. He didn’t know why TJ had even agreed to go through all this effort just to apologize for Buffy. Maybe it’d be nice to befriend someone he liked, Cyrus thought. After all, that’s how it went for him and Jonah, but at least that crush was in the past.

30. I’m stupid

After Buffy had decided to start her basketball team, she had enlisted in Cyrus, and Andi a little, to help put up posters. Andi made them, Cyrus had to hang them. TJ had even offered to help him do that.

“Need some help down there?” TJ’s voice had floated down the hallway, a stupid grin on his face.

Cyrus had jumped one last time to try and pin the poster up, but to no avail. “Is it that obvious?”

TJ had chuckled at that, plucking the poster from his hands. “Huh. ‘Girls Basketball Tryouts This Week’. You trying out for the team, Underdog?”

Cyrus huffed at that, crossing his arms. “No. I’m just on poster-hanging duty. Which I seem to be failing at.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” he’d offered, handing the poster back to Cyrus.

Cyrus scowled, looking between the poster and TJ. “I told you that I couldn’t reach the-hey!”

And before Cyrus knew it his feet weren’t on the ground anymore. TJ had a firm grip on him, and Cyrus was just squirming.

“I could do it for you but, teach a man to fish?” he had repeated his mantra from when they first met each other.

“TJ, put me down!” Cyrus giggled, his legs kicking in the air.

TJ eventually gave in, putting him down, smiling widely. “Fine, fine, I’ll help put them up. The normal way.”

It had taken them way longer than expected to put up the posters, probably because they were just a chaotic duo, but Cyrus wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was way more fun than expected, even if it took a long time.

31. I waste people’s time

TJ was always one to push him out of his comfort zone, literally and figuratively. The day they went dirt biking was probably the epitome of that fact. The day was supposed to be a great one, seeing as he finally was getting around to meeting TJ’s friends. But things turned sour once Reed had shown him the gun. And when he confronted TJ about it, he barely said anything. Worse, he didn’t leave either. He was so concerned with his safety, as well as TJ’s, but still managed to walk off without him.

32. I’m careless

And then worse, he thought, was when he went to talk to Metcalf and the police about the gun. He felt so panicked the whole day after that encounter that he couldn’t even eat lunch. And considering he wasn’t allowed to talk to TJ all day, thanks to his friends, it felt worse. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated what Buffy and Andi did for him, but he really wanted to clear things up with TJ. When they talked it out on the swings, he had no idea why he said the things he did.

“You can be a little annoying, you know that?” TJ had said, taking a step towards him.

33. I’m annoying

“Well, you can be oblivious,” Cyrus had countered weakly. He didn’t even know where the word oblivious came from. Oblivious to what? To the fact that sitting there with Reed was putting him in obvious danger? Or to the fact that Cyrus had an undeniable crush on him?

“Well you can be very judgy,” TJ had remarked, taking another step forward.

34. I’m judgy

“Well you can be intimidating,” Cyrus had replied, and was surprised his voice wasn’t wobbling.

“You know what else you are?”

That sounded like a threat. TJ could fill it in with any word in the world. Nosy. Irritating. Not my friend. He had told himself to keep his composure.

“What?” How he had managed to say that without his voice breaking was beyond him.

“The only person I can talk to like this,” he had said softer. Cyrus thought he was going to faint; he said what? He couldn’t help but smile at that.

That day seemed like light years away now, so far that it was nothing but a mere memory. He almost wishes he was back on the swingset with TJ, just swinging mindlessly. Or maybe he wants to go back to playing ping-pong with him and Jonah after they’d resolved their issues. It had been a bit of a stressful day for the most part, but seeing Jonah and TJ make up made it all worth it. Although, when they were talking about ‘stuff’ they had to do with, Cyrus had chickened out and said something about flamingos. He barely remembered, but he knew it was a lie. They’d played a few more round until Jonah decided to head over to the Red Rooster with Andi, leaving him and TJ.

“So, flamingos, huh?” TJ had chuckled, picking up the ping-pong balls that remained on the floor.

Cyrus had just shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was hammering in his chest: a clear sign that he was lying. Couple that with feeling like he couldn’t swallow, and you had a recipe for disaster.

“Yup,” he squeaked, putting the paddles on top of each other, “real and plastic,”

TJ had just hummed in response, leaning against the table. “So when we went to the zoo that time and you were spitting out facts about why flamingos are pink, while you pointed at them. . .your fear just happened to disappear then?”

Cyrus gulped, trailing his finger around the rim of the paddles. “That. . .that’s the day it started?” he’s said, but it sounded like a question.

TJ’s expression had softened, and he’d come up to Cyrus, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Stuff?”

Cyrus nodded weakly in response. “Yeah, stuff,”

“Swings?” TJ had offered.

Cyrus shook his head, nodding over to the stairs. “Stairs,” he’d mumbled, going and taking a seat on the second to the last stair. TJ had sat down beside him, and he didn’t push him to talk. He knew Cyrus would talk when he was good and ready.

“Look,” he started, “this. . .this is something that I think about a lot, you know? It’s not. . .something I’m ashamed of, I just don’t tell people that I don’t trust,” he admitted.

“Unless you killed someone I swear I’ll keep whatever you tell me a secret,” TJ had promised, crossing his heart, “and even then, I’d help you hide the body.”

Cyrus breathed out a laugh at that. “No, it’s not that it’s. . .I don’t like girls,” he said lamely, waving his hands in the air a little, “I mean, I-I like guys. Like, in a romantic way,”

TJ had remained quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Cyrus had anything else to say, but when he didn’t he just nudged him lightly. “I’m glad you told me. It was brave,” he paused, looking up to face him, “you’re brave, Cyrus. Braver than you give yourself credit for,”

Cyrus had smiled softly, breathing out and feeling like the oxygen was actually getting to his lungs. “So. . .we’re still cool? You and me?”

TJ had scoffed, nudging him once more. “Of course we are! It’ll take a lot more than this for things to be not cool between us.”

He kept thinking about that day; what if it wasn’t the best time to come out to TJ? What if he actually did think it was weird and was just trying to keep the situation as light as possible? All these what ifs, Cyrus concluded, could be boiled down.

35. I’m gay

He sighed, staring at that statement for a while. It was true, but the idea that TJ could hate him for something he couldn’t control. . .it hurt a lot. Almost too much, but he had to write down every possibility, every possible thing.

36. I’m weird

That one was a little more general, he supposed. Weird could cover a lot of things, not just being who he was, but all his nerdy hyperfixations, the way he acted around people, and his choice to never really go out with friends to parties. Too many reasons to list, so it was all boiled down to one word.

One word. That seemed to be all TJ could say after his dance recital that one weekend.

He’d finished the routine and was in the locker room wrapping up and putting his things into his duffel bag when they door swung open. TJ was walking his way, a hand behind his back.

“Wow,” he’d said, a gentle smile on his face.

Cyrus waited for him to say more, even along the lines of how ridiculous he’d looked on stage, flopping around like boiled pasta, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Wow? That’s it?”

“Wow, wow,” he repeated, pulling out a small dandelion from behind his back and handing it to Cyrus with a sheepish smile on his face, “. . .wow,”

Cyrus had accepted the flower graciously, and TJ had said something about catching up with his sister before he left for practice.

37. I’m a bad dancer

TJ somehow knew that dandelions were Cyrus’ favorite, probably from the numerous times he’d said that. He always knew just what to bring to every event, even to his Bubbe Rose’ shiva. How did he know to bring challah bread?

“Hey, Cyrus,” TJ had caught him alone, after the others had left and his family was cleaning dishes up and packing away food.

“TJ, hi,” he’d returned with a small smile, stacking one plate on top of another, “you know we’re wrapping up and all, you can go home,”

“I know,” he’d said, putting his hands in his pockets, “I just wanted to say that. . .I’m sorry for your loss. I know that she was really important to you, and I don’t know how much it’s going to mean coming from me, but. . .she cares about you a lot. We all do,” he’d gestured vaguely to the people around the room.

Cyrus had felt like crying right then and there, but he didn’t, somehow. He just smiled wider than before. “That does mean a lot, thank you, really. I know she does, I just. . .I miss her a lot already,”

“I know, and. . .if you ever want to talk about anything, tell me stories about her, or you just want me to distract you from this with a basketball story, I’m there.”

“Thank you, TJ. That means a lot.”

How had things managed to go from almost perfect, to the disastrous state that they were in now? He wanted to say that he didn’t understand, but he did. He knew that it had to do with himself, because that always seemed to be the problem. He always seemed to be the problem. The things he wrote just started to spill out of him.

38. I’m not worthy

39. I’m always the problem

40. I’m there when I’m not wanted

41. I’m a second-best person

42. I’m not attractive

43. I isolate myself from people

44. I’m a disaster

45. I’m annoying

He stopped writing for a second; the last words he’d written looked familiar. He scanned over the list and found that he’d written ‘I’m annoying’ three times. Sighing, he set the pen down and closed his eyes. Annoying. He’d written it so many times, that was probably the main reason, he deducted. With a shaky hand, he folded up the paper and shoved it into a backpack pocket of his. He didn’t feel particularly upset, he just felt numb, and a little tired. He managed to trudge down the stairs, where his mom was sitting and cutting up some vegetables for tonight’s dinner.

“Cyrus, sweetie, how are you feeling?” she asked sweetly, wiping her hands on the towel.

He just shrugged, unable to maintain eye contact for longer than a second. “Not. . .great. Is it okay if I stay home from school tomorrow?”

She softened at that, coming over to him and giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “I know you’re upset, but avoiding-”

“-just one day, please mom. I swear I’ll go back the day after. I promise. I just need tomorrow,” he pleaded, looking up at her, eyes filled with a layer of unshed tears.

She looked over his facial features for a few seconds before her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded weakly. “Okay, you have tomorrow, okay? Do whatever you need to do and if you want to be alone, that’s fine. If you need someone to talk to-”

“-I can call another therapist,” Cyrus half-joked, offering a tiny smile, “thanks, mom. I’ll be in my room for a little while. Think I’ll just take a nap.”

She nodded, watching him worriedly as he walked up the stairs and quietly shut the door to his room with a gentle click. He collapsed onto his bed, and he lied there forever until he felt like he couldn’t breathe through his nose. When did he start crying? Cyrus didn’t even know the answer to that simple question, and he was too weary to think about it. He pulled the covers over his head, closed his eyes, and waited for all the thoughts swirling around his head to settle down, before he finally fell asleep.

