#you can just send me the coffin i was ready to crawl in

[inkskinned]

it isn't really complicated, but i still can't tell my grandma about it. my girlfriend is also my boyfriend and i'm her girlboyfriend and there are a lot of days this feels like smoothing sheets over a good mattress. it feels like getting a cup of good hot chocolate. we paint our nails lesbian flag pink, and i watch her eyelashes make shadows on her cheeks. she wants to kiss me because i am really good at baking, and i want to kiss her because when i am freaked out about how i spilled coffee, she just hands me extra napkins and helps me clean. he is so handsome i want to eat my fist. they once just winked at me and i couldn't talk for like the next fifteen minutes.

i haven't seen the L word and i was raised catholic. my earliest experiences with queer relationships were through harrowing conversations and hushed questions and blood on the ground. i didn't like boys soon enough. what, are you gay? asked to a 6th grader, almost like a demand.

when she is asleep next to me and i can feel the dreams run up and down her body, i pretend we are both somewhere in the stars. i like to picture a future full of fruit trees, and writing him poetry. sometimes she wakes up, has a whole conversation with me, goes back to sleep, and utterly forgets that we ever even spoke. she is always kind to me, even in that liminal half-there ghost. i like the croaked, raw way her voice sounds in the very-early morning, the way she always seems surprised i'm still here, and home.

on the internet, there are a lot of people who would be annoyed by both of us, and how labels must be pruned into orchids. a box has to hold and define the insides. people must be organized.

we went on a date last night, and the host said, oh, table for 2 nice ladies? neither of us are ladies, but also we are very much 2 nice ladies. i have been wearing her sweater nonstop. he has frequently been forced into wearing my taylor swift official merch quarter-zip because i was worried about him catching a chill, and you simply cannot be cool in an official taylor swift quarter-zip. do not worry: they listen to better music than i do, and their voice sounds like leaves falling.

i wear the skirts and makeup and i am better with spackle and know how to drive stick. recently someone commented on my work - you're just a man trying to reappropriate lesbian spaces. sometimes i feel like she is a clementine to me, and sometimes i feel like he is a german shepherd and sometimes i feel they are a bird. i like watching his hands over a guitar. can i write this poem, even? how can you be a lesbian if you're sometimes with a man? or you are the man?

how can i, huh. you know, our first date lasted 3 days. we'd been flirting for over a year before i finally asked her out. i'd already written her into poetry. she'd already written me into songs.

last night, in the late night, when they woke up again, confused about where they were, they said - oh, thank god. this is your arm. there's just something so precious to me about the specifics, the denotation that the arm was (thank god!) mine. i really liked that definition. i liked the obvious relief because i understand it.

i say yeah, i have a partner. i mean - oh. thank god. it's your arm.

#writeblr #warm up #on gender politics lol #inkskinned try not to have feelings for someone challenge #time of death: they put my earring in their ear. they were wearing an unbuttoned black buttondown and a necklace with my name on it #you can just send me the coffin i was ready to crawl in

[mikalara-dracula]

(TW/mention of pregnancy) Headcanon for Shu, Reiji and Subaru. Your wife said: "I want a baby",reaction? (your blog is wonderful)

🤰 Their reaction to their wife saying "I want a baby" to them:

(ft. Shu, Reiji, and Subaru)

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor and aren't comfortable with slight NSFW. This is a fictional work and should not be taken seriously.

Caution: Unfortunately, Tumblr has a history of admins quarreling over completing carbon copy asks due to users sending the same request(s) to multiple admins, thus, resulting in unintentional plagiarism. With this, please DO NOT send the same request to multiple blogs as it can cause unintended plagiarism discord to other blogs across Tumblr. The word “plagiarism” stems from the early 17th-century Latin word, “plagiarius,” meaning “kidnapper.” So please, do not send in the same request to multiple blogs and make admins appear to be “kidnapping” other people’s work when it isn’t their intention. If this is to occur with any of my posts, please contact me so we can work something out.

Hi there, Anon!

Thank you so much for requesting and for the lovely comment! Sorry about the long wait! Hope you enjoy reading it. Feel free to request again any time. :)

Shu:

Is amused as hell considering the process that’s needed in order to make a child.

He was laying down on his bed with his eyes closed, and instantly opened them when you said that, a smirk quickly twisting on his lips.

“A kid, huh? Is that your excuse to get something more? What a dirty girl you are.” He’d say, quickly grabbing your wrist and pulling you into bed with him, being rather quick to escalate things as he crawled on top of you. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, you look better naked anyways.”

And you can best bet this guy got you pregnant by morning with him putting all that saved stamina of his to use. After all, it’s all stored energy since all he does is sleep lol.

Reiji:

Is more than willing.

In fact, it’s almost like you invited him practically, and he gladly took the invitation.

He’s been wanting to have kids with you for a while, and you couldn’t have asked at a better time.

“My dear, how enticing. Looks like we have work to do.” He’d smirk. “Tell me, do you want it to be a girl? A boy? Twins? Tell me so I know how to treat you.”

Like, because you asked, this guy would have you two be on an entire sex schedule to ensure you’d get pregnant by the end of the week month.

Damn, our bae Rei is something. Right, @liannelara-dracula?

Subaru:

When you first told him, he turned red—redder than a tomato.

Even though you two had had sex before, this just took him out.

Like, heavily.

If you guys are in the right time frame of your relationship, he won’t mind it.

But whether he’s ready for it or not, he’s still paranoid about whether or not he’d be a good father, but luckily, you’re always there to boost his confidence.

“A kid? That’s what you want? . . . . You sure?” He’d ask, leaving you to nod in response.

But of course, because he’s an ass, he has to push things further, grinning as he’d say, “So, are we making it in my bed or my coffin?”

Fucking ass like I-

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers headcanons #shu sakamaki #shuu sakamaki #sakamaki shu #sakamaki shuu #diabolik lovers shu #diabolik lovers shuu #reiji sakamaki #sakamaki reiji #diabolik lovers reiji #subaru sakamaki #sakamaki subaru #diabolik lovers subaru #anime #anime requests #anime headcanons #diaboys #dialovers #diahell #diabolik brothers

[ghosttrolls]

Writing prompt:

"please, I don't want to fight!"

From the DP Phantom reverse evil trio AU, if you've heard of it?

(if not, I recommend searching for it in @13thdoodle 's tags, I think you might enjoy the aesthetic!)

Thanks, anon! I took some time to research the AU before writing, so it took a hot minute, but here it is! Enjoy!

Edit: I read the message back and it seems I entirely forgot the prompt. I did start with it but the whole thing just changed so much... sorry. I can make a part 2 later that actually has the "please, I don't want to fight!" I just got so carried away!

Corruption never felt so good. Danny sometimes admitted to himself that he’d never felt like there was a pivotal moment where he felt himself change - aside from when he got his powers, of course. But he felt like, the way that things had turned out, there was only ever one way he could be. The boy who tried to do good, and failed so many times - it just was never really him, after all. It was better this way. He was meant to be.

It was morning. Danny stood in his room, the sun shining through his window, and stretched: arms out high, then to the side. “I think I’ll skip school again today!” he said out loud to himself, so very cheery. He put on his clothes - a white button up shirt, a vest he embroidered himself, black slacks - and nearly skipped out of his room. Another fantastic start to an amazing day.

He hopped down the stairs, pulling up his phone to call Sam. When she picked up, he said “Hey! What do you want to do today?” He pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he stooped to put his shoes on.

“I’m not sure,” said Sam on the other side of the line. “Let’s get breakfast and think about it. Tucker’s pretty impatient, but he won’t say what for. Maybe he has an idea.” Tucker loved tech, and he used to be a pretty decent hacker - but his powers, when he got them, made it difficult if not impossible to get a cell phone to work. So Sam and Danny would meet up with him to talk.

“Okay!” said Danny. “Gotta check downstairs, first. I’ll meet you soon.”

“Of course,” said Sam, a sombre tone in her voice. He knew she didn’t really like what he’d done. But they’d chosen this path, and she understood the danger his parents offered them as well as he did. Danny hung up.

Danny straightened upright from wrestling with his left shoe. He walked through his kitchen, which led to the front door. But instead of heading outside, he went into the family lab, down in the basement, through a closet door. His parents had always had this obsession with ghosts. For so long, he didn’t believe they were real. Until his parents made a working portal to the ghost zone.

Danny stepped downstairs, carefully, listening around the creak of the wooden steps. If there was any movement, a single sound, he’d have to use his powers, which he didn’t really like doing so early in the morning. Especially when he wasn’t showing off. He fit a hand in his vest’s pocket, which had the pattern of a blood blossom on it. The anti-ghost flower. He gripped the seed inside for security.

His foot hit the flat concrete floor, and he checked on his flowers. Still good, still healthy. They needed a bit of water, though. He turned to get the watering can from the other side of the lab. “You know,” he said as he did his work, “it didn’t have to be this way for you. We could have stayed a happy family. But of course, being the idiots you are… always fighting for good. You left me no choice.”

He said this to a silent room, but not an empty one. Deep down, he had a need to justify himself, his actions. He knew this was necessary. Right? That’s why he had to grow these flowers, the ones that always put humans to sleep. His parents and sister could not resist it. And so they lay, in their beds, in their basement, in their coffin. He intended to keep them there as long as he could. And he knew that he could keep this up forever.

After the plants were watered, he made sure they were placed properly among his family. “I miss you,” he said, so quietly he could convince himself he didn’t. And he turned, walking back up the basement stairs to meet his friends. He was in control, Danny reminded himself. We are in control. No one crosses the trio. He shut the door in the kitchen, closing that part of his mind. On to better things. Destructive things! The thought made Danny giggle as he walked out the front door.

In the dark of the basement, in the silence of it all, Jazz sneezed. The darn plants, she must be allergic or something. She decided that Danny was gone, and she opened her eyes, irises glowing green. His morning ritual was so routine, you could know where Danny was just by looking at the time. His grip on the town was stifling - his and his friends, Jazz reminded herself. She crawled out of her bed, standing and stretching. “Okay,” she said to herself, “I’m ready.”

In a flash, she changed - her orange hair now white, her clothes becoming the stealth suit she’d put together from what she could get her hands on. She was a ghost. Half ghost, really, because she could still “turn back human,” but ghost enough to be immune to her brother’s plants. She was still new to it all, and she knew she would never be able to stop the trio’s reign by herself. That’s why she called on a friend.

She walked over to the Ghost Portal, pressing a few buttons on the keypad, and the door to the Ghost Zone opened. She peered through - the ghost zone looked flat and 3D at the same time, like it was made of paper, or maybe some type of goo, or possibly a universe of stars. Whatever it was made of wasn’t important. The people who came out of it were.

After not too long, she saw a form approach the surface of the portal. She backed up, giving them space to come through. As the form stepped forward, Jazz recognized the ghost instantly. Blue-green skin, red eyes, and long hair - it was Vlad Masters.

“Vlad,” said Jazz, “he’s gone again. We should hold another meeting, if we can. The humans of this city can’t protect themselves… I can’t bear to see my parents asleep like that” - she pointed behind her into the darkness, wherever her they were - “for another second!” She was on the brink of tears, falling apart with each breath. How can you stop someone who can engulf you with vines in seconds? Or someone who can send massive plagues to decimate the entire town with a snap of her fingers? Or someone who can touch anything, and turn it into nothing? An endless void, an Egyptian goddess, and a corrupted gardener… As silly as it sounded, Danny’s powers scared Jazz the most. She fell to her knees, lost in despair.

Vlad knelt, resting a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. His eyes, full of concern, watched hers. “Jasmine,” he said, “don’t blame yourself for what has happened. You’re only 18 years old. Even I couldn’t have seen this coming.”

“We’re doomed,” breathed Jazz.

“Perhaps,” agreed Vlad. “But it doesn’t hurt to try. Good versus evil… such a black and white concept. Everyone is ‘morally grey’ one way or another.” He gently pulled Jazz to her feet. “And no one,” he said, “is irredeemable.”

Jazz sniffed. “You really think so?” She knew he worried about her attachment to her brother, so it was comforting to hear. Even if it wasn’t really true.

“I know so,” said Vlad. He held her hand and stepped back towards the portal. “Come,” he said. “Let’s work on saving your brother.”