The next time Cyrus woke up, it was pretty dark outside, and he squinted at his alarm clock. It was close to eleven thirty, and he just sighed, grabbing his phone off of his stand and opened it to check through his notifications.. A few texts from Andi and Buffy in their group chat, one from Amber about dance, and none from TJ.

[buffy: hey cy are you okay?]

[andi: yeah, we’re worried. but we’ll talk to you tomorrow]

[cyrus: i’m not going tomorrow, i don’t feel well]

[andi: are you okay? do you need soup or something?]

[buffy: yeah do you need us to come over?]

[cyrus: no that’s fine, it’s not that bad, but i did manage to convince my mom to let me stay home]

[buffy: the talented actor mr cyrus goodman]

[cyrus: i’m not lying, it’s the truth, it’s just not the worst pain i could be in]

[andi: well if you need anything, just text us]

[cyrus: i will, i love you guys]

[buffy: we love you too!]

[andi: <3]

Cyrus felt drained just from that short conversation, and he put his phone aside, staring up at the ceiling. It irked him that TJ hadn’t sent him a text, especially after what had happened. If he wanted to apologize, which maybe he didn’t, a text would have been a start, because on Costume Day, there was nothing more than a few ‘I’m sorrys’ and ‘I should have called’. It wasn’t enough, not in the slightest, but as the days went on, desperation started to seep in, and Cyrus tried to convince himself that it was enough of an apology for him to just forget all of this happened. But no matter how many times he said that to himself in the mirror, he never could actually, genuinely believe himself. After a little more thinking about the matter, he pulled the covers back over his head, and fell asleep again.

“C’mon, c’mon,” TJ muttered under his breath, scanning through the hallway to try and find a certain brown-eyed boy walking through the hallways. But the more time that passed, the more his hope drained, and he retreated to his locker. Thankfully, he saw Buffy and Andi walking together, and nearly pushed people over to talk to them.

“Have you guys seen Cyrus today?” He asked, nearly out of breath, and looking mildly disheveled.

The two girls exchanged looks, not really wanting to talk to TJ at the moment, but they just gave him cold gazes. “He’s sick,” Buffy said simply.

“Wait, what? It’s, like, basically summer,” TJ sputtered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Andi shrugged. “All I know is that he said he felt too tired and too weak to come to school today. Should be back tomorrow,” she said curtly, pivoting on her foot and heading to her next class, Buffy following close behind.

TJ just stood in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded. Cyrus wasn’t in school today, and he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. Tired and weak, they’d said. That didn’t sound like a typical cold, and he tried not to jump to the worst possible conclusion, but his mind didn’t allow him to do that. Cyrus was home because he wanted to avoid him. He couldn’t come to school because of TJ.

The whole day, TJ had been distracted. He couldn’t shake this vague nausea, because it was his fault. It was always his fault, it seemed. Everything was. He couldn’t concentrate in school, he missed almost all of his shots in basketball practice, and he didn’t get any of his homework done. All he did was stare at the words on the page and let them turn to mush as he shut the book angrily, rubbing his eyes harshly. He turned off the lamp and just scrolled through his phone. He wanted to send Cyrus a text, but he was too afraid. Too much of a coward. He’d typed out so many messages in his notes, but never sent any of them.

Overwhelmed by emotions, he shut his phone off and tried to sleep. It was a fitful attempt to sleep, and he was tossing and turning all night long, it felt like. He was sure that he had fallen asleep at some point, because after what felt like a longer blink, his alarm went off, and he just knocked it over to the ground with a groan.

Cyrus wished that he felt better after a day of just sleeping and watching YouTube videos, but he didn’t. He still felt just as drained and upset, if not moreso. When his mom served him breakfast, he told her that he wasn’t hungry, but that he was alright.

Having not done his homework due yesterday, he just circled random answers on the worksheets, and shoved papers into his backpack with a weak sense of urgency. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the day without Andi and Buffy asking him a ton of questions. Don’t get him wrong, he loved them to death, but today was a day where he really couldn’t deal with talking to people, even them.

“Have a good day at school, Cyrus,” his mom called after him as he opened the door.

“I’ll try,” he mumbled, heading on his way. Sometimes TJ would wait for him in the morning, running from his hand and then the two of them would make their way to school, nearly hand in hand. The space around him felt almost too big as he walked, and he felt so small.

The bell was too loud, there were too many students, and Cyrus felt like a stranger in the school, only having been gone for a day, though. He almost forgot his locker combination, because his brain only wanted to focus on how weak his knees felt.

“Cyrus!”

All his thoughts came to a screeching halt at that sound. He knew damn well who it was, but all his brain seemed to chant was ‘danger, danger, pain, pain, pain, sadness’. He didn’t turn around, he didn’t even zip up his bag all the way, he just ran, who knows to what class. If his gym teacher could see him now, he would be beyond proud. Fortunately for him, he was running in the right direction, and ended up in his math class, nearly out of breath. He picked a seat near the back and tried to make sure that his teacher wouldn’t call on him. Unzipping his bag, he pulled out his notebook from his big pocket, and then a pencil from his small one.

Huh, he thought, zipping up the smaller pocket, it was kind of open. He tried not to linger on that for too long, as his teacher was about to start another lesson.

TJ could only watch him run off as he stood there. He felt his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his stomach, and was about to turn and walk off a small piece of paper fluttered near the corner of the pod of lockers. Moving with utmost casualty, he walked over and picked it up before walking to his next class. While TJ usually loved history, the piece of paper burning in his pocket demanded attention. He took his usual seat near the back of the classroom, and as his teacher started talking about the Civil War, he quietly pulled out the paper and smoothed it out under his desk.

He was a little confused at first; it was a list of insults someone had written about themselves. A quick glance over revealed that they had written ‘I’m annoying’ three times before they stopped. He squinted at the writing, and more he looked at it, the more worried he got. It looked an awful lot like Cyrus’ handwriting. His y’s were always curled at the bottom just so, his a’s were never fully closed, and the way he drew his 2’s were just like the ones on the page.

TJ felt his whole chest seize up. If Cyrus really did write this, which was becoming a much more real possibility with each passing moment, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his fault. Did he really make Cyrus feel like this? Like he was basically worth nothing? Putting aside his worries, he ignored whatever his history teacher was saying, and pulled out another sheet of paper, keeping Cyrus’ in his lap for reference. At least it looked like he was taking notes, since his teacher seemed to pay him no mind. And when the bell rang, he shoved both pieces of paper into his pocket and bolted out the door, looking for a certain boy.

Last period didn’t end fast enough, so when the bell finally did ring, Cyrus was the most excited that he’d been all day. He still had homework he needed to catch up on, along with today’s work, but all he wanted to do when he got home was to sleep more. He was almost out the door and ready to walk home, when he felt an urgent tapping on his shoulder. Turning around, he drew in a sharp breath. TJ.

“Hey,” TJ mumbled, tapping his fingers nervously against his jeans.

“What do you want, TJ?” Cyrus said. And it didn’t come out mean, or cruel, or cold. It was just tired, like he was on his way to something.

“This is only going to take a few minutes, please,” he practically begged, the urgency in his tone only growing. Being too tired to resist, Cyrus just shrugged, and TJ, wasting no more time, grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards an empty classroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Hurry up, I have things to do,” Cyrus mumbled, taking a seat on the top of a desk.

TJ nodded, and shakily pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he quickly handed it to Cyrus. When the other boy saw the paper, he immediately folded it back up, holding it close to his chest.

“Wh-where did you find this?” Cyrus squeaked, his voice on the edge of cracking.

“It was on the floor by some of the lockers,” he said softly, taking one of the chairs from under a desk and sitting in it, “when?”

Cyrus glanced up from his hands. “When what?”

“When did you write it?”

He toyed with the idea of lying to him. How would he know? But after a few moments of thought, he felt like there was nothing left to lose.

“The other day,” he admitted softly.

“Do you actually believe all the things you wrote? Cyrus, those are all lies,” TJ said firmly, scooting a little bit closer.

Cyrus shook his head, willing himself not to start crying, not here, and certainly not now. “Of course they’re true,” he grumbled, “why would you hate me if they’re not?”

TJ froze; if the rest of Cyrus’ words were a slap to the face, this was a stab right through his heart. He literally could not speak for several moments after he’d said that.

“I. . .you. . .you think I hate you?” He finally managed to say, his tongue feeling oddly dry.

Cyrus just shrugged again. “I mean, you bailed that day,” he said under his breath, kicking his legs underneath the desk.

TJ swore that if he wasn’t sitting down he would have fainted. “I. . .I mean, I’m really sorry for doing that, it was a crap move on my part, and there’s a sort of reason why I did but. . .I could never hate you, Cyrus, never.”

When Cyrus didn’t say anything, TJ pulled out the other piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out in front of him. “I swear this won’t take long, I’m just asking you to hear me out,” he looked up at Cyrus, who just motioned for him to hurry up.

TJ cleared his throat, tightly holding the piece of paper in his hand. “You’re not annoying, not at all,” he started, which barely garnered Cyrus’ attention.

“You are strong,” he continued.

“What the heck is going on?”

TJ put a hand up. “Just listen. You’re not helpless, if anything you’re an independent person. You don’t jump to conclusions too fast, if anything, you’re good at reading people from a first glance,”

Cyrus just furrowed his brows, listening to TJ talk. He glanced down at his list in his own hand, and it took him a few moments to realize that TJ was trying to counteract all the things that he’d written on his own list.

“But I do get scared too easily,” Cyrus mumbled, tracing his writing on the paper.

“That’s not a reason for anyone to hate you, Cyrus,” TJ assured him, “and. . .you’re not a bad judge of character, you’re actually pretty good at it. Great, even.”

“Pitiful,” Cyrus countered, crossing his arms in defense.

“Lies,” TJ cut him off before he could say more, “you’re not pitiful. And getting too comfortable with people you barely know? More like you can make friends really easily.”

“Yes, but,” Cyrus squints down at his own list, “I’m scared of stupid things.”

TJ shook his head. “No, you’re rational. You have rational fears,” he says, looking at the next thing, “and ‘wanting things that you can’t have’? You have goals and dreams that you want to achieve. I have no idea how you thought that anyone could hate you because of that. Getting happy at dumb things? Seeing you smile is one of the best part of my days, and I don’t even care what you smile about. It really doesn’t matter.”

If Cyrus didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he and TJ were back into their normal routine. He just looked at his list, and mumbled “dork.”

TJ’s face grew harder by the moment, and he gripped the side of the chair with his free hand to try and keep his emotions at bay. “You are not a dork, Cyrus. And, for that matter, you’re not clingy, you’re not desperate, or a geek, or cringy. Not in the slightest.”

Cyrus sighed. “Look TJ, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but you don’t need to pity me like this.”

His eyes widened, and for a second, nothing came out of his mouth except for a squeak. “You think this is pity? This isn’t pity, I’m just telling you the truth about yourself, because your mind seems to only think you’re the worst. Which you’re not, you’re my favorite person.”

TJ took a deep breath before continuing. “Physical strength? What’s that got to do with someone hating you? You don’t get disappointed easily, I know that for a fact, and,” he pauses, hesitantly reaching up and placing a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder, “you are not a burden. Please don’t say that about yourself.”

“But,” he pauses, looking down at his paper, “I am a bother, and nosy.”

“You’re not, not at all. And also, you are extremely helpful, Cyrus. You haven’t helped just me, but so many people. You’re a great friend, and all this nonsense of not being trustworthy or anything like that? It’s a complete lie.”

“Even if I do try to help people, when they try and help me, I push them away,” Cyrus said, glancing at TJ’s hand, which was still on his shoulder. He didn’t do anything to push him off, because honestly, the contact felt nice after a period of the cold shoulder.

“And people should hate you for that? It’s a coping mechanism, you should know that better than anyone,” TJ informed him, “and you are one of the smartest people I know, Cyrus. You’re not stupid, or pathetic, where did you even get that idea?”

“But I do waste people’s time,” he countered weakly, looking down at his lap.

TJ was so upset that Cyrus actually believed the things that he’d written about him, that it just made him want to crumple right then and there. “You don’t. You care so much about people, and you are always there when they need it. And you have annoying on here again, but that’s not true.”

Cyrus glances up at him when he says that. “But you said that I was.”

TJ raised his brows. “I’d never say that. When did I say that?”

“That day at the swings, after the whole Reed thing. You said that I was annoying. And judgy for that matter,” he muttered.

TJ sighed, bowing his head. “It. . .look, I’m sorry for saying that, but in the heat of the moment, I was upset because. . .I thought I was going to lose you. And I couldn’t bear that.”

The two of them were quiet for a little while, the only sound being the ticking clock up on the wall. Finally, TJ looked at the next things on the list, and felt like he was going to cry.

“Cyrus, look at me,” he said firmly, meeting the other boy’s gaze, “I will never, and have never, hated you because of who you are. You being gay is just part of who you are, and is not a reason for me, or anyone else for that matter, to hate you,” he pauses for a moment, “especially me. It’d be pretty hypocritical.”

Cyrus almost smiles at that. Almost. He instead just seems to relax, a breath passing through his lips. “I’m still weird though.”

TJ just shrugged. “Weird is good though. Why would anyone want to be normal?”

Cyrus gave a weak smile at that, feeling a little lighter with each of TJ’s words. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a bad dancer.”

TJ crossed his arms. “I’ve seen you in the studio, Cyrus. You’re not a bad dancer. You’re always smiling, and you get this little smirk on your face when you’re concentrating really hard. It’s cute.”

Cyrus ducked his head at that, and tried to tell his mind that he was still supposed to be mad at TJ, not fall for all his compliments. Before he could even say anything else, TJ beat him to it.

“You are worthy of everything, okay? You deserve the world. If anyone’s a problem, it’s me, not you. And you are certainly not a second best person. You’re my first choice, always have been. The fact that you isolate people is, again, a coping mechanism for when you’re upset. You’re not a disaster, and never have been. And I hope this time you believe me when I say you’re not annoying.”

Cyrus nodded weakly; it felt really nice to hear someone tell him that he was their first choice. It was like he was wanted.

“And. . .don’t say you’re not attractive. You’re. . .” he hesitates a little, barely able to look him in the eye, “you’re beautiful, Cy, okay? All of you. Your smile, your laugh, your personality especially.”

Cyrus opened his mouth to say something, but again, TJ beat him to it.

“Kira was going to out me if I didn’t do the costume with her. I’m sorry that I bailed and I’m sorry that I didn’t let you know, I was just so scared that she was going to tell people and I didn’t-”

“-TJ, slow down,” Cyrus cut him off, reaching out for his hand and giving it a soft squeeze, “I forgive you, okay? And. . .thank you for this. I feel a lot better now. And for the record,” he laughs a little, “I think you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

Now it was TJ’s turn to try and hide his blush. He looked down at their hands, and couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” he mumbled bashfully, “I try.”

Cyrus smiled, hopping off of his desk and standing. “I’ve missed talking to you. What do you say we go get some ice cream and catch up?”

TJ stood up with him. “I’d love that.”

And after two rounds of ice cream and way more laughing and talking, they fell back into their normal rhythm, with a little more hand holding and hugging. But after today, their relationship was all the more stronger. When he went home that day, Cyrus through his list in the garbage, and pinned up TJ’s list to the board in his room. Even when he was having a bad day, he could always look at that list and smile.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #my fics

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crystal-snowing · 6 years

Text

fake dating | bang chan

summary: in order to generate publicity for your group’s comeback stray kids’ comeback, jyp entertainment decides it’s a good idea for the leaders of both groups to “fake date”—but they have one condition in mind, don’t fall in love.

genre: fluff, slight angst, idol! reader

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: guess who’s starting another series, i’m sorry but i can’t help myself :))

in your defense this whole plan was concocted by the company, and you felt as if it was their responsibility to take care of the fallout caused by this action.

never has the thought of dating bang chan ever crossed your mind, in fact you barely knew the guy, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the two of you were under the same company you would doubt that you would have ever known of his existence.

the plan was simple really, since stray kids was having a comeback soon and your group’s comeback happened a few weeks ago, why not generate publicity by releasing a story that one member from your group and one from his announce that they are dating?

of course it was all for show, both of you still on your three year dating ban from company, but as long as this “relationship” was under the company’s jurisdiction, what could possibly go wrong?

apparently a lot.

and when deciding the members of each group, you and chan seemed to draw the short end of the stick.

there was no way either of you could possibly say no, after fall this was your company, your group—everything that the both of you have ever worked for was on the line here, and both of you were not willing to sacrifice anything.

after finalizing all the details with jyp, and casually leaking this information to the press, in a couple of hours everything went viral—the media and the entire world had its eyes on the two of you.

headlines flooded the press, naming the two rookie idols that have begun dating and were working on “maintaining their relationship while making their dreams a reality” every headline worse than the last one.

the two of you taking center stage as the industry’s new and hottest, “it couple.”

the two of you have never met before the endless amount of meetings and occasionally passing each other in the vast company building.

you were both as close as strangers and yet you were now expected to become so much more than that.

for a couple of days after the news broke his phone number sat untouched on your phone, most of time when you were not attending practices with your members, you often stared at, wondering if you should make the first move.

you needed to make this convincing, the company would have your heads if all their hard work fell through, and it was hard to pretend that you like someone/been dating someone when the two of you barely knew each other.

by the end of your third night simply staring at the piece of technology, you grabbed it in a haste and typed a quick text—and before you could chicken out, you pressed send.

even though it was only a few seconds, you were anxious awaiting his reply and for some reason, even though you barely knew him, he made you palms sweaty and heart race.

the ding of your cellphone signalled his response, and you lunged for it, reading the reply and letting out a long await sigh of relief.

of course he agreed to your proposal to grab some coffee and talk about your “relationship” and in hindsight it was stupid of you to fret about this issue in the first place.

it wasn’t like he was going to say no, as far as you knew bang chan was definitely not an unreasonable guy, but you didn’t know how to describe it in words—there was just something about him that made you feel on the edge.

and at the moment, you weren’t necessarily sure if that was a good or bad thing.

the two of you met at this coffee shop that was definitely out of the way, wanting to draw as little attention as you possibly could.

while it wouldn’t be a big deal if the press caught the two you together, since it was already announced that the two of you were dating and the company confirmed this statement, you wanted to keep this meeting private in order for the two of you to talk in peace.

you had gotten there before him, ordering your favorite drink and one for him, keeping in mind that he doesn’t like coffee before picking a secluded table in the back.

fiddling with your cardboard cup, your mind began to wander about your “boyfriend” as irrational thoughts and fears began to cloud your mind.

those “what if” questions consumed your thoughts, the biggest one being that perhaps this was all a mistake and that maybe he wanted to only put on a half-assed show for the media, and that he didn’t really care at all.

but, your incessant rambling was soon quelled as soon as the man in question stepped out in front of you, giving you a small and shy smile before sitting down across from you.

well hot diggity damn, he was absolutely gorgeous.

definitely his pictures on the internet did not do him justice, even with that horrible shade of green in his hair, you could swear that he was the most beautiful human being that you have ever laid your eyes on.

“hi, i’m [y/n].”

and immediately after saying that you wanted to smack yourself upside the head, of course he knew who you were, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you have met—but you couldn’t help yourself from saying some pretty dumb things around absolutely breathtaking guys.

god, his laugh was so cute.

likewise, he introduced himself in the same manner that you did, and gosh his accent was so cute.

the way that he accented certain words or pronounced them, had your cheeks hurting from how much you were beaming.

it made you want to melt into a puddle right then and there, wow, but that's besides the point and you needed to focus on the task at hand and oh god, there he goes again smiling at you.

it wasn’t halfway through the meeting yet and you were already hella whipped for this boy.

somehow you managed to contain yourself and get through what you wanted to say, the both of you agreeing that you would meet up again, this time officially and in front of the cameras to solidify your relationship in front of the public.

the two of you then spent the rest of your time together getting to know one another, the conversation flowing freely and the two of you clicking so easily—but soon it was time for the both of you to part.

he thanked you for the drink and promised you that he would pay next time, bang chan the ultimate gentleman before saying goodbye and walking out of the shop.

as he disappeared from your line of sight, you released a breath that you didn’t notice that you were holding.

perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be as bad as you initially assumed.

oh boy oh boy, you have to really stop jinxing things.

despite being extremely busy promoting your group’s recent comeback and chan being busy preparing for stray kid’s comeback, the two of you still managed to text each other every spare second that you got—and in a couple of days those awkward and formal texts soon turned into ones of just memes being sent back and forth.

it was a couple of weeks before the two of you could meet again, and after getting it approved by the company you both decided that a park date would be nice.

after an abundance of chaos and squealing from your group mates, and articles of clothing and makeup flying around your shared dorm room—you were finally ready for your date.

you couldn’t help but still feel that nervousness build up in the pit of your stomach as you sat on a bench in the park waiting for him.

so far the media was not aware of your date nor has anyone recognized you, which was both a good sign and perhaps a bad sign.

while it was your job to get noticed by the media and your fans, you also couldn’t help but wish that the two of you could maybe spend an afternoon alone, without the presence of fans or the intrusive press.