#ghostly posts #ask #anon #danny phantom #dp reverse evil trio au #danny fenton #jazz fenton #vlad masters #my writing #long post #and now i take a nap #i was aiming for angst but then somehow i ended up on this hopeful note ??? #anyway

[kumzume]

control ft. tsukishima kei

wc. 1.5k words (and it’s still ass??? a crime)

warnings. SMUT, bad writing lmao, blowjob, whiny kei, (male) masturbation, caught(??) masturbating if you squint, also abrupt ending, way too much exposition, not enough hornknee

an. writing this was like pulling teeth and it is BAD 😀 i am having a writing crisis & this is just the nail in the coffin LMAO anyways this is for @bokuhub (we talked abt it on my main blog but im so sorry ajdhks maybe i’ll write something better later <3)

kei hates feeling out of control.

it’s the reason he’s kept the same circle of friends for the past 5 years, same reason he hasn’t changed his favorite dessert order for even longer than that, and the same reason he is terrified to let you breach the wall between friends and more.

it isn’t that he doesn’t trust you—he does, with his life—but you make him feel things he’s never felt before. kei has had crushes before and he knows that this isn’t that. never in his life has he been so willing to try new things, to meet new people, to give up the control he so desperately needs and it scares him.

he’s scared to become vulnerable and open himself up to rejection or even worse, the loss of your friendship.

so, he ignores it. he pushes down his feelings of almost-but-not-fully-love for you in favor of being close to you.

the closeness, unfortunately, is also a major problem.

growing up, kei had very few friends and even fewer romantic prospects due to his callous attitude and piercing words. he’s only been kissed twice and both of those were with yamaguchi (they were thoroughly unenjoyable kisses, the both of them being 13 and never having kissed anyone else before) but he isn’t exactly ashamed of his status as an unexperienced adult virgin. it just doesn’t help his attraction to you in the slightest.

he realized early on in your “relationship” that you are very affectionate. tight hugs, forehead kisses, holding hands, and cuddling on the couch while watching movies were all normal things for you to initiate with kei on any given day. and on any given day, he would dart out of your hold with a blush on his face and a half assed excuse with a large hand covering his crotch.

he didn’t mean to get hard. it’s just, you were you, gorgeous, kind, and funny and when your soft, small hand (oh god, your hand is so much smaller than his; he wonders how it would look wrapped around his cock) finds its way in his, it’s like his body doesn’t know how to respond so it sends copious amounts of blood to his head and to his crotch.

it’s embarrassing and uncomfortable but you never seem to mind, giggling behind your hand as he darts off to fuck his fist in your bathroom for the third time this week.

this happens to be one of those times, all these thoughts clouding his mind as he stands hunched over your toilet, thrusting into the tight ring of his hand like his life depends on it. all you had done was laugh and he felt himself thicken in his boxers.

kei shakes his head, his blond strands sticking to the sweat on his forehead as he chases his high in the comfort of his hands. kei hates thinking of the way you affect him so easily, his touch-starved body craving you like an animal craves water. but he just can’t help it. thinking of you standing outside the bathroom, listening to his self pleasure and touching yourself or even better, waiting to burst in and look down on him in disgust. it’s that thought that pushes him over the edge, his whole body tensing as he paints rope after rope of cum on the porcelain seat.

kei quickly flushes the evidence of his crime down the toilet before going to wash his hands in your sink. he can hardly look at himself in the mirror, the guilt eating up his spine. is he really that desperate that he can’t hold off masturbating until he goes home? yes. the answer is yes.

he sighs and leaves the bathroom only to run right into you just outside the door. his heart rate picks up in his chest as you look him over with a sweet smile on your face, your eyes lingering on his flushed cheeks.

did you know what he had done? were you going to curse at him? kick him out? or—

“cmon kei, you were in there for forever! we need to study, stupid.” he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he follows you into your bedroom, watching as you plop down on your bed and lie down on your back. your shirt rides up on your torso, giving tsukishima a good view of your soft skin and fuck, he feels himself getting hard again.

luckily, you don’t seem to notice his reaction, your eyes trained on your ceiling as a contemplative look crosses your face. “i heard you, yknow,” you say, your tone light but kei can hear an undercurrent of accusation in your words. he freezes, his golden eyes darting towards to door, calculating how much time it would take for him to bolt out the door and into his car to never see you again and—

“i didn’t mind it. your moans are pretty,” you continue, your eyes finally resting on the man in question who looks about ready to sink into the floor.

oh. oh.

kei can hardly think, let alone speak as you rise off your bed and make your way towards him, your eyes holding a glint of something he’s never seen from you before. it only takes a few strides before you’re right in front of him, gazing up into his frames through your lashes as though you’re the embarrassed one.

one of your (small) hands makes its way to hold his face and he feels like he might die, his heart is beating so fast. you give him a small sweet smile that is in direct contrast to your other hand trailing down his body to rest on his belt buckle.

if kei wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now.

you don’t move your hand from its place on his pants as your eyes focus on his bright pink face and plush bottom lip worrying in between his straight white teeth. he looks terrified and you find it in yourself to feel a little bit bad about what you’re about to do.

“kei honey?” all you get in response is a high whimper from the back of his throat and judging by the way his eyes widen and his cheeks burn even brighter, you figure that reaction wasn’t quite anticipated. you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as your thumb reaches to pull his lip from in between his teeth, the appendage stroking over the soft, bitten skin there.

you don’t consider yourself easily surprised but when kei pulls your thumb into your mouth, sucking on it while gently laving his tongue around it, you feel your knees weaken as a wave of slick paints your underwear. “oh baby... you want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

oh fuck.

kei did want that, more than you could ever know but due to the finger in his mouth and his pounding heart, he found himself unable to answer with anything but a nearly imperceptible nod. thankfully, you saw it and are more than willing to give him what he wants.

carefully, you lead him to your bed, the hand on his belt tugging him until he’s lying back on your covers, gazing at you as though you’re the only person in the world. you feel your heart clench a little at the implications in his eyes but you quickly ignore it to focus on unbuckling his belt.

he’s hard and leaking through his boxers when you finally remove his pants, a quivering sigh leaving his mouth at the cold air hitting the dampness above his tip. when you manage to tear your eyes away from his big (holy shit, was he always that big??) cock and onto his face, the look he gives you has your clit throbbing.

“yn,” kei whines, high and breathy. “p-please touch me- ah, ah, fuck!” his words (and thoughts) are entirely cut off by the sensation of your warm, wet mouth engulfing his dick. he’s so big, you can only take him halfway but what you can’t take down your throat, you pump with your hand.

a litany of curses and moans slip from his lips as you pull up off of him to suck on the sensitive head before taking him all the way back to the hilt. one of his hands jerks to your head to grab a hold of your hair. “holy shit, i-i think i’m going to—yn-“

with only that as a warning, thick cum spills into your mouth, so much that you nearly choke before pulling off of him and stroking him through his orgasm. it takes him a moment to stop cumming, his chest heaving with the intensity of his high.

once you’re sure he’s done, you crawl up the bed until you’re lying next to kei, one of your hands finding it’s way into his hair. his eyes flutter shut at the gesture while he leans into your touch, not realizing how exhausted he is.

with a kiss to the forehead, kei falls asleep, entirely out of control and entirely in love.

#LMAO THERE ARE TWO (2) PARAGRAPHS OF ACTUAL SMUT IN THIS WHOLE THING #i would like to die ? pls and thank? 😀✨ #this is embarassinggggg #but i needed to get something out on this acc lmao #wtv 🙃😗✌️ #kei <3 #😽.writing #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n

[winterscaptain]

absence.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the next installment is here! this is the second-to-last piece in the berry hill section of a joyful future. as it has been lately, this one requires little ajf context, but i would recommend reading berry hill and waldosia, if you haven’t already. (thanks to aimz @ssaic-jareau, kira @good-heavens-chris-evans, and sabina @writefasttalkevenfaster) edit: this has been heavily revised as of april 29th, 2021. the changes and additions address continuity errors and ongoing subplots. 

words: 7k (prev. 3.8k) warnings: language, vomit mention, really accurate satellite phone protocol (eat your heart out, cm writers), beard!hotch, jack hotchner content, one last slow burn

summary: “absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great” - roger de bussy-rabutin. au!march-september 2011

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: april 29th, 2021

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.” 

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated.

+++

You let yourself into his apartment, slamming the door behind you. He’s been waiting for you, leaning against the windowsill across from the door. 

“How dare you.”

He sighs and presses a hand to his forehead. “You have to understand that I -”

“Bullshit, Aaron. I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing. What are you thinking? We need you.” 

His head tips up, and he looks through you. The haunted look in his eyes almost makes you falter - it so acutely reminds you of the days following Haley’s death - but you keep your resolve. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you yell at him until it's out of your system. You could never actually hate him and he knows that, which makes some of it easier, but not all of it. 

The tears start and pick up speed as you continue, nearly at a shout. “You've known for seven months that you were going to leave for Pakistan. I read the brief. Seven. Fucking. Months, Aaron. Since September, you’ve known and you didn’t tell us about the task force assignment in fucking Pakistan!” 

You pause, but the final nail in his proverbial coffin leaves your mouth without permission. “Emily died, and you’re still leaving?” He flinches. “You’re leaving me and Jack. You’re leaving our team. I never thought you could do something like that to us. Maybe them, but not me. Never to me. I mean, after everything we’ve -” You cut yourself off and raise the back of your hand to your mouth, unable to finish the unbearably painful thought.

He’s not sure which part is the most painful - the fact that you list yourself with Jack instead of with the BAU, the fact that you say ‘our team,’ or the tone that drips with hurt. The sob that rips through your chest breaks his heart. He leans heavily against the arm of his couch, knocked down by the weight of your tears. 

No. The hardest part is knowing he deserves it, that you aren’t saying anything that isn't unfair or untrue. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He can only watch you as you walk back out, leaving the door open behind you. 

About twenty minutes later, he receives a text.

9:34pm I’ll be there tomorrow at 12:30 to take you to base. Be ready when I get there. 

He crawls into bed about half an hour later, and receives another text.

10:05pm Goodnight. 

Fuck. 

+++

The ride to base ride is mostly silent, and you know something’s wrong. It’s nothing you can articulate or even really put your finger on, but it’s something bigger than just his imminent absence.

He’s boarding a C-130 supply transport with a few Marines and various agency task force members to an outpost in Pakistan. It will no doubt be a long and deeply uncomfortable flight. His go bag, packed with desert fatigues and a couple of creature comforts, looks smaller than usual at his feet. 

“How long?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Task force operations are need-to-know.” There’s so much he can’t tell you, and it eats at him. Because it’s you, and he’s been an ass, he concedes a little. “Probably a couple of months.”

“We’ll be okay, Aaron.” 

A little laugh leaves him, and it pulls a smile from you. 

“What?”

“Remember when you chased me down last night to tell me the team couldn’t do this without me?” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s still true, but we’ll manage. We always do.” There’s a moment of silence, and you continue. “And you’re going where you’re needed. That helps.” 

It’s true. Your anger had cooled (just a little) overnight, and you decided you didn’t want to be upset with him when he leaves. 

You already miss him. 

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

He looks out the window, and you can hear the wheels turning in his head. Jack is on his mind, and so are you. There’s nothing more nauseating than the thought of leaving you while you’re still hurting from Emily’s loss. “I know.” 

Why are you going through with this, Hotchner?

Oh, right. You’re a coward. 

“I just don’t want our last conversation before you leave to be a fight.” You sniff, but don’t look at him as you continue driving down the highway. 

I am perhaps the most undeserving man on the planet. 

He says, “Thank you. I don’t want that either,” but he hopes you can hear what else he can’t say. 

I love you. I’m sorry. 

+++

“Alright, you’ve got everything you need?” You stand next to him on the tarmac, shading your eyes from the sun. 

Aaron hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “Think so. You gonna be alright?”

You nod and reach for him. He embraces you, tucking his head into your shoulder. “You be safe, Aaron Hotchner. If you die out there I’ll kill you myself.” 

He chuckles, and you hope the sound is enough to keep your heart from breaking too much over the next couple of months. Your eyes close as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll check in when I can.”

Shoving against his chest, you turn him around and push him toward the plane. “Get outta here.” 

He takes one last look over his shoulder when he reaches the loading ramp and offers you a wave. You return it. 

+++

You manage to get to the highway before the tears start. The only person you want to talk to is Emily. She’d know exactly what to say, and she’d make sure your days off were full of fun and good company. You pull off on the side of the road, your head falling into your hands, sobs wracking through you.

When you’re able to keep driving, your chest hurts beyond belief. 

Without her, these months seem to stretch before you forever. 

+++ april 2011 +++

It’s not the first time you’ve ended up in his office alone, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed the evidence of his absence. 

The picture frames on his desk started gathering dust, so you brought a little duster to the office. His desktop computer has stopped making noise, so you turned it on and off once out of pity. His phone hardly rings, unless it's the NSA trying to get a hold of one of you for a sat phone call, so you and Morgan take turns taking forwarded calls. 

The silence is overwhelming and seems to pull something intangible from you. It’s exhausting. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” 

You turn, finding Penelope in the doorway. You’re not sure how long she’s been there, watching your acquiescence to the bees that seem to have invaded your brain in the last couple of weeks. 

“I slept last night,” you tell her. It’s not technically a lie. 

She doesn’t look impressed. “Did you sleep through the night, or are you just trying to play one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?” 

With a sigh, you cop to it. “No, I didn’t sleep through the night.” You look out the window to the bullpen, and you know she sees something on your face. 

“I don’t like it either.” She looks over her shoulder, finding Spencer and Ashley playing a game of Go on the desk. Unsurprisingly, Spencer’s winning. Rossi and Derek speak quietly by the little kitchen, looking just about as tired as you feel. 

The short-handedness is getting to you. “There’s just…” You search for something to say. “There’s just so much to do.” 

Penelope looks back. Her mouth twists. “And we’re down a couple’a hands.” 

That’s an understatement. 

+++

“I would understand if you needed some time to think about it.” Erin leans forward in her chair, elbows on her desk. “With your team cut in half, even I wouldn’t feel comfortable sending you to another unit without some time to train a replacement or two.” 

“Or three,” you add.

She looks at you and nods. “Exactly.” 

You pick up the letter from the Special Agent in Charge in Los Angeles. You’d be his right hand - essentially the liaison between operational support divisions and units operating in the field. It’s a hell of an opportunity, a huge promotion, and a significant bump in pay. 

“Can I take you up on the offer to think about it?” You slide the letter across the desk again. 

Her eyes are soft, and you almost feel close to her in that moment. “Of course. Take your time. It’s a position created just for you, so there’s nobody else in line for it.” 

“Thanks.” 

+++ may 2011 +++

“Ready or not, here I come!” You call across the apartment, sneaking through the familiar rooms with practiced ease. 

Aaron’s been away for close to a month, and you’ve settled into a routine. Cases, of course, keep you busy. Derek’s rather good at playing unit chief - decisive and collaborative - but you miss Aaron’s steady, even hand. 

Really, you miss everything about him. You try not to think about him too much. 

You fail, often. 