your group members did a fantastic job, and while you normally looked amazing, today you looked absolutely breathtaking.

and chan certainly agreed after spotting you on the bench, and he could swear that his jaw dropped to the floor.

he could feel his cheeks warm as he approached you, a small yet bashful smile on his lips.

the two of you spent your day walking idly around the park, enjoying the scenery and the serenity of being alone together.

you both made pleasant conversation, from your favorites parts of being an idol to funny stories about your other members.

every time he smiled and laughed, his eyes forming those little crescents that you loved so much and his little dimple popping out on the right side of his cheek, your stomach couldn’t help but fill up with butterflies—your body being to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

there were these feelings that were beginning to rise and you couldn’t explain the sensation that you felt when you were with him.

he made you feel safe, warm and comfortable, and just for a second could you forget that you were both on a fake date and imagine that this was real and he was genuinely interested in you.

however, that fantasy came crashing down as soon as the paparazzi arrived, shattering the illusion that you worked so hard on creating.

to you, bang chan will never be more than a colleague, someone that you would occasionally run into at the company and in public—and certainly nothing more.

you had to dutifully remind yourself that no matter what strange feelings that you were currently experiencing, your profession as an idol came first and that this was nothing more than a publicity stunt and part of your job.

as expected, the press soon found the two of you, and your peace was soon broken with the shouting of questions from reporters and the flashes of cameras.

and in the middle of all this chaos, chan reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a reaffirming squeeze and the mob of reporters and photographers went mad over that small gesture of affection.

as soon as his hand touched your own, you could immediately feel sparks shoot up your arm, and you wanted to know if he felt it too, as you glanced at him, looking for any type of reaction—yet, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead giving you a smile and refocusing his attention on shielding you from the press.

maybe he didn’t feel the same electricity that you did, but in all honesty you couldn’t really blame him for that after all, his feelings were his own and perhaps some things were not meant to be.

this heavy realization stuck with you as the two of you continued to “date” and the more time the two of you spent together the more it weighed down on you.

it took a bit of persuading from your group members for you to explain what was going on, before they knocked some sense into you that those feelings that kept festering was love—you, [y/n] [l/n] are in love with bang chan.

oh, oh damn—and just like that, you broke the golden rule that the company set for the two of you when you had begun “dating”—you had both agreed that you would not fall in love, and signed a contract agreeing that your relationship was strictly for business purposes only and not for pleasure.

well shit.

and for a while after this new realization did you learn to live with it, but lately it’s been painful to be around him.

he kept doing this stupid thing, slipping his stupidly warm hand into your own, or pulling you into his stupid chest and wrapping his stupid arm over your shoulder as you walked down the street.

every time he touched you it felt as if your skin was on fire, but you didn’t pull away—in fear of one, upsetting the cameras and two, despite the pain you enjoyed being close to him.

so you let yourself burn, and you kept burning until till you practically couldn’t stand it anymore.

this when you began pulling away from him, sheltering yourself from being hurt and protecting yourself from experiencing any more pain.

and you were a fool to think that he wouldn’t notice.

as much attention that you have been giving him, he has given you back, but it seemed that you were not paying as close attention as you assumed—if you were, you would have noticed the same lovestruck expression on his face, the one that mirrored your own.

sure, the company set up this rule, yet they couldn’t stop the longings of the human heart and the connections that two individuals may share.

and goddamnit, he was in love with you.

damn the company, damn jyp for setting up this idiotic publicity stunt, in this moment all he cared about was you and trying not to lose one of his most meaningful relationships.

you were practically slipping out of his fingers, barely answering his calls or texts and only hanging out with him whenever you were ordered by the company to go on a mandatory “date”.

chan knew that time with you was fleeting and that any time the company could decide to call off the entire relationship, the two of you soon returning to strangers in the eyes of the public.

he couldn’t let that happen, after all you meant much more than that to him and he was willing to do everything in his power to prevent that from happening.

which is why after leaving one of his most recent texts on read, he decided that he has had enough—opting to confront you and demand an answer.

luckily for him, both stray kids and your group were attending the same award show and since the two of you were a “couple” he was allowed to stay by your side practically the entire night.

and his luck only seemed to get better, after its announced that the two of you will presenting an award together.

that night you looked absolutely breathtaking, dressed in your favorite color which complimented your eyes, and he looked like a prince dressed in a suit—the two of you walking down the red carpet like royalty.

his hand never left the small of your back or your waist that entire night, not only enjoying the feeling of showing the world that you were all his but also making sure that you had no chance to escape from his grasp.

after presenting the award, the two of you were lead off stage with your hands intertwined together—and immediately after you both disappeared from the line of vision from the cameras and audience, you wrestled your hand away from his grasp and attempted to stalk away.

but no matter how fast you could walk, chan’s reflexes were faster, and he grabbed onto your wrist, spinning you around to face him, and pulling you up against his chest.

you were flustered to say the least, and knowing that there was no way to escape his grip, you focused your eyes on looking everywhere backstage except for his face.

he’s cornered you and everything that you have worked so hard to build up in the last few months has suddenly come crashing down.

“hey, look at me,” his voice held no malice in it, instead it was soft and comforting—the same chan that you had fallen in love with all those months ago.

gingerly you lifted your head to meet his eyes, and while you expected to see anger and frustration, you only saw his soft features and a questioning look.

“why have you been avoiding me?”

his question caused you to immediately turn away, of course he deserved an answer to his simple question, but it was not one that you wanted to give.

after all, how are you supposed to explain your less than fitting behavior without exposing yourself, or sounding like a complete fool in front of him.

instead, you did what you have been doing best for the past few months and denied everything that he was saying, muttering some excuse about being busy with your group members.

and not for a single second did chan buy that crappy excuse, instead he gently cupped your cheeks with his large hands and looked you directly in the eyes.

“come on, [y/n], i miss talking to you okay, when you would laugh and my corny jokes and send me memes of your members whenever we were texting—what changed?” he sighed, “why do you have to keep pushing me away?”

you bit down hard on your lower lip and drawing some blood, but at the moment the metallic taste in your mouth didn’t phase you—instead, it was his words that currently moved you.

for the most part you were so caught up in your own feelings and protecting yourself from experiencing any more pain that you failed to realize the possibility of him hurting as well.

your voice came out meager and weak, completely different from a few moments ago on stage, but nevertheless you knew that you needed to get this off your chest—no matter the consequences.

“because it was easier to push you away than accept the fact that i am in love with you.”

the shock on his face was evident, his brain running a mile a minute trying to process exactly what you were saying.

these overwhelming emotions of love and adoration that have been festering within in for the past few months have not been in vain, in fact by some miracle you felt the same as him, and his eyes gleamed showing his joy.

you could only assume that he was either in shock or felt the same way since he didn’t let go of your cheeks for a few seconds, before shifting his arms to wrap around your neck and closing the already small amount of space between you.

“can i kiss you?”his breath was hot against your face and you could distinctly smell his expensive cologne, the smell soon becoming one of your favorite scents.

if your face wasn’t flushed already, it was now, as he leaned in closer and you sputtered attempting to come up with a response.

as his plump lip was about to collide with your own, you turned away at the last second, your face hot and pink with embarrassment as he kissed your cheek instead.

opening his eyes and looking at you with confusion and a twinge of hurt, you immediately glanced down at your shoes as you untangled yourself from him, murmuring an apology.

“don’t get me wrong, i want to kiss you too, but our careers and the company and everyone back here, if they got word that we were dating everything would be over and i don’t—” your explanation was cut short as chan once again leaned into kiss you, and this time he was successful—his sweet lips melding perfectly with your own.

after savoring the moment for a few seconds, he pulled away and gave you his infamous dimpled smile.

“you worry too much, for now everyone thinks that we’re dating, so they won’t think much of it if we have a few more pda moments and the company, we’ll worry about them when the time comes,” he offered you his hand, “let’s relax and head back to our seats, alright?”

you gladly took in as he pulled you into his chest and placed a comforting kiss on your forehead, before leading you back to your seats.

and in that moment you knew that no matter what happened in the future between the two of you, that chan will always have your back—for better and for worse.

#sk imagines #stray kids imagines #sk-writersnet #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #sk scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #my writing

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plantfeed · 4 years

Text

ROOM #O3 — lockdown.

location: escalus house, room three. characters: valentine, christian, theresa, cal. time: just after the lockdown. tensions: high.

ok so this didn’t develop as much as we wanted it to bcos it was hard to find a time when everyone was able to be on and responding at once. but here’s what we have of our lockdown discord thread for room three ( theresa, valentine, christian & cal ).

THERESA.

03.02. still in her ballgown, theresa's pacing the floor. in one hand is a half-drunk bottle of wine. in the other is her phone, into which she's ringing ( to no avail ) every other minute. "my god. you think someone would fucking answer." though the state of the others is hardly of the deepest concern. they've got their own troubles here to be worrying about. every so often her eyes scan to valentine and it feels like swallowing glass. how could christian be so stupid? after everything she'd done. and yet.... and yet. lo, the course of love never did run smooth. but this isn't love. this is something far uglier. "i don't like this situation any more than the three of you. but somehow we've got to fucking deal with it so let's at least try to be civil."

VALENTINE.

03.03. she sits on the couch in the living room in her pajamas, forever grateful that she started leaving a pair in christian's room for emergencies. it would have been even more uncomfortable for everyone involved if she had been forced to wear something that was obviously christian's. in this moment, she feels bad for theresa, not because they're all in this situation, but because she's the only one who doesn't have the full story as to what's going on here. there's another layer in all of this, and the reminder of the secret the three of them are holding makes her swallow the spit that's collecting in her mouth. "i promise, i won't be a hassle, i can just sit in christian's room until this is all over and then i'll go back to my place the moment it's done."

CHRISTIAN.

03.03. christian can't stop shaking his leg. he's on the couch next to valentine, arm around her shoulders and the rest of him almost vibrating with nervous energy. his unoccupied hand is keeping his phone open, texting and hoping for some update that will give clarity to the situation. a lockdown? here, with valentine, her ex, and tess, aka the reason the rest of them can't speak freely. not that christian thinks they really would-- come to think of it, they've never all talked outright about what happened. or about what's still happening. "don't be silly, we can all be out here together," he tries to assure valentine, keeping his voice as casual as he can, but it takes on a bitter edge when his gaze lands on cal. "i've got no problem being civil. as long as everyone else is."

CAL.