Avoiding thoughts of Aaron gets even harder as you creep into the master bedroom. The smell of him hasn’t left. Past the doorway, the air is spicy, masculine, and warm. You squint at the bed. One of the pillows moves, just a little, and you pounce, pulling the covers back and grabbing the wiggling pillow. 

Jack screeches and throws himself at you. You catch him and fall back on the bed, laughing. “I found you!”

Jess is off running errands for the afternoon, taking some well-earned time off. You’ll more than likely spend the night over here tonight to give her more of her weekend. It’s never any trouble to stay with Jack. You adore each other. 

Usually, Jack leaps right to his feet for another round, but he stays put after his fit of mirth passes, sprawling across your chest. 

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He sighs, and brings his little hands under his chin, propping his head up so he can look at you. He’s six (and then some), now - still very much a boy - but the pensive look on his face starkly reminds you of his father. “When’s Dad going to be home?”

You push some hair off his forehead. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m hoping it’s only a couple more weeks, but it could be a little longer than that.” 

He sighs, and it breaks your heart a little. You turn on your side, and he curls into you, resting his head on your arm and tucking under your chin. “Are you and my dad best friends? I have a best friend named Connor and he says best friends are really important and I was just wondering.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, I think so. Your dad and I have known each other for a long time.” His little hands play with the collar of your shirt. There’s more to his question. Jack’s just like his dad and takes a bit of ferreting out. Luckily, you’ve had plenty of practice. “What are you curious about, little bug?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

A track of Aaron’s laugh, his smile, the way his arms feel around you flies through your head. “Yeah, I miss him a lot.” 

“I’m happy you’re here so we can miss him together.” You can almost hear Aaron’s voice in Jack’s. It sounds just like something he would say, and probably has said, talking to his son about Haley.

“Me too, buddy.” You kiss the top of his head. “Me too.” 

Jess returns about an hour later, groceries in-hand, to find you and Jack curled together in Aaron’s bed, snoozing the afternoon away. She snaps a picture with her phone, saving it in an album she keeps for Aaron. After she puts the groceries away, she escapes, leaving a note. 

You’re on your own tonight and tomorrow. Have a good time with breakfast - he’s been picky lately. 

XO, Jess

+++

“You know,” Jess says, a little out of the blue one afternoon. “Haley told me something once.” 

You snort. “I’d imagine she told you a great number of things.” 

“Well, sure. But I mean about you and Aaron.” 

It’s pretty stupid that your body decides to panic over absolutely nothing. If this was a polygraph, you’d fail outright. And yet, nothing’s happened between you and Aaron. You’re just friends. 

Yeah but you love him. 

And he probably loves you, too. 

But we're all to chickenshit for that.

What a-fucking-bout it?

You take a little breath and a sip of your tea. “Oh?” You hope the query sounds casual enough and doesn’t give away the cool sweat blossoming over your palms. 

Luckily, Jess isn’t a profiler. 

“Haley told me - and this was the summer before she died, so it’s not like she told me under duress or anything - that she thought there may have been something between you and Aaron after the divorce.” 

She says that like it’s the simplest thing. You’re not sure what to say, so you keep your eyes on the grain of the coffee table, tracing the lines with your eyes. Eventually, you decide to answer in the simplest, most honest way possible. 

“There’s never been anything between Aaron and me. He’s one of my best friends and I care about him.” That sounds evasive even to your own ears. “I care about him a lot.” 

Jess hums. “I know, but Haley always had a sense about these things. And she knows Aaron better than anyone.” 

Her slip into the present tense makes your chest pull. 

“I don’t say that to put you on the spot or anything.” She shrugs. “I just think you guys would be good together. You’re good for him and I think he’s good for you, too.” 

She’s more right than she knows, but you can’t think about it for too long. You miss him too much. 

Out of a need to respond, you offer a half-hearted, “Maybe.” 

Jess reaches out. “He’ll be home soon. When he gets back, I think you should at least think about it. Or talk about it.” She shakes her head. “Or something.” 

“I have -” You cut yourself off, not really meaning to share. 

She squeezes your knee. “I know you have. So has he.” 

+++ june 2011 +++

Back to back cases - five of them, to be exact, pull you through the next four weeks by the ear. Formal leadership wears on Derek more and more by the day, and you find yourself making just as many decisions as he does. You’re immensely proud of him, but the whole thing is exhausting. Spencer does his best to slip back into his normal role, but Emily’s loss continues to wear on him. You don’t blame him.

Most days feel held together by duct tape, with you and Rossi acting as the adhesive. All that and the offer in Los Angeles you’ve hardly had time to process. 

Thus, your evening with Jess is both well-earned and much needed. 

“Wanna crash here tonight?” She sets a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of you and sits heavily back on the couch. “It’s pretty late.”

You check your watch and find it is indeed late. Before you can answer, your phone rings, and you answer it with an apologetic glance toward Jess. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“We have sat call notification from Hotch. Can you come in?” He sounds exhausted. 

“Yeah, I can be there in twenty. Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah, looks like a routine check-in.” 

Jess sighs, knowing the drill. She goes to the kitchen and pours your tea into a travel mug. 

“Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Nope. Just you. See you when you get here.” He hangs up. 

You stare at your phone as Jess sits next to you again. “We have a call from Aaron coming in, and I have to head to the office.” She hands you your travel mug, and you take it gratefully. 

“You’re welcome back here - I can set up Aaron’s room for you. We’re a lot closer to the office than your place, and I don’t want you to drive if you’re too tired.” She sets a hand on your knee, and you reach over to embrace her. 

“Thanks, Jess.”

+++

When you arrive, Derek’s already on the phone. “... So, no leads?... Right.” He looks up and catches your eye. “Here, Hotch.”

You take the phone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you doing okay? How’s Jack?”

His questions make you smile. “We’re good. He’s good. I just left the apartment - Jess and I were having some grown-up movie time.”

You’re warmed by his laugh. “Good. Glad to hear it. I was just telling Derek that the leads out here have gone cold, but we’re still working.”

“Ah. Any chance you’ll be home soon?” You avoid Derek’s searching gaze. 

“It doesn’t look that way, no. We’re picking up on some chatter out there, but nothing firm. We’ll have to keep out for a couple more weeks at least.”

Your heart drops, but you hide it as best you can. “Alright. Anything you need from us back here?”

“Just keep doing good work.” You know he can’t say much more than that, with more than a couple of NSA guys in between you on the line, not to mention the archival recording of the call. Even then, you know he means looking for Doyle. “That’s all I need from you.” 

“We can do that.” You give him a quick rundown of some recent cases, all surface-level. You’re mostly stalling, using up incredibly expensive satellite time just to hear his voice. 

You hear him sigh. “Alright, I gotta get back. Tell Jack and Jess I love them.” 

“Of course.” You hand the phone back to Derek and wait while they finish up. Your eyes wander over the volumes of law books in Aaron’s bookshelf, the pictures of Jack and Haley and Jess behind his desk. Wandering over to his chair, you sit down and rest your head on your arms. 

Your eyes wander to a photo taken a year and a half ago at Haley’s service. You’re not sure who took it, but you’re crouched on the ground talking to Jack, while Aaron stands behind him with a hand on his head. Jack's little hands are in yours, and he’s smiling a little. 

Of all the photos to keep on his desk...

Derek hangs up the sat phone and puts it back in the lockbox. He crosses the office and leans against the desk beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

+++

When you get back to the apartment (indeed much closer than your home), Jess is asleep in the guest room, and Jack’s still out like a light. 

You change into your pajamas, stuffed into your go bag, and curl up under the covers on Aaron's side of the bed. His pillow smells faintly like him, and you burrow into it. 

The bed feels far too big and far too cold without him. 

+++

“JJ!” You stand to greet her. “What are you doing here?” 

She holds up her credentials. “I’ve been reinstated as a profiler on temporary assignment, so don’t get too excited. It’s a contingent favor for the FBI and I’m sure the State Department will call to collect sometime soon.” 

You clear your consults and subpoenas off the desk beside you. “Good to have you back.” Looking over at the intimidating stack of files you ask, “Need anything to do?”

+++ july 2011 +++

The next time a sat call comes in, you can’t go into the office. Jack has the flu and is absolutely miserable. You can’t, in good conscience, leave Jess to her own devices. Between the vomit and the sleeplessness and the tears, four hands are absolutely necessary. 

“Derek, I can’t leave. Jack is literally puking his guts out as we speak, and I don’t have any new intel for Hotch.” 

Morgan huffs into the phone. “Come on. You know you’re the only one he actually wants to talk to and the only one who has any actual updates about Jack.” 

“You just have to tell him that I’m up in the middle of the night with his son, who has the flu. Isn’t that enough of an update?” You don’t really mean to snap at him, but the lack of sleep has made you a little punchy. 

“Fine. If he -”

“Yeah, I know. If he gets upset, just blame me. He can deal with me when he’s not in Pakistan. As long as there are five time zones between us, I’ll take my fucking chances.”

“Fair enough.” 

He hangs up, and you return to the hall bathroom, where Jack’s cheek is pressed against the toilet seat, his forehead clammy and face pale. Jess is taking her turn to sleep - you’ll switch off in an hour. 

“Hey, bubba.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “Hi.”

“Can I get you some crackers or maybe some Sprite?” 

Jack shakes his head and lifts himself up, holding his arms out. The risk of illness far from your mind, you gather him up and lean against the cabinets, rubbing his back.

“Can you try to close your eyes for me?”

“I don’t feel good.” There are a few tears in his voice, and it breaks your heart a little. You’ve so been there. 

“I know, baby. I know. Just close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

He does, and his breathing evens out eventually. He’s still feverish, but you’re happy he’s sweating, at least. It could break by morning at this rate. 

The makeshift towel-bed on the bathroom floor looks more than inviting. You gingerly shuffle over and lay down, keeping Jack flat against your chest. 

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

+++

“Strauss offered me that transfer to LA again.” 

Derek looks up at you from his report, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “You gonna take it?” 

You heave a sigh. Before you can say anything -

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He puts his pen down, giving you his full attention. “What’s stopping you?” 

So many things. 

There are only a couple of them you can say aloud. Luckily, they have the benefit of being true, albeit incomplete. “I love this work. I love this team. I don't know if I want to be a lackey for an almost-politician.” 

“And?” 

He’s got you. He knows there’s more because he knows you. Even then, you can’t bring yourself to say exactly what it is that’s holding you back. So, you hedge your answer, knowing he’ll understand. 

“I can’t -” leave Aaron and Jack. You clear your throat. “I can’t leave this team. Maybe that makes me a coward or suggests a lack of adventure or something, but I can’t do it.” 

“It doesn’t,” Derek says. “It makes you human.” 

You smile a little. 

“And for the record, I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t think Jack and Hotch do, either.” 

A little incredulous laugh leaves you. Derek simply smiles, but doesn’t say much else. It makes your point for you. 

Nobody else knows you like this team. 

+++

The hardest days are the ones where you end up by yourself. Derek’s picked up kickboxing with Penelope, Spencer has withdrawn almost entirely, JJ has her family, and Rossi retreats to the cabin by the lake with an alarming degree of regularity. 

Thank God he’s not as cranky as Gideon. 

That would be too spooky. 

Everyone is out of the office, scattered to their respective distractions. You sit on the floor of Aaron’s office, leaning against his desk. Your laptop sits open in front of you, but you’re only half paying attention to the movie playing. 

It was only this afternoon you realized his office smelled more like stale paper, your house, and Tiger Balm than Aaron, and it broke your heart a little. Your only solace was his apartment - the evidence of his existence was inescapable there. With Emily gone for good, you often needed the reminder. 

His office phone rings. You pause the movie, stand, and answer it. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office.” 

NSA is on the other side, dry and professional. “We have an incoming call from Agent Hotchner. Is Agent Morgan available?” 

You tell him he’s not, but that you’re the next in line to receive task force updates. In an equally dry and professional tone, you relay your credentials and your unique intel code. 

“Thank you. Please stand by.” Click. 

You roll your eyes. 

God, they’re boring. 

Sitting down at Aaron’s desk, you wait for the armed guard to arrive with the phone. As per protocol, you’ll sign for the call and remove it from the lockbox yourself. You’ll return it for pickup when the call is completed. 

The guard shows up and you step through the motions, finally getting the phone to your ear. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh, it’s you.” He sounds surprised, but not displeased. 

You laugh a little. “Yeah, it’s me. Morgan’s unavailable at the moment.” 

“I see. Is Jack feeling any better?”

“Yeah. He’s been alright for about a week now. It was a pretty nasty bug, but he’s a trooper. Any new chatter down your way?” You trace the wood grain of his desk with your finger, only a little absent-minded. 

“There’s a little bit of activity on the border. We’re monitoring the situation. Is everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, for the most part. We’ve been feeling the heat a little since Seaver transferred to Andy’s unit, but we’re managing alright. Dave’s called JJ back in to lend a hand, and she’s doing really well.” 

He hums. “That was a smart idea.” 

“I’ll tell him you said so.” 

“Oh, please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head.” 

You smile. “Fair point. Any updates on the timetable?”

When are you coming home? Please make it soon. 

“Not at the moment. I think we’re getting closer. Few more weeks.” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite grasp, but you let it go. 

“Alright. Keep us posted.” 

“Will do. You know the drill.” 

“I sure do. I’ll relay the information to the team, tell your son you love him, and talk to you in a couple of weeks.” 

You can almost hear his smile. “Exactly. Talk soon.”

“Be safe, Aaron.” 

“Hey, before you go,” he says. “Can you, um -” 

You smile, tracing the wood grain on his desk. “I’ll tell Haley you said Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

+++

Jess’s hand only shakes a little as she lights the candle and holds the cupcake between the three of you. While she takes care of the cake and begins to sing with Jack, you hold the camera, filming the impromptu party so Aaron can see it when he comes home.