03.04. cal’s eyes remain trained on his phone, hoping for a text from georgina or any news about the attacker. but more importantly, trying to avoid having to look in either valentine’s or christian’s direction. this lockdown situation seeming to be his own personal hell. their odd love-triangle was one thing, but the secret that bound them all together was another. he figured it’d be easier to just retreat back to his room, but there was something oddly comforting and enjoyable about the tension in the room, which was so thick you could cut it with a knife. he smirks as he hears christian’s words, clearly pointed at him. “don’t look at me. someone’s been attacked, and as far as i’m concerned, the last thing i’m worried about is starting a fight over the obvious elephant in the room.”

THERESA.

03.05. despite her nature, despite everything she's ever tried to be, tess can't play the peacemaker when christian's actions have put them in such jeopardy. "he's right," she starts, a hand lifting to clamp against cal's shoulder ; a united front against the adulterous oppressors. or perhaps a lack of love has made her cynical. "the three of us live here. your actions affect everyone. and we will discuss this tomorrow." her eyes scan towards valentine, and they're neither unfriendly nor warm. this is a woman who makes both cal and christian happy. this is a woman for whom boys would move the earth. and it stings that christian thinks he's found a love worth fighting for when all he's found is a well-dressed pretender versed in the art of stage. "but there are wider issues at play than this." in the back of her head she's aching to ring kit, for if it is lysander, then kit will be the first to know. her mouth tastes acidic as she dances between the two opposing camps. "and a house divided cannot stand."

VALENTINE.

03.06 she smiles politely at theresa’s words (however odd they may be), trying her hardest to ignore the implications of the girl’s gaze. it wasn’t her fault that she was in this position, it really wasn’t, but she had no way of explaining that to her. it was cal’s fault for losing his temper, christian’s fault for trying to take things into his own hands. she wouldn’t have involved christian if it hadn’t been necessary, and then none of them would be in this situation. but alas, life had to be difficult, and now she was stuck in an apartment with one person who didn’t like her, and two people who loved her and she wasn’t sure which was worse. “i reached out to kit,” she says, trying to change the subject. “i’ll let you all know if he replies.”

THERESA.

03.07. when her eyes meet valentine's there's the sting of something sharp beneath her skin — a mosquito bite. where has the girl who was raised by interseztional feminists gone, a girl who grew up vowing never to pit herself against another woman — to take a woman's side in every fight, no matter what. but this feels different. christian feels different. he's the one constant she's had who's never strayed from her side when the others thought her unhinged, and every time valentine's left him — spleen and liver on the asphalt — tess is the one who piece by grizzly pieces has had to tack and stitch him back together. so forgive her if there isn't any warmth when she meets valentine's eyes. "kit's fine, for now" tess responds defensively, for his name in val's mouth sounds wrong. she wants to reach in between her teeth and drag that name out, keep it safe in her own throat — but of course he's not her to shelter. and perhaps neither is christian. "he walked me back so i know he's at home. but if lysander follows him..." she thinks of the room across the hall and the three of them — kit, lysander and roman — locked in a duel that only blood will satisfy. "if lysander follows him we'll know before he does. we'll hear him on the stairs."

CHRISTIAN.

3.08 christian's eyes narrow slightly at tess, not just her words but the way she looks at valentine as though she's some kind of unwelcome parasite in their home. but then, tess hasn't been quiet about her thoughts on his relationship with valentine, ever since the very beginning. he knows it comes from a place of protectiveness, but right now, combined with cal's obnoxious energy, it's just setting him further on edge. but they're right about one thing: it's not what's really important right now. "has anyone heard from lysander at all? maybe he's still in police custody-- you know, from what happened earlier. with roman." christian's stomach twinges. now is not the time for his pity toward lysander to rear its head.

VALENTINE.

3.09 none of them would have heard from lysander, because he has no cell phone. valentine has his cell phone. it's locked in a box under her bed, in her apartment, where belinda is all alone with nothing stopping her from entering valentine's bedroom. fuck, this lockdown needed to be over quickly, or else she was done for. "i haven't heard anything," she says, pushing some hair out of her face. "i hate not knowing what's happening. what are we supposed to do? just....sit here and wait?"

CHRISTIAN.

3.10 christian sighs, looking back and forth between his various companions and wondering nervously how long they're all likely to be stuck here together. pointedly looking away from cal (reminding himself of cal's existence tends to be a surefire way of making sure christian is not relaxed, and right now, he really needs to be), he rises from his position on the couch and crosses into the kitchen area, opening a cupboard. from within it, he draws two bottles of deep red merlot, and a half-finished one of tequila imported straight from mexico. "i don't know about the rest of you, but if i'm staying here for god knows how long, i'd really like to be fucking drunk. anyone with me?"

THERESA.

3.44. with the curtains shut, it's hard to keep track of the sun. it could have been hours... it could have been days. wine is ever the temptress, and tonight is no different. only this night she's drinking with christian, with cal, and with valentine — the cards, perchance, could have picked an easier fate — and somewhere in a tangle of limbs ( she can't remember whose ) tessa's dropped her phone and the only means of communication with anyone outside of these four walls. "i know, christian, but please can you look again," exasperated, she continues to pull up the sofa cushions to no avail. two glasses later, she's forgot about the phone at all, bare feet trailing over cal's knee as she stretches catlike and swills her wine around her glass. "doesn't this feel like come dine with me?" she asks, rolling to her feet, her hands patting down the pockets of her dressing gown as she cracks the window. "you won, jane." her smile is muted, the kind that doesn't reach her eyes, something lighter about her, but at the same time more erratic. her movements are less controlled.(edited)

VALENTINE.

3.45. in hindsight, drinking with this group of people was probably not the best idea any of them had ever had, but when the question became whether she'd rather be in this situation drunk or sober, the answer was clear and apparent, and became even more apparent the more she drank. for a moment, she can forget about the murder and the cheating and the lying and can just exist. she's sitting on the couch, keeping a semi-respectful distance from christian ( meaning that instead of lying her head down in his lap like she wants to do, she's sitting next to him, shoulders and knees touching and her gaze on him ) when she's brought back to the reality of the situation with tessa's words. "thank you for that stunning commentary," she muses, not a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

#spectreevent #& macbeth / cal.#& othello / christian.#& lady macbeth / valentine.

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chaos-burst · 5 years

Note

If I had money I would PAY you for more Widomauk content, because I am so fucking sad lately

[ ao3 ]

Caleb wonders if it’s possible to fall in love in retrospect.

Since Molly’s death Caleb has been thinking about him a lot. Even more so than when he was alive. Death does that to people, he ponders while he sits awake during night watches and draws patterns into the dirt. Death somehow shifts the presence of someone from outside of you into your head and makes them live there on and on and on.

Much like a violinist who only plays one song over and over.

Because Mollymauk can’t change in his mind, he’s destined to stay the same, just as Caleb knew him, without room to develop, to evolve.

And still.

Still, Caleb finds himself replaying their conversations almost obsessively in his mind. He’s able to remember most things, really, but sometimes, when it’s been too long, memories fade from him. And he doesn’t want Mollymauk’s memory to fade.

Mollymauk, who said he didn’t care about what they did before, only what kind of people they are now. Mollymauk, who needed to live by this code because his past never belonged to him. Mollymauk, who gave Caleb the tiniest smile when he said “That is enough for me, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”.

Stupid, ridiculous, endlessly brave Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Caleb feels an almost forgotten fluttering in his chest. Being in love is something he almost can’t remember.

Almost.

In hindsight, Caleb can’t say if he’s been in love before Mollymauk died. Maybe he just didn’t realize it. Maybe he got better at sorting out his feelings during the last months.

Today, the thoughts of Mollymauk are especially persistent. And it’s Jester’s fault. Her voice keeps repeating in his head, small and timid and unsure.

“I’ve been asking the Traveler to teach me this new spell. To bring Molly back to us.”

Caleb could see the surprise on Nott’s and Fjord’s faces. Beau on the other hand simply sat up straighter, leaned forward towards Jester and nodded encouragingly. That’s when Caleb knew that Beau is the same as him.

Replaying memories, still searching for solutions, still hoping, not letting go.

Not ever letting go. They’re both very good and not letting things go, Caleb thinks.

“I think I can do it now”, Jester said. “But I need his body and a pretty big diamond, guys. Like. Really big.”

So now they’re traveling towards the Glory Run Road again. And as if Yasha was able to feel what is going on, she joins them when they’re halfway there. Caleb can see her talk to Jester, tears glimmering in her eyes before she hugs Jester.

Caleb is sure that Yasha hasn’t hugged any of them first so far. But there they stand, holding each other tightly and Caleb can see Yasha’s lips move. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know what Yasha is saying over and over again.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Later, when they’re only a little more than a day’s ride away from Mollymauk’s grave, Beau sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet”, she says.

Caleb shrugs. His mind hasn’t been quiet at all at the prospect of seeing Mollymauk again. It would have been so fitting, being in love with a dead man. The thought of being in love is still foreign in his mind. The last time he was in love, he was merely a teenager.

Now his heart stumbles at the thought of Mollymauk pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know I am not much of a talker”, he says, wondering if he should just tell Beau.

“Except when it comes to books and cats”, Beau says and gives him a lopsided grin. Caleb manages a smile.

“Looks like we’ll be complete again tomorrow.”

Her voice is so quiet, Caleb almost can’t hear her.

Complete again.

Yes.

“I’m happy”, he finally rasps, the words foreign on his tongue. Happiness feels strange, like something very old and lost to him, and still very new. Maybe he’s learning how it works to be happy again.

Beau actually puts her head on his shoulder.

“Me too”, she says.

The words stumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Do you think it is possible to be in love with a dead person?”

Beau’s head stays where it is but Caleb can feel Beau go still at his words. His heart is hammering in his chest as if it wants to escape. Breathing is suddenly very hard. Hearing the words out loud is still very different from just testing them in his mind.

“Yeah. Sure”, Beau answers. No hesitance. No judging.

When did Beauregard Lionett become one of the very best friends to him? Caleb can’t say. Just like he has no idea when he fell in love with a certain purple tiefling.

“I feel stupid”, Caleb rasps, wringing his hands and trying to control his breathing.

“It’s not stupid, Caleb. Isn’t it like… super normal that people only realize what they had when it’s gone? Or whatever? That’s what it was like for me anyway. That dumb fuck was the worst and then he pissed off and–you know? When he gets back I’ll hit him. Like. At least twice. And then I’mma hug the fuck out of him because I fucking... didn’t do that while he was still around.”

Caleb doesn’t want to hit Mollymauk. He wants to hug him. He wants him to smile. And in a very ashamed part of his brain is a wish for a kiss. Caleb probably doesn’t even know how to kiss anymore. Molly on the other hand–

He can feel heat rising to his cheeks and he clears his throat, hoping that Beau won’t notice.

“I don’t think I want to hit him”, he confesses and Beau snorts.