“Okay, Jack you have to help Mom blow out the candle,” Jess says, holding the cupcake in front of him. With a great amount of glee, Jack extinguishes the candle with a big breath and a laugh. 

You turn the camera on Jess, who says, “We couldn't let Haley’s forty-first go unrecognized - she’s officially old and we had to let her know.” 

With a laugh of your own, you turn the camera around and wave before turning it off. 

“Can I eat the cake now?” Jack asks. 

Jess nods, pulling the candle and setting it aside on your picnic blanket. “Of course, but after we eat some fruit, okay? I don’t want the ants to get to the basket before you do.” 

The July sunshine beats down on the three of you, picnicking beside Haley’s resting place. It is, in fact, her forty-first birthday. You can only imagine the look on her face she would have adopt when you reminded her of her age. 

“Oh please,” she’d say. “When you get to be as old as me, you’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Jack sits in the sun, munching on a little apple slice. You reach over, rubbing a little splotch of sunscreen into his skin. He already has a little sunburn from your adventure to the District earlier in the week and you’re not about to make your life even harder. 

Aaron’s absence, even in its fourth month, is glaring. Jack has mostly stopped waking in the middle of the night looking for him and having regular meltdowns, but he always looks up when the front door opens with an expectant look that breaks your heart. He’s an adaptable kid, but months without contact from his father have taken their toll. If you’re honest, it surprised you a little bit. 

With a little bit of perspective, months are different than days, or even a week or two. Jack relies on Aaron more than you realized and the difficulty of helping Jess where you can has only further illuminated your ignorance.

“Will Mom always have a birthday?” Jack asks. 

Jess looks over at him. “What do you mean?”

He thinks for a moment, a little pensive. “I mean, because she’s not here. Do people who aren’t here still have birthdays?” 

“They do,” she replies. “That’s why we have to celebrate for them. They aren’t here, but it’s still special.” 

He nods, a kind of understanding look on his face that makes you think he knows exactly what that means. 

+++

“Yeah?”

You smile. It’s been a minute since you heard his voice, over the phone or otherwise. “Hey, Dr. Reid. How’s Vegas?”

“Hot. But it’s nice to be home.”

“How’s your mom?” You trace aimless patterns over the mat on Aaron’s desk, watching the suede imprint and erase as you go.

He sighs. “She’s alright. I think she’s about ready to kick me out, though.”

“It’s only been three weeks,” you laugh. “Surely you can make yourself useful?”

“I sent in her most recent publication to the journal, so I’ve outgrown my use until I find her a new thesis.”

You can almost see it - the two geniuses, mother and son, bickering over a game of chess or fourteenth-century novel. “Better find her a new thesis, then.”

Spencer’s thin smile is audible through the phone. “Guess so. How are things over there?”

“It’s a little hectic. It’s just me, JJ, Morgan, and Rossi now. Penelope’s still working with us regularly, but counter-terrorism keeps pulling her for ‘special projects,’ whatever that means.”

You don’t mean to guilt him into coming back or anything - you know he needs the time to recharge. He’ll come back when he wants to or feels he needs to but at this point, there’s hardly a difference between four and five agents on the team. You need Aaron. And Emily.

“With the amount of summer task forces coalescing, that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses. “I’ll probably spend a few more weeks here unless there are any developments between now and then.”

By developments, you know it means any confirmed sighting of your target. “That sounds like a plan. We’ll be glad to have you back but take your time. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Thanks.”

+++ august 2011 +++

“How’s Jack?” 

“He’s doing alright,” you tell him. “He misses you.” 

I miss you.

Aaron sighs. There isn’t time for everything he wants to say, even less for the things he could. “I’m probably going to miss his first day.” 

“That’s what I figured.” It's hard to think about and probably going to be harder than you can imagine, especially if there’s a case that takes you away from home. “Jess will take lots of pictures and I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it when you get home.” 

It’s hard to keep the bitterness from your voice, but neither one of you could have anticipated this would go on for this long. ‘Over the summer’ seems a little abstract until the end of the summer arrives. 

This isn’t his fault. It isn’t. You know that. 

But it’s his fault for going in the first place. 

Conceptual anger isn’t useful. That’s another thing of which you’re keenly aware. 

And yet…

“Thank you for being there for them,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind. “I know this isn’t easy.” 

There’s nothing you can really say, but you hum anyway. 

The pair of you are just eating satellite time now, so you say goodbye and good luck before tipping your head back against his office chair. 

When the tears slip down your cheeks, you’re not sure if you miss him more than you’re mad at him or the other way around. 

+++

“Chief Strauss?” You knock lightly on her door and she beckons you in, just finishing up a phone call. She gestures to the little sitting area in the corner of her office, and you make yourself comfortable on one of the couches.

She hangs up and joins you. “Have you thought more about the offer?”

“I have. Thank you for your patience. I know it’s been a little while since we first spoke about it.”

Erin waves her hands, brushing off the implied apology. “The BAU’s work in the last few weeks has been exemplary. I’m impressed, especially considering the significant funding and personnel obstacles you’re facing at the moment.”

You laugh a little.  “I hope that doesn’t make anyone think working with this many people is acceptable, ma’am.”

“No,” she assures you. “I’ve made that very clear.”

There’s a small moment of silence before you speak again.

“I won’t be accepting the position in Los Angeles.”

Strauss sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “That’s as I expected. I will, however, add something that I did not share with you before to further inform your choice.”

You sit up a little straighter, a little more attentive.

“The push for a transfer is also in an effort to protect your reputation. I know the BAU has continued investigating Ian Doyle and while that is noble, it could go very wrong. And that much is above my head. DHS, ATF, NSA - they could all be upset by your unofficial involvement. This could go as high as Congress and could result in your permanent termination from the bureau, making you ineligible for work in federal law enforcement.”

“Yes, ma’am. High risk, high reward.” You shrug. “Or at least, that’s what Dr. Reid tells me.”

A wan smile pulls at her mouth. “Yes. As long as you’re comfortable with the consequences.”

“I am, ma’am.”

“Good.”

+++ september 2011 +++

“Alright, buddy! You ready to go?” 

Jack adjusts the straps on his little backpack while Jess finishes putting his lunch together. “I’m ready. Just need lunch.” 

“It’s right here!” Jess says, bringing his Captain America lunchbox to him and strapping it to the outside of his backpack. “You’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich, a juice box, some carrots, and a brownie. Does that sound okay?” 

He nods. 

“And if it’s not enough, we can always get some more food after school okay? It can be a special treat.” 

Jack grins and you all head off to the car together. 

+++

The little meltdown arrives when you and Jess move to leave him at the door of his classroom. Jack’s brown eyes get wide and rapidly fill with tears as soon as you take a step away from him. 

“Jack, baby, c’mere.” You drop to your knee and open your arms. He steps into them and you can feel his shaky, hiccuping breaths against your shoulder. 

While you hold him, you hear Jess debriefing his new teacher about their current situation, and the way things are in general. Dad in Pakistan, dead mom, goes by Jack rather than Jonathan, the whole nine. 

“You are so brave,” you whisper into his hair. “You are so smart. You are a good friend and you are safe.” 

He nods. 

“I’m so sorry your dad can’t be here, honey, but he’s going to be so excited to hear all about it as soon as he gets home. And I'll tell him how brave you are on our next secret superhero phone call.” 

‘Secret superhero phone call’ was the best way you could describe using the sat phone (and why Jack couldn't talk to Aaron himself) so you just went with it. 

Jack nods again, sniffling a little and pulling back. You reach for him, wiping his tears with your thumbs. 

“I love you so much, bud.” 

“I love you, too.” 

You kiss his forehead, reminding him, “I might have to get on a plane for work, but otherwise I’ll see you after you’re done with your first-ever day of school, okay? This is so exciting!”

He finally smiles, and your work is done. When he steps into the classroom, he doesn’t look back.

+++

Thankfully, you’re not pulled for another case until the end of the week, so you’re able to see Jack through his first-ever week of school. 

It hits you more than once that you’re the person next to Jess right now while he hits these milestones. Long gone is that toddler that would giggle in his mother’s arms as she danced around the living room to Hall and Oates. In his place is an insightful little boy with a rapidly burgeoning sense of humor and a wickedly kind smile. 

You love him.

+++ 

The entire team got an emergency call, so you're all gathered in the roundtable room when Aaron walks in, looking all the worse for wear and -

Is that a beard?

Wait. He’s back. 

You just spoke to him on Monday, with news of a “few more weeks,” even in the face of developments on the Doyle case.

Fucking bastard knew he was coming home, didn’t he?

All of your joy in seeing him evaporates, and you narrow your eyes at him. Just like the last time you were in this room together, there’s an apology in his gaze. 

“Welcome back.” Derek doesn’t sound surprised, and your head whips toward him. He doesn’t look at you. 

Unbelievable. 

“Thanks. Everyone, have a seat.” You follow Aaron’s instructions, and sit, crossing your arms. It’s childish, sure, but the balance of personal and professional life has flown out the window. 

This feels like a personal slight, rather than a professional one. You try to push it away, but it lingers in your sternum like a lit flare. It’s uncomfortable, and you hate it. 

“Why?” Derek sounds a little concerned. Your anger cools a little bit. Derek doesn't actually know anything. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team.” You notice, brow furrowed, that JJ stands beside Hotch like an ally. They both have odd looks on their faces. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.”

No. 

“The doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.” 

No. 

“Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.” 

No. 

There’s silence, and you can’t tear your eyes from Aaron.  

“She’s alive?”

“We buried her...” 

Penelope and Spencer’s comments rush past you and you feel much like you did in the waiting room on that horrible, horrible night seven months ago. 

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.” 

His eyes finally meet yours, and you find your vision blurred. You blink away your tears. 

It was a necessary lie. 

You go into this business expecting to be lied to. 

Not by Aaron. 

That’s not the issue and you know it. He left. 

He missed Jack’s first day of school. He was gone for five months. 

He left us. 

“Any issues?” Derek’s disbelief is marred by hurt, but you can’t reassure him through your own shock. “Yeah, I got issues.”

He’s cut off by Penelope’s glance toward the doorway. 

The team, save for JJ and Hotch, rushes toward her. You’re stuck to your seat until she approaches you. At her touch, you come back to life, throwing yourself into her arms. Her name sounds strangled leaving your mouth. “Emily.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her grip on you is tight, but your arms, looped around her shoulders, don’t feel like they’re attached to your body. 

She lets you go and continues to speak. Derek’s frozen, and you can’t imagine for a minute what’s going on in his head. Emily wraps around him. He’s stock still, his eyes misty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he brings his hand to her shoulder, his cheek falling onto the side of her head. 

It’s back to business faster than you can blink, and now you’re sure you’re not the only one ready to kill Aaron where he stands. Derek is livid. 

They stare at each other while Spencer starts asking questions. Eventually, they focus back. Aaron crosses to you, contributing where necessary. 

You don’t acknowledge him. It’s horrible. You hate being so angry with him, but there’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t be upset at him about Emily. There’s too much to understand, and yet the initial shock of it is like a never-ending bucket of cold water poured over your body. 

Selfishly, you realize you’re upset with him because he didn’t tell you he was coming home. It’s so small when there are other, much bigger, issues to address. 

Emily’s lie is professional. Just part of the job. This one feels personal.

You’re a child. Let it go. 

He knew and he left. 

He missed Haley's birthday.

He knew and he left. 

He shouldn't have gone. 

He didn’t tell you he was coming home.

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

[kadavernagh]

That’s MY Vampire! || Regan & Emilio

TIMING: Current  LOCATION: A cemetery, of course PARTIES: @monstersfear and @kadavernagh SUMMARY: Emilio's desire for revenge and eliminating a vampire who wronged him conflicts with Regan's desire to have the body, in a game of vampire tug of war.

What better place to find remains than cemeteries? The coyote drew enough from Regan’s wisdom to understand that graverobbing was a crime that came with too great a risk of being caught, but that didn’t mean the options here were limited. Regan had felt it – that itching, crawling swarm of bugs across her skin. There were more than buried decedents here. Not all of them were in coffins underground. Animal, human, she was not sure, but both would serve their purpose. She wandered between rows of headstones, following the same invisible strings she always had. It was dark, too dark for her to see clearly, and the coyote could offer no help, for its eye orbitals now held nothing but empty beauty. She didn’t need it, though. Deirdre saw to that. How many times had she groped around the woods, blindfolded, chasing death? It was the one part of training she had excelled at, always returning with her hands full, squirrels by the tail and rabbits by the foot. Maybe Deirdre knew she was destined for this. Knew–

There it was, ahead. It washed over her, more like the water swelling gently onto the sand than a wave, and she heard something. A voice, perhaps two. Regan peered from behind one of the taller graves. There was someone there. Someone, and… a body. Yes, dead. She felt it. Of course. It was a body, and it was her body. Didn’t he understand? A growl vibrated in her lungs as she breathed in, ready to expel a scream in the interloper’s direction if the situation called for it. No, we can –  But maybe they could work this out. If he listened. If he backed away. “That’s mine,” Regan stated, approaching the man without hesitation. She pointed toward the death. “It belongs to me. Just as your…” She looked, actually looked. Was that even a body? No, it looked more like a living – no, you’re right, it’s dead, I feel it – “small wooden fence post belongs to you. I don’t intend to touch that. It would be rude of me. So why do you think it’s acceptable to touch something of mine?”

Emilio was hard pressed, these days, finding vampires who had anything to do with the massacre of his hometown. Between his systematic slaying of them throughout his travels and Metzli sending them scrambling with Eloy’s death, it was becoming more and more difficult to track any of them down. It should have made him feel better, he thought, because it meant that there were few left, meant that the ones remaining were living in fear. He should have taken some solace in that. He didn’t. Instead, he was angry. He was empty. And he was damn pleased when he found one.