“Nah. Didn’t think so. Though I have to say, Caleb. If you start smooshing faces I’ll get the fuck out of there. No offense.”

Caleb coughs a little and Beau raises her head again.

Beau looks at him and Caleb actually manages to look back. Beau seems to consider something, then she opens her mouth and Caleb can see the embarrassment on her face.

“Pretty sure that asshole is like. The brother I was supposed to have, y’know? And I didn’t realize that before–before he died. For me. So. Yeah. Not stupid. And now I have to stop talking about my fucking feelings or I’ll vomit”, she says, her voice hoarse and her eyes definitely wet.

Then she gets up and ruffles his hair aggressively before stomping away.

Caleb doesn’t sleep much that night and he knows that Yasha and Beau are also awake. Yasha staring at the sky, Beau pretending to be asleep.

Still, they’re the first at Mollymauk’s grave where, surprisingly, a rather dirty and worn-out coat still floats in the wind. Caleb feels his breath catch in his throat because the whole grave is full of vibrant, colorful flowers. Caduceus doesn’t seem to be surprised by this and he smiles, apparently satisfied with his handiwork.

Yasha sinks to her knees and carefully touches the flowers while Beau grabs the coat and folds it up before ripping the stick out of the earth.

“Let’s do this”, she says, throws the stick aside and swallows heavily, while Jester slowly approaches the grave and pulls out the diamond.

Caleb can’t breathe.

He’ll be back. He will be alive and breathing and–

Even though he’s exhausted and tired and weak Caleb helps to dig up the corpse. No one speaks when they find the remains. After months, there is not much left that resembles Mollymauk and Caleb has a hard time looking at what’s left of the colorful person he knew.

Jester is crying the whole time while she carefully puts the diamond on what was once Mollymauk’s chest. There is no question if the person coming back will be Mollymauk or someone else.

Jester calls only for Molly’s soul. The soul that belongs in this body above any other soul. Yasha and Beau hold Jester’s hands and Caleb carefully places a hand on Jester’s shoulder while Fjord, Nott and Caduceus stand on either side of the corpse.

The diamond vanishes in a flash of light and Caleb feels nauseous as he watches the body reassemble itself like a morbid puzzle.

“That is quite fascinating to watch”, Caduceus mumbles somewhere to his left.

When the body is whole again, it’s completely naked.

There lies Mollymauk Tealeaf, naked, scarred and in a bed of wildflowers.

In a moment of silence and panic nothing happens before red eyes spring open and a deep breath gets sucked into intact lungs.

Caleb realizes that he’s been holding his breath as they all rush forward, except himself and Caduceus.

He needs to sit down. He needs to calm his breathing. He needs to touch Mollymauk to make sure that he’s really alive and unharmed and–

“Alright there, Mr Caleb? Breathe with me, you’re doing great. Breathe in, breathe out”, Caduceus’ soothing voice says in his ear and warm hands grab him as he stumbles.

The next few hours are a blur for Caleb.

He has no idea how to approach Mollymauk while all the others have no problem acting as if he never died in the first place. Beau doesn’t actually punch Mollymauk, but she does hug him and Caleb hears her suppress a sob when she stammers “You fucking asshole, don’t you dare–don’t–just don’t!”. Yasha doesn’t leave his side for even a second. Nott and Jester keep telling Molly all about what happened to them after he was gone (”We were pirates!” – “You were pirates without me!?”) and even Caduceus asks curious questions about being dead.

Fjord shows Molly his sword. Jester and Molly hold hands. Yasha shows him all the new flowers she collected.

All Caleb can do is sit there and stare at Mollymauk. Wonderfully alive Mollymauk.

His heart aches so much, it actually feels like a physical hurt and Caleb just wants it to stop. Being in love never felt like that, he’s sure of that. At one point, he finds Mollymauk staring back at him.

Caleb’s throat feels very dry while those red eyes rest on his face and a small, lopsided smile spreads on his face.

He might just faint then and there.

“Do you want to get out for a bit?”, a familiar voice says and Caleb flinches before he looks up into Mollymauk’s red eyes. He swallows and looks around in a panic before he finds Beau’s face and she nods her head to encourage him. Caleb gets up and feels dizzy as he follows Mollymauk out of the small Inn they settled in for the night.

“You looked like you wanted to be elsewhere”, Mollymauk says when the cold night-air brushes their hair out of their faces and Caleb sits down on one of the boxes standing outside the Inn. Mollymauk sits down next to him.

“So. I can add ‘eaten by worms’ to my resumé. Pretty impressive, huh?”

Caleb shuddered and snorts.

“I don’t remember it though. Pretty glad about that.”

Caleb doesn’t know what to say. There are many things he wants to say, but they would be uncalled for, inappropriate and terribly embarrassing.

“The new guy is great, he knows an awful lot about mushrooms”, Mollymauk continues and lets his legs swing back and forth as if testing them. See if they still work the same as before.

“Ja. He uh–he really likes mushrooms.”

Molly laughs.

“Don’t we all”, he says with a chuckle and then he’s quiet for a while, looking up at the sky. Caleb thinks about how Beau doesn’t consider his feelings stupid. They’re still there, buzzing under his skin, now that Mollymauk actually sits beside him. But what do you do about feelings like this? They seem to big for Caleb’s body, trying to spill out in any way they can.

When a warm hand reaches for his he almost chokes on his own spit.

“Hey Mr Caleb”, Mollymauk says and doesn’t look at him when he speaks. His eyes are still turned skyward. “I died. And it sucked. Like, a lot. I might just die again tomorrow.”

Caleb’s chest feels very tight at the thought. Molly’s fingers don’t let go of his hand and he thinks his heart might fly away into the night.

“Don’t. Don’t–Just. Be careful, ja?”

Mollymauk tilts his head back and finally turns to look at Caleb.

“I’ll try. Dying sucks, to be honest with you. What I meant though, is–you know. If I die again tomorrow I might as well make the most of my time, yeah?”

Caleb barely manages to look Mollymauk in the eyes.

If I die again tomorrow I might as well make the most of my time, yeah?

Caleb takes a deep breath and turns his hand upside down, so his fingers are able to intertwine themselves with Mollymauk’s.

“We all missed you”, he rasps. It’s all he can manage.

Mollymauk smiles, a small, earnest smile. Not his flashy grin, the one he puts on when he lies and jokes and postures. It reminds Caleb of the smile he saw after they discovered the truth about Mollymauk’s past. Or the lack of it.

“I’m pretty sure I missed you, too. Can’t remember, but. You know. It was good with you all. I’d like to experience more of that.”

Another silence follows, this one stretching out longer. Caleb wants to know what’s going on in Mollymauk’s head. He also wants to say everything that goes on in his mind.

I’m too broken to love anyone. I’m too broken to be loved. I hate myself so much, being in love is so hard. Touching is hard. Talking about caring and feelings is impossible. How can it feel so good to just hold someone’s hand?

“Beau told me she missed me. Said I’m like a brother to her”, Mollymauk says after a long while. “She’s still entirely unpleasant, but I would die again for her any day, you know. Having siblings like that is great, to be perfectly honest.”

So Beau did what Caleb cannot. Just said it. Even though she must be ashamed and even though she has a hard time talking about feelings, just like Caleb.

“Mr Caleb?”

“Ja?” Caleb clears his throat. “Mr Mollymauk?”

His own words make him smile.

He missed saying this.

“If I die again tomorrow I’d be really angry if I didn’t try to kiss you right now.”

Caleb doesn’t want Mollymauk to talk about dying anymore. But his whole body freezes when he hears the second part of Molly’s statement and when Molly gets up and suddenly stands in front of him, all he can do is look up at him helplessly, his cheeks burning and his heart hammering.

“So, Mr Caleb. Will you let a dead man steal a kiss?”

The grin Mollymauk shows him is the one he uses when he tries to hide his uncertainty. Caleb knows how to spot it. He replayed every single one of Molly’s expression in his mind so, so many times.

“No”, he whispers and his heart might just explode at the flash of hurt that flickers over Molly’s features, “but a living one would be–that would be–”

Molly blinks and the next thing Caleb knows he has a lap full of purple tiefling, hands in his hair and very warm lips pressed on his mouth. He gasps and almost falls off the box he sits on before his arms wrap around Mollymauk and he finally finds the sense to kiss him back.

No more dying, he thinks as he desperately buries his fingers in Mollymauk’s hair. No more dying.

Molly kisses him like a drowning man in need for air. He tries touching every part of Caleb he can get his hands on and Caleb finds himself panting into the kiss. It’s all so much. Which is only fitting, he thinks, since this is Mollymauk Tealeaf he’s kissing.

“Why, Mr Caleb”, Molly pants against his lips. “For kisses like that, I might just stay alive as long as I possibly can.”

Caleb pulls him down again.

“Deal”, he murmurs into the next kiss.

He supposes that he’ll just have to kiss Mollymauk Tealeaf every day for as long as possible.

#widomauk #critfic #critical role #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #fanfiction #caleb #mollymauk #screeching into the void #text #if you're sad and want to talk to someone always feel free to shoot me a mssg #i hope this helped a little bit #no need to pay me honey <3 #Anonymous

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snowhwing · 5 years

Text

Round & Round (Hide & Seek II)

[SF9 Hwiyoung x Reader]

Part II of Hide & Seek Genre: angst Warning: grammar inaccuracies Words: 5182

“Baby, I think we’re confused Do you feel the same? Do you know, but are pretending not to? Do you feel the same? I don’t want to be just friends anymore We keep spinning round and round…”

TO SAY that you are terrified is an understatement.

There are no exact words to describe how you feel right now but you know that excitement and happiness are far from it. After that call with your manager, you stayed frozen in place and willed yourself to have a semblance of control to your world that felt like - and still does - spinning. You could still remember that if it was not for the call from your friend and fellow staff, Jieun, you would still have remained rooted to your spot. It felt like someone pulled the rug under you and now you are left staggering. Fast forward to almost thirteen hours in the plane, you and your team are on your final descent to Berlin. Only a few hours left before you will see the man you want to avoid, and long for at the same time.

“Hey, I know it’s not much but I’m not going to assign you on anything specific so that it will be easy for you to avoid him. You can help out on any task you want. I already told manager-nim about this plan and she agreed.” Jieun took your ice cold hands and held on to them tight. Your friend is the team leader for both Berlin and Paris concert stops so she gets to choose what are the specific tasks that she could assign to you and the rest of the team. Somehow, that is a blessing in disguise. Jieun knew about what happened and has been very supportive and understanding about it. “Just make sure to be very cautious all the time. If you see him backstage, you should go out and help on the stage preparations. When you see him on stage, find a way to exit and look for me backstage. I will cover for you as much as I can but you still have to do the hard work. Okay?”

You could not help but tear up after what you hearhd. You reached out to hug Jieun, murmured your thanks and fought deep inside to keep your tears at bay. This is hard; really hard for you. Because, to be honest, meeting Hwiyoung again is not what daunts you. What terrifies you is your possible reaction when you see him. You are terrified of how much you miss him; of how much pretending that he does not exist for more than a month now took a toll on you. How you felt like a piece of yourself gets carved away from you every single day that you keep yourself away from him. The Herculean effort that you put in those past weeks that you ignored his calls and messages felt like a joke now.

Fate, really, is cruel. It is ridiculous how you became its plaything.

You shut your eyes tight as the plane completed its landing. The people around you started scrambling up for their bags and luggage. Some fired up their phones, ready to take in what Berlin has to offer. Ready to get on with their lives. With a shaky inhale and exhale of breath, you toughen up your resolve and put on the usual armor, that you have been wearing for days, around your heart.

As you and your team drove to the same hotel where the boys are staying, you toughen your resolve triple, quadruple times.

The sooner you get over this, the better for you. You can avoid Hwiyoung. You have to and you will. And you can do it. You have been doing it for what felt like a lifetime now so there is no reason for you to get daunted like this. Regardless of what and how you feel, you have to accept the fact that Hwiyoung is a star. Someone who, in the first place, should be unreachable for you. Though the world decided to put you close to that star, you have to back down so that your star could continue shining. After all, that star is not meant for you to hold and keep for yourself.

-0-0-0-0-0-

To say that Hwiyoung is distressed is an understatement.

The support crew for their group’s Los Angeles, Moscow and Warsaw concert stops left for Seoul earlier today. Youngbin just came out of the hotel room that he and Taeyang are occupying after informing them that a new set of support crew will fly from Seoul to Berlin for the concert.

You are one of the crew members who will arrive today.

Youngbin gave him a meaningful glance before he left the room. A silent warning that he should not, in any way, do anything stupid. A look discreet enough that Taeyang, who spaces out most of the time, would not notice. After that day in Warsaw, when Youngbin told him and the rest of the members about the rumors involving the two of you, his hyungs and Chani did not talk about it anymore. It is usually like that for all of them. Anything that involves personal feelings and matters, unless voluntarily shared with the others, will not be a topic of discussion. There are no set of rules about it but they respect each others' privacy. The rumors about the two of you are one of those things.

Hwiyoung is dying to see you. But at the same time, it stresses him that his thoughts are still in haywire after he found out about the issue. His heart still pounds like crazy whenever he thinks that you might not feel the same way about him. He loves you, that is for sure. He is willing to shout that to the world. Reckless as it may seem, he is willing to let people know that you mean so much to him. If only he has the freedom and luxury to do so. But this feels too much, even for him. The rumors affect, not just him and you, but also his SF9 brothers and Fantasy. When Hwiyoung learned the depth of the issue after talking to their manager, he finally thought that being away from you while they finish the remaining concert stops of their Unlimited tour is actually a good thing. He will have enough time to clear his thoughts. Enough time to think over things and somehow, find something, anything rational to say to you and to the rest of the people that got affected by the rumors.

This is the last thing that he wants Fantasy and the members to go through. He could not let them suffer because of him. They have given him so much love and support that up until now, Hwiyoung still feels that he is unworthy of all these. The fact that Fantasy and his brothers must be suffering because of him is tearing him to apart. They are taking the blow because of something that he did.

A time apart is what he needs. But even that, fate is testing his limits and toying with him.

As Hwiyoung continues camping in their bedroom, he knows that you are probably on your way to the hotel. He will see you any time soon. Thinking that you might not feel the same way as he does still makes him shudder. But after a few moments with himself, he finally thought that he has pressing matters to face aside from the possibility of a broken heart.

“Ya, Hwiyoung-a. Do you want to go out and grab food with me?” Taeyang asked. Just like him, his hyung is just lazing on his bed. Lucky for Hwiyoung, Taeyang is the type who does not pry. His hyung dotes him to no end but whenever he sees that Hwiyoung wants to be alone, Taeyang always gives him space. The only interruptions are his hyung making sure that he does not skip any meal - just like today. “Rowoon-hyung told me that there’s a great restaurant just outside the hotel.”

Hwiyoung got up and was about to say “yes” when a knock sounded from the door.

“Hey, kids!” It was Dawon’s voice. “The support team from Seoul is here now. Let’s go and greet them. Get out quickly.”

It took every ounce of strength in his body to stop himself from standing up, wrenching the door open and rushing to you. He closed his hands tight as if willing himself to stay still while listening to the members who are already outside to greet you and your team. This is what people have been asking him to do; that is what he is supposed to do - stay still - hold himself together. He should stay away from you. Hwiyoung can feel his nails digging on the palm of his hands, so hard that it felt like he is going to draw blood soon. The pull to go and see you is so intense that it felt like all the muscles in his body are aching and screaming for him to just let go and do what he wants. It’s as if his body knows that, all these confusion and terrifying thoughts, will quiet down once he stands near you. Because you are his solace; the calm to his storm.

He felt Taeyang’s comforting hand on his shoulder, drawing him away from his thoughts. “Let’s go, Hwiyoung-a. I know this is hard but believe me, you can do this. We’ll be with you.”

Taeyang’s hold is still firm on his shoulder when the two of them went out. The rest of the members are already there. He can feel the tension from his members. Luckily, Dawon, Inseong and Jaeyoon are lightening up the mood with their usual chaos. Rowoon and Zuho joining in to the fun. Chani was just sleepy while Youngbin just stood there, unmoving.

When the elevator dinged to a stop, Hwiyoung’s heart started beating in staccato. There was a bit of raucous inside when the elevator door opened and each of the support crew team started piling outside one by one. Everybody looked excited. Who wouldn’t be when you are in a city as beautiful as Berlin? He and the members were on cloud nine when they found out the cities where the concerts will be held for this tour.

Then, you came out. You look travel weary, which was expected because of the long flight that you have been on. You look exhausted and your eyes lack their usual sparkle. Yet, he could swear the entire atmosphere shifted when you went out of the elevator. The impact of seeing you knocked Hwiyoung’s breath out but he remained composed on the outside. Despite the effect of your arrival, he felt Taeyang’s hold tightened on his shoulder. In hindsight, he saw Youngbin moved closer to him.

All of them are friends with the crew and staff that they work with so everybody was really excited. There was a rush of ‘how are yous’, fist bumps and bear hugs. Hwiyoung noticed, that just like him, you remained as detached from the crowd as possible. If he knew any better, you look like you are hiding behind Jieun.

He willed you to look at him, to acknowledge him, but it was so apparent, so obvious how you tried so hard to look away.

-0-0-0-0-0-

All these time, you thought you are strong. You thought you can handle anything that would come your way because at an early age, you have been trained by your family to be independent. But apparently, no training of independence could have ever prepared you for a broken heart. Nothing could.

It has been two months since the concert in Berlin - two months since you took the earliest flight available the day after the concert and flew back to Seoul alone.

You managed to avoid Hwiyoung that day. Well, on the early parts of the day and during the concert. You managed to find a way to work with the tech team instead of the wardrobe team which made it easier for you to keep your distance from him. Sure your eyes met his a couple of times while they were on stage for the sound check. You tried, with all your might, to not look his way but it was impossible when he glances at you every chance he got. His eyes lackluster. You noticed how his usual twinkling gazes were not present then. It was as if something took the stars away from his eyes and left those beautiful orbs dull and lifeless. Instead, you saw questions in his eyes. His gaze asking for explanations. Explanations from you. Youngbin told you that Hwiyoung and the boys already knew about the rumors. That somehow, Hwiyoung must have already put the pieces together on why you purposely ignored him. You realized though, that you no longer have the confidence to face Hwiyoung. You admitted to yourself that you are too scared to face him - to face his reaction on what you did after you found out about the rumors.

When the concert started, you almost cried with so much relief when his eyes sparkled again when he saw the cheering crowd of Fantasy. You could never forget how captivating he and the boys looked on their group performances and solo/duet stages. You are, after all, a Fantasy, too. When Youngbin and Hwiyoung came out and performed “ZerOff”, you stood transfixed as you watched how he got so immersed in the music, how he and their leader set the stage on fire. That is one of the countless things that drew you to him. Whenever he is on stage, especially when he goes out to showcase his rap skills, to you he always looks so unreal, so ethereal. The way he clearly delivers the words, the way he puts so much emotion into his voice and the way he gets to connect with the audience - those scream so much passion. Those things show that, where he is at now and the people he is with, means the world to him. And every single time, you fall head over heels in love.

You can still recall how there was never a time when the crowd in Berlin looked like they were not enjoying the concert. Their faces were all lit up. Their eyes sparkled. From the distance where you stood that day, the light sticks that Fantasy were holding looked like stars scattered across the galaxy. Right then and there, your resolve solidified. What you saw that day was the world that Hwiyoung and his group deserve. They deserve the love and support that Fantasy give them. They deserve the world. You know that is not something you can take away from them just because you are in love with Hwiyoung.

But fate did not let you go unscathed that day.

When SF9 performed “Dear Fantasy” for their fans, Hwiyoung looked your way, your eyes met, and he smiled at you. Not a small smile but his full on gummy smile that you love so dearly. As you look back to that day, you still consider it a miracle that you did not break down and cry. Because when he gave you that smile, it felt like your entire world collapsed and the only thing that you want to do then was to run to Hwiyoung, ask for his forgiveness, tell him you love him and just throw caution on the air. You can still remember how you firmly planted yourself to the spot where you stood then. You have no idea what emotions must have been painted on you face that day because for the first time, your most favorite smile, the smile that usually brightens your world, broke your heart. How can he still smile at you when all you did was avoid him? How can he still look at you adoringly when you left him hanging just because your only rational thought to defend him from the issue is to not go near him?

Apparently, that was not the end of it.

The concert ended with the boys beaming widely. You were all in the backstage, then. The staff helping the boys change from their last concert outfits to comfortable clothes. The rush of activities was so overwhelming yet nothing could ever compare to the excitement of the boys. Rowoon was so amused that Fantasy danced with them. He said that the concert felt and looked more like a party. Chani was laughing at him while eating the cake that the staff gave the boys to congratulate them right after their final performance. Dawon, Inseong and Jaeyoon were huddled in one corner, watching a video of the concert that their manager took for them. Taeyang was humming to himself after he changed into comfortable clothes and slumped on to the vacant seat near him. He looked tired but a satisfied smile was beautifully curved on his lips. Both Youngbin and Zuho were playing with the guitar that were brought by the sound team. You did not see Hwiyoung around. He’s still probably changing out of his stage outfit so you carried on helping Jieun arranging the boys’ concert outfits inside the huge luggage. As you were about to finish packing up, Jieun told you that she has to go to the tech team and help them sort out things as well. You told her that you would finish arranging the clothes yourself.