This one had been in White Crest a while. Longer than Emilio had, it seemed, though it took him a while to track it down. He found it in the cemetery, hanging around a crypt. There was a time where he might have spent a few nights trailing the vampire, might have kept track of its habits, been organized. There was no such organization tonight. Instead, he marched up to the vampire and shoved it against the side of the crypt, stake resting against its chest in a clear threat.

“I wanna talk about Mexico,” he said lowly.

“What about Mexico?” The vampire asked in return. Emilio snorted, familiar rage burning in his chest. Good, he thought, letting the anger warm him as he pressed the stake in harder, breaking skin. It was better. The anger was better.

“I think you know,” he said. “I think —”

A growl. Then, a voice. Emilio’s grip tightened on the vampire as he turned towards the newcomer, not giving the undead asshole any wiggle room to escape. The approaching person was… a person. Not undead, not setting off any of his senses. He furrowed his brow, eyes flickering across her form as she spoke. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but you’re better off turning around. This one’s mine. Go find your own.”

The man was being possessive, unreasonable, and Regan was not having it. How dare he? What right did he have to that body? He had no claim. None that she could detect. No insects swarming from him to her. Certainly no banshee. Her lungs tightened again, and she marched forward, closing in on him – and her cadaver. She would insert herself between the two of them by force if she needed to. The coyote would help, too. She knew of the power it possessed. Had seen it in use. She could feel it from inside of her bag, a reminder that it was there, and it was ready. 

The man was exerting his control, attempting to. Getting his grubby hands all over the remains. Something inside of her flared. “Get your hands away from that! This is a – the body – it could be a homicide. And regardless, you need to stay away from the body. I’m with the Office of –” But that body seemed to be moving. Talking? How could – No. There was no room for doubt, and soon the quiet pulsing of death was once again far easier to detect than any movement or voice. “You’re not capable of understanding, but I need that. No. I don’t need it. Rather, it is mine. You can’t understand. You won’t. It’s important. You want to talk about Mexico? We can talk about Mexico. But I require that decedent.” Another step closer. He seemed on edge – if perhaps that edge was violence. He did not seem to be listening. That, the coyote warned her, was a problem. “Stop,” Regan screeched, a pointed dagger of a sound in the man’s direction, though a blunted one. “Don’t you dare try to stab my decedent with that piece of wood.”

She got close, and Emilio tensed. She wasn’t setting off any of his senses, but neither had Levi. A thing didn’t need to be undead to be dangerous. No one knew that better than he did. Still holding the vampire against the crypt, he tried to make sense of what she was saying. The body? A homicide? “It’s not a homicide yet,” he said dryly, “but if you give me about thirty seconds…” The vampire attempted to shove forward, and Emilio slammed it back against the crypt hard enough to crack the stone. “Wait your turn,” he hissed at it, twisting the stake just enough to make it wince. 

He turned back to the woman, nostrils flaring briefly when she mentioned Mexico. “You don’t know shit about Mexico,” he said. “You can’t tell me anything.” She was unhinged. Unhinged like the man in the cabin, with his plants and his confusing apologies. Unhinged was unpredictable, and Emilio was tired of things he couldn’t predict. He was tired of everything in this goddamn town trying to kill him. He opened his mouth to tell the woman to leave him the hell alone when she screeched at him. The sound was a tangible thing, a painful thing, and Emilio winced. Christ. He might not be a warden, but he knew what did that. Goddamn it. “Look,” he said lowly, “you want bodies, I can get you bodies. But this one? This one’s mine. It’s gonna tell me what I want to know, and I’m gonna stab it with my ‘piece of wood.’ You can have it after. If you want.” 

He stiffened, and Regan could feel the grin on the skull. Even despite its lack of mandible. Part of him had to know what he was dealing with, that he was speaking to death itself. That he was being disrespectful and would suffer the consequences of that. The coyotes almost came, she could feel them rumbling in the air around her, but just as surely as she sensed death here, she also sensed an opportunity in his anger. “You’re right. I don’t know very much about Mexico. What about it? For someone seemingly so intent on destroying evid– my cadaver, you seem to be in the mood for conversation.” And yet, there was something strange, almost as though he wasn’t always addressing her. But they were the only two present. “Do not tell me to wait my turn. There is no one else here.” Yes, this man was surely unhinged. 

The near-promise of bodies made her freeze. Near-promise. Not good enough. She turned to him. Looked at him, instead of the unusually mobile decedent. She could not tell if he was being honest. There was no way to know for sure, outside of binding him to his words. She would have to do that, or at least attempt to. Regan frowned; she didn’t want to do it. She hated doing it. The Hanging Rock burned in her memory. Lydia, out in her garden. The realization socketing itself into place. Their words were deadly. A promise killed her father and did this to her, she wouldn’t – Regan bit down on her tongue, drawing blood, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “I don’t want–” she started, straining, but her resolve suddenly crystalized, duty remembered. “You will get me bodies? I will allow you to put your sharp piece of wood into this cadaver, and I’m then allowed to have it after, and you will get me bodies. Is this our arrangement?” This decedent still belonged to her, they all did, but the simple calculus of one versus many was too obvious to pass up. And what was a little wear on one of them? 

It was strange, the way she was speaking. One moment, the vampire was all she was focusing on. The next, it was like she didn’t realize it was there at all. She kept talking to Emilio like it was just the two of them, like he wasn’t holding another figure by the throat and trying to force answers from it with a stake and a glare. “I’m not trying to have a conversation with you,” he replied, snappish but confused, too. “I’m talking to him.” He shook the vampire slightly, the crypt behind it groaning in protest. “I’m asking what he did in Mexico.” And then she spoke again, made the outrageous claim that it was only the two of them there. Emilio’s brow furrowed, and the vampire shifted in his grip.

“Lady,” the vampire said, clearly trying to sound afraid, trying to sound human. “Lady, you gotta help me. He’s gonna—”

“I told you to shut up,” Emilio growled, tightening his grip and twisting the stake again. The vampire fell silent.

She was considering his offer. He could see it written all over her face, see her contemplating it. And he knew what was coming. He knew what she was going to ask. Fae were tricky things, and not many of them did things on trust alone. You made a deal with a fae, you kept it. He knew that. But… he’d seen this vampire before. He’d seen it in Mexico, when the streets were red and his mother was screaming and everything he’d ever known disappeared all at once. It was stupid, making a deal with a fae. It was more stupid when the fae in question was as unhinged as this one was. Emilio knew that. He did. But he also knew he couldn’t let this asshole get away, and if he had to let go of it for a second to get this banshee off his back, he’d never find it again. “I need my answers first,” he replied. “I need to know what it knows. And I can make it tell me. Once I’ve done that, and once I’ve put this stake through its heart, then yeah. It’s yours.” What would be left of it, in any case. “And I’ll get you more bodies, too.”

“Well, you ought to be trying to talk to me, because I don’t know what else you think you’re doing out here. Graverobbing? Just going around defacing headstones and mutilating cadavers? I should call the police. I should – no.” The bones were right. They howled into Regan’s lungs. “I’ll handle it myself. You’re right. It is my duty. I’ll handle it. I will.” But again, something was… not right. He did seem to think he was addressing someone else. A him. Regan looked around, squinting into the darkness for any other sign of movement or life. She could feel the death, of course. It was everywhere, cloaking the cemetery, almost overwhelming in a way she’d never experienced, shadows crowding out the light of life. Even the man was better identified as alive by his lack of death than the presence of a heartbeat she could not feel. Regardless, this was some strange distraction technique, surely. 

“Get your answers,” Regan said motioning toward the cadaver. “I don’t see what driving a stake through the body’s heart will accomplish, though.” This was something that… it was illegal. And immoral. And as a forensic pathologist, she should be doing everything she possibly could to prevent it. She saw the man, the body in a vice grip, the stake, the threat. The bones said it must be done. They said the payoff would be worth it. They said they would have the body, their cadaver, as well as others that were promised. She did not have to harm the man if this deal was struck. They said this was something only she could facilitate. They were counting on her, trusting her to protect them and be of service. She would not fail them. 

But when she saw the stake, studied the sharp point of it that was going to meet flesh, something in her stomach squirmed with obstinance and she reached out for the man’s arm, trying to stop him. “Wait. You can’t – that’s – if anything, you’re just going to destroy answers. Don’t you have any interest in knowing if they died of a cardiac condition? What of their next of kin?” Destroying – how was this acceptable? There was a body. A dead body. Either pulled from a grave or a life ended more recently. It needed to go to the morgue, it needed – the first stirrings of a scream whipped up inside her lungs, but it was quickly snuffed out by a complacent stillness. She stepped aside. “We have a deal. I will show you where to put these remains when you’re done settling this business. And all of the others.” 

The mention of the police had Emilio tensing. She seemed to write off the idea fairly quickly, but if she went back to it? Things could get messy fast. It was always difficult to explain a thing like this to the cops, and unless he got lucky enough to have an officer like Marley who understood the necessity of what he did dispatched to the scene, this could very well end with him spending the night in a jail cell even if he dusted the vampire and eliminated any evidence before the authorities arrived. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her ‘handling it herself,’ either, not when she was suddenly the one talking to something that wasn’t there. Emilio eyed her warily, grip still tight on the vampire’s throat. If it were an inconsequential vampire, he would have staked it and ran by now, but the anger burning in his chest and the need for vengeance that drove him wouldn’t let him walk away from this without getting something. He couldn’t leave knowing less than he had when he’d arrived. He wouldn’t. 

Luckily, the banshee seemed to settle on the decision that he could do what he needed to do so long as she walked away with ‘the body’ when all was said and done. And that was another bridge he’d need to cross when he came to it, of course. He doubted she’d be happy when the end result saw the vampire exploding into dust the moment his stake found its heart, but… Technically speaking, it would be easy enough to gather that dust up into a pouch and hand it to her. She’d still have ‘the body.’ He’d still be holding up his end of the bargain. There was always a little wiggle room, with things like these, even if it wouldn’t do much to keep her from being pissed off.

He turned back to the vampire with a scowl, ready to dive into some of his more unsavory line of questioning when a hand on his arm stopped him. She was talking nonsense again. Emilio didn’t have the patience for it. “I don’t care how it died,” he said, yanking his arm away from her. “I care what happened after.” He was worried, for a moment, that she’d try to stop him again, but she stepped to the side. She accepted the deal. Emilio breathed a sigh that was half relief, half dread. 

Looking to the vampire again, he clenched his jaw. “I can do this fast,” he said, “or I can do it slow. It’s up to you.” He knew his reputation went a long way here, knew he’d been carving a bloody path through this particular clan of vampires since the day he’d left Etla. The promise was good; the vampire knew it, too. Its already deathly pallor paled under the promise, eyes darting over to the woman it now realized had no intention of helping it. He knew it’d tell him what he wanted to know. If there was one thing he’d learned over the last two years, it was that cowards had massacred his people. Any one of them would turn on the next with only the slightest amount of pressure. This one was no different. The only variable he couldn’t account for here was the banshee and, in this moment, he almost didn’t care. Nothing had ever been more important to him than this. Nothing had ever come close.

Was the man talking to the cadaver, or to her? Regan was unclear. Either way, she just wanted it over with. “Fast would be my preference,” she said, pacing behind him. Why was this taking so long? Even without the practiced hand of a doctor, she couldn’t imagine that piercing the heart with a stake could be that difficult. Sure, there was some thick muscle to push through, and ribs offered a possible obstruction, but this was getting boring. More than that, the skull was liberal in its reminders – she needed the remains. The remains were hers. She would have them. It was a stirring presence behind her, but it also seemed to know there was nothing to be done at this very moment. 

Regan paced some more. Just as she did in her apartment, at times. The worn wooden planks gave her away. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, and her mouth opened. “I talk to mine sometimes, too, you know. It’s illogical. They can’t hear us. They can’t hear anything. But sometimes you need to hear your own voice in the autopsy suite. Sometimes you–” The autopsy suite. The thought alone brought warmth, something concrete, and as she looked at the cadaver, she could see plainly now how very wrong this was. It was moving. He was moving. He was alive. And while that fact was utterly contradictory with the death teeming around him, she knew what she was seeing. 

And the man was about to commit a homicide.

“Wait!” Regan screeched at him, rushing forward as quickly as the wail left her throat. It was a short concussive blast that she hoped would separate the two of them. “He’s alive! Don’t you see? He’s not dead, he’s – I can see –” But her eyes. They played tricks on her, didn’t they? Her ears, too. Yes. They were right, of course; the bones whispered their truths. And how dare she question them? They were right about that, too. Slowly, death trickled back over the cemetery, the thick and dizzying kind, and all Regan could see was a man with someone who was already dead, and the error of her own ways. Once more, she stepped back. “Sorry. That was bad form. I should never scream from emotion. I should never have– apologies.” She frowned at the cadaver. Decay ebbed around it. It was dead as ever. “I was wrong about that, too.” 

Again, the woman answered a question not directed at her, and Emilio wondered what was going on in her mind. What was she seeing here, when she looked at him holding the vampire by the throat? Why was she seeing it? The analytical corner of his brain longed to know more, but this was a rare occasion where it was easily pushed aside. The only thing that stood any real chance at beating out his desire to solve a mystery was his endless thirst for vengeance. 

That didn’t mean the curiosity wasn’t there. She spoke again, mentioned talking to ‘hers’ sometimes, too. There was something about an autopsy suite, and Emilio shifted. Medical examiner’s office, then. Or something similar. It meant at least a passing acquaintanceship with the police, which was something he’d probably need to be careful of. Of course, as long as she was in this state, fully convinced that the thing hanging from his grasp was a corpse and not a sentient, undead being, he’d probably be okay. 