Not a minute passed after Jieun left when you felt the warmth of a familiar hand encircled your wrist, urging you to stand up. When you looked up, you saw Hwiyoung. Maybe then, your eyes held so much hesitation because his blank expression turned pleading. You stood up and allowed him to take you back to the already darkened concert hall. You thought, just for the night, you could give in to what your heart has been wanting to do since you arrived in Berlin, since the last time you saw him and that is to be with him even just for awhile. The lights in the concert hall has long been extinguished; only the lights that came from outside illuminated the now empty space in slits of brightness. It felt strange that not even an hour ago, the concert hall has been full of cheering Fantasy. Now, it looked hallowed.

The two of you did not broke the silence immediately. To you, it felt like both of you were trying to gauge what the other feels. You focused your gaze somewhere, anywhere but him that you almost flinched when Hwiyoung spoke.

“Nuna….”

And as if under a spell, you looked up to him. You felt your knees shook, every muscle in your body urged you to go to him, wrap your arms around him so that you can erase the questions in his eyes. Gone was the young man who set the stage on fire earlier with his performance; the man who looked her way and smiled at her. The Hwiyoung that stood in front of her looked defenseless, like one word from you would cut him in half.

“Hwiyoung-a.” You tried your best to give him a smile. “You did really well today.”

“What am I to you, nuna?”

His blunt question floored you. He looked like he is keeping himself still just so he would not approach you and shake the senses out of you. His hands were clenched in fists. His eyes full of questions but the rest of his expression now looked hard.

Deep inside, you felt your heart donning its most solid armor. “What do you mean? I care for you. You are a really good friend.”

“Am I really? Just a friend?”

“What do you really want to hear from me, Kim Hwiyoung?”

Hwiyoung visibly flinched. In an instant, he finally stood in front of you, gripping your shoulders tight. “I want honesty from you, Y/N. I want you to tell me the truth.”

You turned your gaze away and Hwiyoung let go of you in frustration. He turned away from you. His entire figure shaking.

When he looked at you again, his eyes were full of accusation. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand. How can you decide by yourself without letting me know? The rumors, those rumors are not just about me, Y/N! Those rumors are about the two of us. Did it ever crossed your mind that I need to know about it, too? That somehow, I should be the person that you should confide to instead of you going about and avoiding me?”

“And you think that would solve things? That if people continue to see us together, they would just stay silent and not speculate more? You should realize, Hwiyoung, that you will lose more if things would blow up. You and the rest of the members will suffer only because of someone like me. I have nothing to lose!” You finally fixed your eyes on him and motioned to the empty space. “You bring so much joy to those people, Hwiyoung-a. Your music can touch hearts. It already does. Do you want to lose all that?”

“Only I know the people and things that I want to keep and let go of, Y/N. This is not just about me losing my career. This is mostly about what’s going on between us. Can’t you just be honest with me? Those people, these rumors would not even be present if they did not see anything. These came up because they saw that there is something special going on between us.”

You reached out and cupped his cheek, looked up to him and stared intently into his eyes. “Then, let me be honest with you. I care for you. I really do.” You stopped yourself from taking a deep breath because that would betray and expose how you really feel. “I care for you because you are like a younger brother to me. You and the rest of the boys. I stayed away from you because I care so much about what would happen if things would blow up no matter how groundless those rumors are.”

Hwiyoung then pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes pleading. “But… I love you.”

Until now, you still cannot believe that those words could hurt like daggers to your heart.

-0-0-0-0-0-

You left him that night, two months ago. After he bared his heart out to you, you left without saying anything. He tried tricking himself into believing that you run away because you need time to let what he said sink in. But then, he found out that you left for Seoul the next morning.

Until this very moment, Hwiyoung still does not know what to feel. Well, if he could just be honest to himself and accept the fact that you really only consider him as your little brother, then maybe he would know what to call his feelings. He is hurting, that’s for sure. But it is that kind of hurt that numbs him to the core. It’s not the kind that would make him want to drown himself in alcohol, not the kind that would make him want to scream until his voice gets hoarse and not the kind that would make him want to take vengeance. He just… does not feel anything anymore.

And so for the past two months, Hwiyoung spent most of his time inside his studio. He wrote lyrics after lyrics that would usually go unfinished way before they could even make up an entire song. Apparently, when your heart gets crushed, you really become a poet. Much to his dismay. After he writes down the lines, he would read it and find himself in the lyrics. Those lines were the exact reflection of what he is feeling. Those feelings that he did not allow anybody to see.

Whenever he is around the members, Hwiyoung would wear his most neutral expression, burying what he truly feels behind a mask of steady calm. He could no longer count the number of times when either Inseong, Jaeyoon or Dawon would invite him to go out for a drink. Inseong thought that the best way for Hwiyoung to let out everything is to get drunk. His hyungs know that he gets talkative whenever he is intoxicated by liquor. They tried to stage so many drinking sessions but by the third time they did it, Dawon just simply gave up because the three of them would usually end up getting knocked out first. Instead of Hwiyoung pouring out his hurt, which is the main purpose of all the liver killer drinking sessions, the three of them always end up embarrassing themselves. None of them could ever defeat Hwiyoung’s supreme alcohol tolerance. His other hyungs and Chani started their own versions of activities to comfort him and somehow squeeze even just a tiny bit of emotion from him. Rowoon treated him with delicious food and snacks every chance he gets. Contrary to what the chaos trio believe, Rowoon said you can always find comfort in food. But Taeyang told Rowoon that he will ultimately get poor way before Hwiyoung can move on because Rowoon does not only buy food for Hwiyoung but for the other two maknaes as well. Ultimately, Rowoon’s food party dwindled down into just a few pieces of snacks for each of the young ones. Youngbin suggested that he should go out for a stroll, that a breath of fresh air always helps. Taeyang offered his solo hours in the studio to Hwiyoung and told him that maybe if he dances to his heart’s content, he will be able to let out what he is keeping inside. Chani just kept on giving him bottle after bottle of black barley drink.

Until that one afternoon when Zuho grabbed Hwiyoung and kept him hostage inside his studio.

Zuho’s studio is his sanctuary. For the members, it kind of became a habit that the studio is off limits to them unless Zuho wants them there when they need to collaborate on writing the lyrics of songs for their albums or whenever he would ask them to help him with out with the demo songs. Hwiyoung is one of those members who have worked inside Zuho’s studio a lot because the two of them collaborate in rap making often.

His hyung told him to sit down and gave him a cup of chamomile tea. Then, Zuho sat on the chair across Hwiyoung.

“I know we promised not to barge into each other’s private life,” Zuho began. “But I can’t sit still and just keep on watching, Hwiyoung-a.”

“Hyung, believe it or not. I’m okay.” His lie tasted like bile inside his mouth.

“No, you’re not. Do not lie to me. I know you more than that.” Zuho directed his piercing stare to Hwiyoung. “You are keeping it inside, Hwiyoung-a. You’re hurting. Everybody is making an effort to comfort you, to help you let it all out but you still keep it to yourself. We are your family. It pains us to see you like that, too.”

Hwiyoung’s shoulders sagged. And in a small voice, he told Zuho what he has never told anybody. “I… I just don’t know what to do, hyung. I know I’m hurting but that’s it. I want to feel angry but I feel numb. I want to cry but I can’t.”

He looked up when he saw a piece of paper and a pencil from Zuho.

“Then write down how you feel. Let it out through your words, your lyrics. Put a melody to your sadness. Let the world hear it. Let her hear it.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

You have been sitting in front of your computer, unmoving, for the last couple of hours now. The screen displaying the same thing since the time you powered up the machine. Hwiyoung’s voice echoing in your room.

When your phone dinged with a notification from SF9’s fan cafe, the last person you expected to post an update was Hwiyoung. But this time, you are wrong. You held your phone with shaking hands as you stared at the screen, seeing his name like flashing red lights.

You miss him. So much that, when you left that day, it felt like you also left a part of you with Hwiyoung. So much that it felt like a limb was cut away from your body. When you arrived in Seoul, your manager did not ask questions when you told her that you need to get away from him as soon as possible. Instead, she went straight to the CEO and asked if it was possible to transfer you to the drama department of the company. Both of them must have seen the desperation in your eyes because, without any hesitation and objection, the CEO immediately called the head manager of the company’s satellite office in Busan to processed your transfer.

And so here you are, away from the main office and away from Hwiyoung. However, after a week of staying in Busan, you realized that removing yourself from Seoul is the only distance you are capable of putting between you and Hwiyoung. You continue on keeping tabs on the boys’ activities. You even went through the lengths of creating a fan account both in SNS and fan cafe just so you would not miss any updates from them - from Hwiyoung.

For weeks now, you have been waiting for Hwiyoung to post an update. Of course you have seen his weekly tweets after every radio broadcast that he has been going but, still, you want more. Now, here it is. The update that you have been waiting for - a fan cafe update. With a deep breath, you opened the notification and got routed to his post in fan cafe. In there, you saw a link from a music site and your heart beat roared like thunder. He must have finally dropped his own music account! You clicked the link and after a few minutes, his baritone voice enveloped you.

“Snow” felt like an accusation to everything that you have been running away from. From everything that you want to forget but can't. It was as if Hwiyoung wrote down all the questions he has for you and tied it all around the lyrics of the song. The melody was not even sad. It was soothing. His voice sounded really soothing. The voice that has become familiar to you. The voice that you have always wanted to listen to. His voice that you have not heard for months. But his words - the lyrics - were razor sharp. Shameless as it may seem, you know in your heart, that he wrote the song with you in mind. When you finally reached the last note, you felt like your heart and soul have been completely shredded to pieces. And you know you deserve nothing less.

“But… I love you.”

You let Hwiyoung’s voice continue to surround you. The song on loop in the background. You let yourself get cut over and over again because finally, you can feel something now. For so long, you have been like a ghost, an empty shell, incapable of feeling something because the hurt has numb you.

You continued looking at your screen - at the ticket that you bought a few weeks ago for UNIXERSE Seoul.

#sf9 #sf9 hwiyoung #kim hwiyoung #youngbin #jaeyoon #inseong #dawon #rowoon #zuho #taeyang #chani #hwiyoung x reader #fanfiction #angst fanfiction #angst

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