But luck rarely held out for Emilio.

She screeched again, the sound like a goddamn dagger. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding, and this time, the vampire seemed affected by the noise as well. It hadn’t been aimed exclusively at him, then. That didn’t make it any less of a fucking headache. “Christ,” he hissed, shaking his head as if attempting to dislodge the feeling her wail had left him with. “He’s not alive.” And that was the truth. Not even the vampire could argue it. 

“Please,” the vampire tried again, “he’s gonna kill me, please, I just need—”

But whatever clarity she’d experienced seemed to wash away just as quickly. Emilio could see it on her face. The vampire could, too. Emilio watched the hope leave its expression, smiled at the sight. “You’re right,” he told it. He was going to kill it. And it knew, too. It had known since the beginning. 

Eyes flickering to meet Emilio’s, the vampire shuddered. “There — There’s this guy, Elijah,” it said lowly. “He’s the one who was in contact with Lucio in Etla. He made it out. Left before Eloy died.” The vampire’s eyes turned hard for a moment, some final defiance sparking its gaze. “He’s coming for you, Cortez. He’s gonna kill you.”

Emilio pursed his lips, considering the information. “Yeah,” he allowed, “he’s gonna try.” And then, he drove the stake home and let the vampire explode into dust at his feet. 

Turning to the banshee, he raised a brow. “You got a bag? I can help you sweep up your body.”

Regan stood back as the man seemed to be arguing with the body. That, at least, was something she didn’t do in all of her conversations with the dead. So who was the real crazy one here? But something had her worked up enough to scream only moments ago, some hallucination that the cadaver was still alive, and now it all felt absurd. She once again wanted this to be over and done w– 

The body, her body, exploded into dust beneath the man’s hands. Dust. It was gone. How – Regan’s eyes peeled from where the body was only moments ago, to the man, who seemed all too pleased with himself in a way only anger could fuel. Had he burned it? There was no fire. She would have seen the flame. No, and she saw the stake, the point, it went into the cadaver. Now it was gone. The coyote cared far less about the logistics than she did, and it reminded her of what was really important here. They were just denied something of theirs. She was a banshee, death itself, and he thought he was more important, that his need and ownership of the decedent outweighed hers. 

Regan’s lips flared into a snarl, eyes filling with darkness, and she bounded forward, screech shooting from her lungs. Coyotes flickered into being, saliva dripping from their chops as they circled him. Regan kept her distance, letting them close in as she wailed at him. “How dare you! Do you know what you’ve done? That belonged to me. That was my body! You took it from me. You promised that I would have the remains, and you stole them. That was rightfully mine, is rightfully mine. How dare you insult us?” There were many bodies in this town, many others that belonged to her and that could go on the mound in its place, but what truly grinded her glabella was the insult of it all. The coyotes hungered to make things right, to take their pound of flesh. “You. You. Owe. Me. You’re mine. And not in the way that body was. You may have taken that from me, but you will not take this.”

There was a moment where the world seemed to hang in suspension. The dust — both literal and figurative — took a heartbeat to settle, and it took another for understanding to dawn across the banshee’s face. Emilio had known she’d likely be angry with the results of his interrogation, but the rage that settled over her features was so poignant that he could almost taste it in the air, almost feel it like a tangible thing against his skin. He shifted, taking a step back but not turning away, not running. It might have been smarter to do so, he knew, but he’d made a deal. A promise, even if the word itself hadn’t been spoken. He knew better than to try to get out of that now.

But damn, if running wasn’t getting more and more tempting. 

The wailing was a problem, each screech making the ringing in his ears worsen, making his heart pound a little harder. And then — And then there were coyotes. They appeared out of nowhere, biting and howling and foaming at the mouth. Emilio took another step back, pressing his back against the crypt, his feet firm next to the pile of dust that had been a vampire just a few moments before. He grit his teeth, trying to kick the animals away as they snapped at him. One of them tore into his leg, and it felt like it was ripping the damn thing off. Another leaped forward to snap at his midsection. There was no blood, but fuck, it hurt. 

“I told you,” he ground out, each word punctuated by a kick in the coyotes’ direction. His foot made contact with one hard enough to send it flying across the graveyard with a yelp, but another took its place just as quickly. “I told you that you could have the body when I was finished with it. I didn’t say what state it’d be in. The body’s right there. It’s yours. I’ll even help you gather it up.” She seemed to be growing more and more unhinged, and he wondered if, by us, she meant herself and the damn coyotes gnawing at his legs. He threw an arm out just in time to stop one from grabbing him by the throat, feeling its jaws wrap around his lower arm instead. “You’re right, I do owe you. We made a deal. But I can’t hold up my end of the bargain if you let these things rip me to shreds, can I?” He tossed another one, fumbling in his jacket pocket to retrieve a knife. It would do him little good, he knew, but it would be a step above the wooden stake that would only give him an advantage against the already-dead vampire dusted at his feet. “Call them off before they kill me. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get you shit, will I?”

As the coyotes backed him against the crypt, Regan tailed them, her dark eyes boring into the man; she needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to flee her and the deal they had struck. It wouldn’t work, but she knew human minds did not always operate in rational ways when stress was applied. And she was going to apply more stress. The animals did their carnivorous dance, taking turns among themselves to lunge and sink their teeth in. It’s not real. You are not causing harm. You are not – She shook away the thought, the oath from another life, and spat another scream in his direction. “We should do worse for what you’ve done. You’re lucky. They can be merciful, they know they can use you.” But it was the coyotes he seemed to be afraid of, the flickering creatures his eye kept being drawn to as they frothed at the fangs. He’d thinned the pack, but there could always be more. 

“Call them off?” Regan squinted, assessing. They won’t kill you. They can’t. Just as the skull in her bag wasn’t capable of doing what it needed to without her. She was a tool, a weapon, just as Deirdre had told her she would be. The coyotes were the same, ironically with less teeth. Her scream could kill, but the animals would all fade away. His fear was misplaced. “You should be more afraid of me, not them.” Please don’t be. I’m not – Regan’s eyes ticked down to the dust, which had started scattering to the winds. It was no body at all. But he never specified body, had he? “Gather it,” she ordered, voice now low and quiet. The coyotes winked away, one by one, also to the winds. “You’re disgraceful. But your assistance is wanted.” 

The bones were always so certain, so confident in their purpose and thus hers, but now, they hesitated. How much would they have her impart to him? They needed to use the man, but they also wanted their intentions obfuscated so as not to draw attention. Everyone was a threat. As they seemed to consider, Regan’s mind was able to drift, clawing into the reality of what was happening here. She gave him a dazed but increasingly focused look, seeing a dirt-covered, stressed, and hurt man rather than the interloper her mind had initially labeled him as. What had she done? She’d screamed at him. Stood by as coyotes tore into his flesh, real or not. Bile rose in her throat, and she thought she might vomit instead of scream if she tried. “What are you doing?” She asked him, brows bunched together, “The body, the dust, the deal – I know, but – I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. This is my duty. Not yours. You shouldn’t have –” Right. Tell him. That was settled, then. Her thoughts turned sharply to the task ahead. “You are not to touch any of the decedents at rest here. Leave them. They are not the bodies we need. Find those that have never been mourned or buried. Animal, human, it does not matter. Bring them there.” Regan pointed to the woods abutting the cemetery, not far from where the mound had been started.

“What I’ve done? I did exactly what I said I was going to do.” The coyotes were relentless, snapping and biting and sinking their teeth in. Emilio didn’t know enough about fae to know if this was normal, if it was to be expected. His family had always focused their attention on the undead, with the occasional demon or shapeshifter as the situation called for it. Fae weren’t as common, in comparison. Banshees were especially rare. What he did know was that it hurt. The pain was intense, as if the teeth sinking into his skin were tangible even when the lack of blood or physical injury told him they weren’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing Emilio knew how to deal with. Attacks of this nature weren’t anything close to what he was trained for. “You wanna use me, then use me. What’s this get you?” It was torture, or close to it. And still, even now, he couldn’t regret the dust at his feet that got him here. Even if she let this go on for hours, he’d walk away vindicated. The satisfaction of sliding that stake home had been the best thing he’d felt in months. He wondered, distantly, what that said about him.

He spared a moment to shoot her a glare, slashing his knife through the air and listening to the resulting howl as one of the coyotes fell. “Afraid’s not the word I’d use,” he said, but he was. He was afraid. Of her, of the coyotes, of all of it. He’d blame it on the effects of her wail if anyone asked, but he knew that wasn’t just it. Nobody liked pain. They liked it less when there was no end in sight. “But trust me, I’m not exactly happy with either of you.” She was the bigger threat, but the coyotes were the more immediate one. After all, she wasn’t sinking her teeth into his calf. Finally, she seemed satisfied, and the coyotes vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Emilio breathed a sigh of relief, but he kept a wary eye trained on her. Slowly, he kneeled down to sweep the dust into a pouch he produced from his jacket pocket, watching the banshee out of the corner of his eye all the while. “Never claimed to be anything else,” he replied dryly. It was a bad time for his shitty sense of humor, but there never seemed to be a good one.

There was a moment, when she looked at him, where something else flashed across her face. Like the man in the cabin, there was a moment where she seemed to give way to something more like clarity, something closer to human. Emilio didn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend how she was there one moment and somewhere else the next. “I’m doing what I have to do,” he told her slowly, carefully. “We both know how this works.” He’d accepted it as his duty the moment he’d let her bind him to his word, the moment he chose vengeance over everything else. And he’d do it again, he knew. He’d do it a thousand times over. He wasn’t sure if telling her that would make her feel comforted or only add to the distraught look in her eyes. He didn’t think he’d have the chance to find out. The clarity slipped again, replaced once more by that drive for death. She didn’t want him digging up graves, and Emilio was a little relieved for that. But the alternative…

He was careful. With the people he killed, he was careful. He did his research first, made sure the supernatural things he took down deserved to be taken down. Sometimes, it meant things were slow. Sometimes, it meant he took out a whole lot of undead at once and then went a while without taking out any. He didn’t think something like that would fly here. And vampires, he suspected, were off the table entirely considering how she’d reacted to the dust of the one he’d just taken care of. He was going to have to find a new way to navigate things here. He’d probably have to figure out how to hunt animals the same way he hunted the supernatural. It’d be tricky… but he could manage it. With a jerky nod, he got to his feet and held the pouch out towards her, keeping his body the entire arm’s length away from hers as if it would matter, as if she couldn’t take him out with a damn scream or a call to her coyotes if she felt like it. “I’ll get you what you need,” he promised, and the words tasted like ash on his tongue. Deals with devils. This was going to do wonders for the old Catholic guilt.

#wickedswriting

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Imagine being the reincarnation of Dracula's long lost love: Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Lawrence stood alone in the snow staring down into the lifeless eyes of the corpse before him, his mind lost in thought. He thought about that moment five years ago when he held a stake to your heart, regretting that he didn't end it right done and there. If he had then whoever this person was might be alive today along with all the other victims who's lives you needlessly took.

He slowly walked back home, contemplating his next move. He had a plan, but it would be impossible to do alone. When he got home, he sent a message to an old friend who owed him a favor. He just hoped that it wasn't too late.

It was about a week later and while Van Helsing waited for his friend to arrive he gathered some things he would need to carry out his plan. On the day he said he would arrive, Lawrence began to pace up and down his office becoming steadily impatient. There were only so many hours of daylight left to get this done. Finally, just when he was about to leave and handle things himself somehow, there was a knock at the door. He ran from his office to the front door and opened it to see Arthur Holmwood standing there. He looked a bit older than he had last seen him, greying slightly at the temples and wearing glasses. "Arthur!" He exclaimed, stepping aside to let him in. "Thank you for coming."

"It was the least I could do after you helped Mina and I." He said shaking his hand.

"How is she?" Lawrence asked.

"Worried. She didn't want me to come." He answered honestly.

"I can understand that. I'm sorry, I just didn't know who else to turn to."

Holmwood placed his hand reassuringly on Van Helsing's shoulder. "It's alright. You can count on me."

"Thank you." Lawrence said with a grateful nod. "Well, let's get this over with." He said with a sigh, throwing on his coat and heading out the door, Holmwood following close behind. They climbed into the carriage and took off towards the manor, where you and Dracula slept. He glanced at his watch. It was only a couple hours till nightfall. He just hoped he would make it in time.

While they drove to the manor Van Helsing filled Arthur in on everything from how he met you, when you fell in love with Dracula, and how you became a vampire. Holmwood had a hard time wrapping his head around everything.

"Why didn't you just kill her when you had the chance?" He asked.

"I love her too much. I just couldn't..."  Van Helsing replied.

"Aren't you married now?" Arthur pointed out, confused.

He fell silent and looked away. He was married. But why did he still love you? No! He loved his wife. He can't still love you. "Oh, I see." Arthur said, understanding.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing." He said waving it off.

"No, really. What did you mean?" Van Helsing insisted.

"You still love Y/N, but when you couldn't have her you tried replacing her subconsciously. And as much as you do love your wife, it's not the same." Arthur explained. As much as he wished that wasn't true, it was...

Finally, they pulled up to the manor. It looked ominous against the darkening sky. They got off the carriage taking with them some heavy chains. Before entering the manor, he took a deep breath and whispered to himself and God or whoever might be listening, "It ends tonight." 

Carefully they pushed through the front doors trying to be as quiet as possible not knowing where Henry was.

"Where do you think their coffins are?" Arthur asked, quickly checking the living room for any signs of life.

"Let's try the basement and work our way up, but let's be quick about it. We don't have much time." Van Helsing said as he looked around. He never really saw much of your house before. It was actually quite cozy. He thought.

They looked all through the house, finally finding your coffin in an upstairs bedroom next to the Count's.

"Help me lift this up." Van Helsing instructed Holmwood as they carefully lifted up your coffin and wrapped the chains around it. Once they were done they closed it with a large lock, sealing you inside.

Van Helsing looked out the window. It was nearly dark. "Hurry!" He exclaimed as they picked up your coffin and quickly began carrying it down the stairs. Suddenly, Van Helsing lost his grip and he dropped it, making a loud crashing noise that echoed throughout the manor. From another room upstairs he could hear footsteps. "Go! Go!" He urged, picking up his end and carrying you the rest of the way down. Just as they reached the door they heard a shout from behind them. "Hey! Stop!" It was Henry. They rushed out the door and just as they had the coffin half way pushed into the carriage Henry had caught up with them.

"Go! I'll handle him." Holmwood said, facing Henry, fists outstretched ready to fight. Lawrence shoved your coffin the rest of the way in the carriage and climbed on.

"Arthur come on!" Van Helsing said, holding his hand out.

"Get out of here!" Holmwood yelled, punching Henry in the face knocking him to the ground. Van Helsing hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave his friend behind, but he had no choice. With a flick of the reins he took off, his horses running as fast as they could, which to Van Helsing wasn't nearly fast enough. He had to hide you and quick before Dracula awakens and discovers that you are gone. If only Holmwood had showed up sooner...

Meanwhile, Henry fought off Holmwood as best as he could, but ultimately he was no match. He ran back inside the manor and into the living room where he grabbed a fire poker, Holmwood on his tail. He swung it at Arthur, but he quickly dodged it and jumped behind the sofa. Henry swung at him again, this time hitting the sofa. Holmwood looked around for anything that might help him. His eyes fell upon a pair of swords hung just above the mantle piece, but Henry stood between them out of his reach. He dove toward the fireplace, pushing Henry aside and just as he was about to reach for a sword Henry whacked him from behind knocking him unconscious. He fell to the floor, blood pouring from his skull.

From upstairs, Henry heard a yell. Dracula was now awake.  Moments later, he appeared at the living room doorway looking absolutely furious.

"Where is she?!" He growled.

"I don't know! Van Helsing took her away in her coffin...I couldn't stop him." Henry answered, pointing towards the door. You could be anywhere by now and he didn't want to waste anymore time by hitching up a horse. Before Henry's eyes he watched as Dracula slowly transformed into a large black wolf, his red eyes piercing through the dark. "Go, I'll catch up." Henry told him. Without hesitation, he took off into the night. He had to find you. He wasn't about to lose you again...

It was done. Van Helsing hid you in a place no one would ever find you. It broke his heart to have to do this to you, but he had to for humanity. Now, he had to finish the job by killing Dracula once and for all. He climbed back on to the carriage and started back down to the road towards the manor.

Suddenly, he heard a loud growl from within the woods. He looked around to see what it was and to his horror he caught a glimpse of a pair of red eyes watching him from in between the trees. He whipped the horse trying to entice to go faster. As he continued, the horses suddenly began neighing and kicking at something. Not sure what it was, he got up and saw a giant black wolf nipping at their legs. In an attempt to ward it off he steered the carriage in it's direction. That seemed to work. When he didn't see the wolf he felt slightly relieved, but only for a moment. Behind him in one bound, the wolf jumped onto the roof of the carriage letting out a snarl, baring it teeth at him. He turned around and began hitting the wolf furiously with the whip, but the wolf was quick and grabbed it between his teeth, pulling it from his grasp. He stared down into the vicious eyes of the beast, instantly realizing he was staring into the eyes of Dracula.

Suddenly, the wolf leapt at him knocking him backwards onto the seat. He watched as it slowly turned back into Dracula who wrapped his hands around his throat. He tried pushing him away, but to no avail.

"Where is she?!" He roared. Van Helsing had never seen him look so angry...so evil.

"Tell me where she is!" Dracula demanded. Finally, he managed to kick Dracula off sending him flying back onto the roof. He took a deep breath and started to climb down towards the carriage door. If he could just get to his bag! Dracula grabbed him by the collar and tugged him back up. They struggled for what seemed like ages on top of the carriage, hitting, pushing, and tugging at each other neither willing to give up. Without warning, the cable snapped and the horses ran away, leaving the carriage behind. Van Helsing knew it would only be a matter of seconds before they crashed. As he went to get up to jump, Dracula shoved him off sending him flying into the field below. He fell to the ground with a loud thud. He felt like every bone in his body was broken as he lay there in pain.

Suddenly, he heard a loud crash as the carriage collided with a nearby tree. He felt light headed. Something was wrong...his chest hurt so bad, but he had to kill Dracula. He had to if it was the last thing he did. He crawled across the ground and back towards the carriage, hoping he could get to his bag before Dracula got to him. Dracula stumbled out from behind the carriage, letting out a yelp in pain as he went. Van Helsing looked up and saw that a wheel spoke had pierced itself into Dracula's chest. He tried reaching out for Van Helsing but the wheel made it difficult. Blood dripped from his mouth. If he didn't remove the spoke he was going to die. With one last burst of energy Van Helsing leapt at him, pushing him into the ground, forcing the spoke deeper and deeper into his chest. Dracula tried pushing him away, but it was no use. He had failed you. If only he could see you one last time...

Van Helsing pushed so hard that the wheel eventually broke off leaving only the spoke wedged in Dracula's chest. He watched as the life left his enemy's eyes and he took one last breath. He had done it. Dracula's evil was no more.

He winced in pain clutching his chest, it felt like there was a huge weight on it. It suddenly became to much to bear, and he fell to his knees as everything started to fade away. He was dying. He tried as hard as he could to hold on, but his injuries were too bad. He closed his eyes and took one last breath, collapsing on the ground beside Dracula...dead.

Henry had finally caught up to them, but it was too late. He jumped off his horse and watched as his master slowly disintegrated into dust before his eyes. Dracula was dead and so was Van Helsing. He didn't even know what had become of you. Did Van Helsing kill you like he had set out to do all those years ago? He was the only one left now. He bent down on the ground where Dracula's ashes lay scattered and scooped some into a vial before placing the ring on his own finger. Some day, some how Dracula would return and it would be doom for any who stood in his way....

The end?

#thanks for reading! #hope you like it! #borrowed the chained coffin from dark shadows #thought it fit #also its the beginning of Dracula AD 1972 #anyone interested in a sequel? #dracula x reader #x reader #reader insert #christopher lee #hammer dracula

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Spark;; KJN

Word Count;; 1k

Genre;; Fluff! 

AU;; Firefighter

Pairing;; Jennie x Reader

Summary;; You find yourself in a state of distress when you can't remember if you turned your stove off this morning. Your fears are put to rest by none other than Ms. Jennie Kim, your local firefighter who you find yourself crushing on a little harder with every passing day.

Warnings;; No warnings! Pure fluff!

Notes;; Not my best but I wanted to write something for our lovely Jennie's birthday! I listened to Hold On by KARD on repeat for this one.

My Masterlist

   "Did you try to start a fire just to see me?" Jennie teased, leaning against your oven.

   "No! Of course not!"

   Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her full lips turning upward into a slight smile before she joined her coworker back in the entry hallway. They gave your home the all-clear after a quick inspection and were getting ready to head out. There had been no damage, after all - it was just a false alarm.

   It was an uncommon occurrence but not unwelcome. They'd take a false alarm over a real fire any day. At least that's what the other firefighter told you. His attention was elsewhere but his tone sounded sincere. It made you feel a touch better after having wasted their time so early in the morning.

   "It's better to be safe than sorry," Jennie chimed in. "The operator you talked to seemed worried about you. It's a good day when we're able to help, but an even better day when we're able to prevent an incident before it even occurs."

   You had been halfway across town when you called the non-emergency line, worried that you had left your stove on after making breakfast that morning. It was unlikely… but what if you really had? With traffic piling up, you knew you couldn't get back in a timely fashion and the thought of your home going up in flames had you hyperventilating. The operator was very kind, reassuring you that a team would check and make sure everything was safe and that you had nothing to worry about. It did naught to ease your skyrocketing nerves, however.

   By the time you returned home, palms sweaty on your car steering wheel and legs trembling every step to your front door, the crisis had been averted. Your landlord informed you that two firefighters were already inside but said little else, leaving you to handle the situation on your own. Preparing for the worst, you burst into your home filled with despair and overwhelmed with worry, the endless churning of your stomach uncomfortable and bordering painful.

   There had been no yelling, no smoke, no fire - just the occasional chatter between the two firefighters, one of which you recognised by her voice alone.

   Ms. Jennie Kim.

   Relief washed over you; you knew you were in good hands with Jennie around. The tension left your body as you turned the corner, entering the kitchen where both firefighters stood near your stove. While she had noticed you the second you arrived, she chose to remain still, filling out her paperwork a bit slower than usual as she waited for you to find her.

   Every inch of her body was covered by her heavy uniform, save for the peek of smooth skin her neck offered. Your eyes snapped to the exposed expanse. It was a small stretch and yet it felt endless. It also marked the transitional space between her career and the dainty features of her round face, between her professional stance and the fierce fire within her eyes.

   If given the chance to break free of the hypnotising glow of her skin and the intensity of her stare, your gaze would fall to the somewhat safer outline of her form. Her uniform had always been appealing to you. It signified bravery, but she made it beautiful. She shone brighter and burned hotter than any of the fires she battled day in and day out on duty.

   You couldn't keep your eyes off her, not when she commanded the room just by breathing.

   It wasn't your first encounter with Jennie. Every time you saw her, you appreciated the opportunity while simultaneously praying that it wouldn't be the last. Her station was close to your home so you saw her and her team shopping at your local grocery store quite often. It had taken quite some time for you to gain the necessary courage to approach her. She had such an intense aura about her. In retrospect, given how soft and gentle she really is, you found your hesitation humorous.

   Even so, after many weeks of admiring her from afar, curiosity deemed stronger than cowardice and you introduced yourself. You were rewarded with a brief conversation within the produce aisle and an invitation to tour the station. Though shy, Jennie was quite warm and you could talk to her at length. A tour turned into a visit and soon after you found yourself pulling into the station with baked goods and hot beverages on a weekly basis.

   "We're all clear here," she said, pushing herself away from the stove. "You'll be happy to know that the stove was off when we arrived."

   Close on her heels, you walked behind both firefighters as they moved toward the front door, their footsteps much heavier than yours. "Oh, God. I'm so stupid. I'm sor-"

   "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's a legitimate concern. I'd rather your cute little slippers not burn in a nasty fire."

   "My cute little…" you trailed off, following her line of sight to the fluffy pink slippers by the front door and groaned.

   "They suit you. This whole place suits you - cozy and cute. It's very you. I like it."

   Smooth.

   Everything about Jennie was smooth like a shot of whiskey.

   "O-oh, thank you," you stumbled through the short phrase, fighting off the tinge of embarrassment that threatened to crawl across your skin. Jennie watched you in amusement, enjoying your reaction.

   "We've got another call," her coworker stated, shaking his head at her blatant flirting before heading out the door.

   "I've gotta go but-" she grinned, looking around your quaint little abode, "-maybe you can give me a tour sometime. I'd love to see more of you."

   There was a giggle on her lips and a soft blush on her cheeks as she walked backward to the door, her eyes lingering on you once more, taking in every last detail. Her gaze alone had been more than enough to send your heart into a flutter, but the playful wink that accompanied her shy wave was the final nail in your coffin.

   Ms. Jennie Kim would be the death of you and you couldn't think of a better way to go.

#blackpink #jennie kim #jennie x reader #blackpink x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #kim jennie #blackpink fluff #kpop fluff #jennie fluff #firefighter au #blackpink firefighter au #firefighter!jennie #soft hours #kpop soft hours #blackpink soft hours #girls loving girls #kpoptrashlord-007 #blackpink fanfic #gg fanfic

[nayutai]

The Task At Hand

Pairing Mingyu x Female OC

Word Count 15.1k

Warnings mentions of infidelity, mentions of racism, foul language, anxiety, insecurities, therapy sessions, dumbasses in love, light choking, dry humping

Summary The first year of marriage is always the hardest. Unfortunately for Mingyu and Kamile, the first year as husband and wife may also be their last. 

Notes This absolute behemoth of a fic is my contribution to The Intimacy Anthology where I, along with many other fantastic writers, have explored intimacy in all of its many forms. This fic is incredibly close to my heart and I hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please check out the other stories featured in the project here as well! 

Mingyu fumbles with his keys in the dark as he searches for the one that’ll get him into his house. The alcohol coursing through his system is making this very simple task a lot harder than it needs to be. He shouts victoriously when he finally manages to unlock the front door to stumble inside. He freezes when he hears someone clapping slowly off to his right.

“Two minutes and forty seven seconds. That didn’t take you as long as I thought it would but then again you have been good at finishing quickly these days.” Mingyu groans deep in his throat at the scathing words from the woman staring him down from the love seat in the living room. She lifts a glass of what he can only assume is white wine to her lips, draining it quickly. 

“I’m too drunk for your bullshit tonight, Kamile.” Mingyu grunts as he leans back against the door to steady himself while he toes his sneakers off. All he wants to do is crawl up the stairs to the guest room he’s been sleeping in so that he can go to sleep. He rolls his eyes when he hears Kamile clear her throat from across the room. If he knows anything about his wife, nothing good is about to come out of her mouth. 

“If you didn’t want to hear my bullshit then maybe you should’ve shown up for dinner with my parents tonight.” The venom in her voice makes Mingyu’s blood run cold. He’d totally forgotten about her mother’s birthday dinner tonight. Fuck. As much as he hates to hear her nagging him, even he has to admit that he deserves it this time. This dinner has been planned for months and he should’ve been there. 

He forces his eyes to focus when he looks back over at the brooding woman shooting daggers at him from across the room. It’s then he registers the fact that she’s still fully dressed despite the late hour. Kamile is a huge proponent of being comfortable within the walls of her own home and for her to sit in a dress and heels as she waits on his appearance does not bode well for him in the slightest. He’s surprised that she hasn’t launched her wine glass at his head.

“Whatever or whoever you were out doing,” Kamile rises slowly from the couch, impressively steady in her heels despite the bottle of wine she ran through waiting on her neglectful husband to come home. Silence stretches between them interrupted only by the damning clicks of her shoes against the hardwood flooring. Kamile stops to appraise the man she married when she reaches him, wondering where it all went wrong. 

“…I hope it was worth it.” She silences his groveling with a raised hand. She’s tired of the arguing. Tired of the excuses. Just tired in general. 

Most people would have some sort of emotional response to this but her exhaustion leaves nothing but an empty void in its wake. Mingyu may as well be yelling at a brick wall for all the response he gets from Kamile as she slowly climbs the stairs. The sound of the bedroom door clicking shut echoing around the house may as well have been a gunshot.

“One more thing for her to hold over my fucking head.” Mingyu grumbles as he slowly blazes his own trail up the stairs. He pauses before the closed door to the bedroom they once shared, hand gripping the doorknob in his hand as he contemplates going in to apologize. “What’s the use? Not like she’d listen to me now anyway.”

The bed in the guest room welcomes him like an old friend when he flops down on it, draining him of his energy. Thoughts of how he’ll fix things in the morning drift through his head. Sleep evens out his features, lulling him into a peaceful slumber despite the fact that he’s still fully clothed. The perfect cover for the plans being set in motion right down the hall. 

The sun rouses Mingyu from his sleep way before he’s ready. He could’ve sworn that the curtains were pulled closed when he went to bed but it’s hard to know what’s what when you’re three sheets to the wind at god only knows what time. Blindly, he reaches out for his phone where he’d left it on the nightstand but comes up with a piece of paper instead. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus enough to read the words on the page, but when they do he finds himself bolting for the ensuite bathroom. The offensive piece of stationary gently drifting to the ground as if it hasn’t just ruined his life.

He heaves and wretches until he has nothing left to give. His knees buckle several times as he tries to brush his teeth which is an incredibly difficult task to complete when one is sobbing with everything they have. This can’t be happening. He refuses to believe that this is his reality. Mingyu’s heart sinks even lower when he drags himself back to the bedroom and sees Kamile’s  wedding ring on the night stand next to his phone. He retrieves the letter from where it rests on the floor, reading it over until the tears he’d fought back make a reappearance.

Doing this feels incredibly impersonal but I feel like it’s probably better this way. I realized that the flame I thought would burn forever is barely a spark anymore. Tonight was an epiphany for me. I realize that I deserve better and I’ve decided that I will have it. I’ve always wished you joy and light and I will probably never stop doing that despite everything that’s happened but I can’t do it as your wife anymore. 

Take care,

Kamile Dexter

The usage of her maiden name feels like the final nail in his coffin. He calls. He texts. He emails. He even sends her a message on instagram. Every single attempt to reach her goes unanswered. Anyone could see that things hadn’t been the best between them for a while, but never in his most horrific nightmares did Mingyu think that Kamile would actually leave. 

Time is irrelevant to Mingyu in the days that follow Kamile’s departure. He wakes up when his alarm goes off and drifts through the day. His nights are spent calling Kamile despite the fact that she never answers which then leads to him drinking himself into an alcohol-induced sleep complete with all the blessed numbness that it provides until his alarm goes off once more. This is without a doubt the lowest point of his life and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Kamile grew up with Vernon so naturally Mingyu tries to enlist his help. Unfortunately, it seems that she has anticipated that move and stops answering Vernon’s calls and texts as well. 

With all of his other options seemingly exhausted, Mingyu calls the one person that could possibly help him, Sidra Dexter. A woman with many accolades to her name, Sidra considers being Kamile’s mother to be the most important among them. If anyone knows how to get through to his wife, it’s Sidra. Mingyu prays that she still has a soft spot for him as the phone rings in his ear. If this call goes unanswered, then he really will lose all hope in saving his marriage. 

“It’s about damn time you called me, Gyu Bear. My daughter left you a whole week ago tomorrow and you’re just now enlisting my services? Tell me why that is.” Never a woman to beat around the bush, Sidra gets right to the point with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. 

“I don’t know what to do, Mama Dee. She won’t talk to me.” Mingyu whines, on the verge of tears for the umpteenth time today.

“Of course she won’t. She’s stubborn just like her ornery ass father.” The aforementioned father pipes up in the background to defend himself but is quickly shut down. “Now back to you, Gyu Bear. You have messed up big time but I love you so I’m going to help you fix it but I have one question first.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Did you cheat on my daughter? And yes that ‘harmless flirting’ shit you men folk like to do counts as cheating in my book.”

“Of course not! Wait…does Kam think I cheated?” Mingyu is floored and honestly a little angered at the fact that after all these years together Kamile thinks he’s actually capable of infidelity. The alcohol-induced haze clears long enough for his brain to recall a comment she’d made the night she left about whoever he was doing being worth it. 

“She sure does,” Sidra starts up, “but luckily for you, my gut says that you’re telling the truth and it hasn’t steered me wrong in the last 56 years so I don’t see a reason not to trust it now. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

Mingyu listens intently as Sidra outlines her master plan. Not for the first time, he’s in awe of the way her brain functions. The tightness in his chest subsides a little bit with every word she says. For the first time in the six days since Kamile left, Mingyu feels like his life has meaning again. His marriage might not be over after all. 

Despite the fact that Kamile had no intention of answering any of Mingyu’s desperate pleas for attention, the sudden cessation of said pleas only serve to further increase her anguish. She’d originally thought she’d be able to finally find peace when he gave up, but that does not seem to be the case. A part of her didn’t want him to stop trying. Didn’t want him to stop fighting for her.

Did I make the right choice?

The question has haunted her every waking moment as she adjusts to her new normal. She’s been adrift for the last ten days trying to figure out her next plan of action. Should she stay in Korea? Should she go back to America? Should she throw a dart at a map and go wherever it lands? The possibilities are endless but Kamile finds herself unable to fully commit to either option which is how she’s ending up existing on takeout in a hotel for the past week and some change. God, why did she have to be so impulsive? She should’ve made sure that she had a game plan before she just up and left like that. 

Her phone rings on the small night stand, interrupting her self-loathing thoughts. Kamile groans when she sees that it’s her mother. Ever since she’d broken the news to her parents that she’d decided to leave Mingyu, her mom has been giving her grief. Kamile had always had a hunch that her mom loved Mingyu just as much if not more than she loved her, but their break up has made her think that her hunch had been closer to the truth than she’d previously thought.

“Hey, ma.” Kamile greets her mother apprehensively, bracing for the latest round of her mother’s reconciliation efforts. 

“Hello, my lovely daughter. I just landed in Seoul so if you don’t mind coming to get me from the airport that would be great.” Kamile chokes on the mouthful of noodles she’d been munching on. There’s no way in hell that her mother just said that she’s in Seoul. Sure enough, Kamile pulls her phone away from her ear to check her mother’s location and it says that she is in fact at the Incheon Airport. 

“Baby, what did I tell you about making sure you properly chew your food before swallowing. Did you forget what happened to your Uncle Tommy?” Kamile barely hears her mother’s recounting about the uncle who’d died from choking on a fish bone as she rushes around her hotel room gathering her things. She can’t believe her mom really flew halfway across the globe. Thankfully, her hotel isn’t far from the airport so Kamile is helping her mother put her bags in the back of her SUV in no time at all.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything, but what are you doing here?” Kamile questions as she eases her car into the steady stream of traffic bound for the exit. 

“You just left your husband and you didn’t come home to me so I don’t know what made you think that I wasn’t coming out here. A friend of mine is letting me stay with her since I know how you are about your space.” 

Kamile is more than a little thankful for that. Her mother can be overbearing when she’s on a mission and the fact that she’ll still be able to maintain some personal space is comforting. She’s only too happy to let the gps in her guide her to this friend’s house. The closer they get to their destination though the more unsettled she becomes. She has no idea why her gut is telling her to be suspicious, but she’s definitely not about to ignore it. Kamile’s sense are on high alert when she turns into the driveway of a nondescript home in one of the more affluent suburbs of the city. 

“Mom, what’s this friend’s name?” Kamile eyes the structure in front of her as if it could possibly grow teeth and bite her. Something is not right here and if there’s one thing her mother taught her, it’s to trust her gut instinct and right now her gut is telling her to throw her car in reverse and get the hell out of dodge. The only thing keeping her from running for the hills is the fact her mother seems so at ease as she hops out of the car to grab her bags. 

“Her name is Bae Yeojin. She studied abroad at Villanova her junior year and we were roommates. She’s got a pretty successful business now.” Kamile hums in acknowledgement. She vaguely recalls her mom telling her about a girl named Yeojin from college, but that does nothing to assuage the uneasiness in her gut. 

Kamile waits at the bottom of the steps as her mother knocks on the front door. Her fingers are drumming on banister, eyes glancing back and forth from the ornate door and her car. She clutches her keys like a lifeline. At the slightest provocation, she’s ready to bolt. The two women squeal like school children and not the established professionals they are at the first sight of each other. Kamile wonders briefly how long it’s been since they last saw each other.

“Kamile Danielle Kim get your ass up here and say hi.” Not one to disobey a direct order, especially one accompanied by her full name, Kamile reluctantly climbs the short staircase.

“Jesus, Sid, you really spit this one right out. She’s practically your twin.” Yeojin exclaims. She pulls Kamile into a quick hug before ushering the both of them inside. 

One deep breath and Kamile instantly realizes why she felt so uneasy. There’s candles burning in the foyer, but they do nothing to mask the familiar scent she’s spent the last six years smelling. Mingyu is in this house somewhere. She spins around to fix the two women with what she hopes is a threatening glare. Unfortunately, neither one of them appears to be phased by it in the slightest.

“What the hell is going on here?” Kamile’s quickly starting to realize that not trusting her gut has landed her in a situation she most definitely has no interest being in. Her eyes quickly dart back and forth between the two scam artists in front of her.

“I told you she’d figure it out. Pay up.” Yeojin doesn’t take her eyes off Kamile as she holds her hand out to Sidra who is grumbling while she digs in her purse to hand over a few bills.

“Dammit, Kam, did I really raise you to be this observant? You’re costing me money.”

“Yes, now what in the fresh hell do y’all have going on?” The answer to her question comes in the form of timid footsteps sounding off behind her. Her spine stiffens. She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. She can sense him. “Fuck this. I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not. Now turn your little narrow butt around and have a seat.” Sidra adopts the tone she’d frequently used when Kamile was growing up and even now as an adult Kamile knows that disobeying this direct order is not the right choice to make. 

It’s with a grimace, that she pivots on her heel to face her husband for the first time since she walked out on him. The satisfaction she feels when she sees just how awful he looks is cancelled out by the fact that she probably looks just as bad. It would be a lie to say that she hasn’t missed the comfort and solace his presence used to bring her. That she doesn’t want to let the outside world fade away as she hides away in his embrace. She wants that back. Craves it even, but enough is enough.

Curse words flow like running water through Kamile’s mind as her mother situates her on a love seat in the living room with Mingyu sat right next to her. His large frame dwarfs the slightly undersized piece of furniture. She can feel the body heat radiating off of him and it’s a battle of wills to keep from leaning into him. 

“First things first…” Sidra claps her hands as she and Yeojin take a seat on the sofa opposite the troubled couple, “I think now is a good time to mention that Ms. Yeojin here is actually a therapist who specializes in couples therapy.”

Of course she is.

Kamile rolls her eyes as the puzzle pieces start clicking into place. She could be buried under her blankets, binging on The Golden Girls right now, but no, her meddling ass mother has scammed her into marriage counseling instead. She should’ve ran when she had the chance.

“Based on what Sid has told me, the two of you are exactly one week shy of your first wedding anniversary and already on the verge of divorce. So, who would like to dump their emotional baggage on the floor first?” Yeojin glances between Kamile and Mingyu looking for a crack in their demeanor that she can exploit. Mingyu looks like he wants to hurl while Kamile’s face is a carefully constructed mask of indifference. She makes her choice easily.

“Mingyu, thank you for volunteering. Let’s hear it.” 

Put on the spot, Mingyu chances a glance sideways at Kamile before clearing his throat. Yeojin sits at the ready with her notebook and pen. She listens intently as Mingyu tells the fiasco as he sees it.

“I know I forget things sometimes. I try not to, but I’m an idol. I have a lot going on but that’s no different from when we first started dating so I don’t know why it’s suddenly such a big issue now.” Mingyu seems to find his voice as he speaks up on how he believes that he’s been wronged. The timid nervousness he’d felt before quickly getting pushed down so that his frustration can take over.

“When we first started dating, I wasn’t being abandoned in a house all day with nothing to do.” Kamile may have been grumbling under her breath but Mingyu hears her loud and clear. His head whips around so fas that the two mothers across from him silently worry about the neck pain that may cause him later. 

“You have nothing to do because you’ve turned down every opportunity that’s come your way.” Thoughts of the numerous job and consulting offers from Pledis and other entertainment companies like them that she turned down come flying to the forefront of his memory. Human resource agents have practically been beating down their door for the chance to work with Kamile, a creative visionary in her own right, but she’s rejected them one after another without a moment’s hesitation.

“You mean every opportunity that you have sent my way. Like why would I want to work at that entertainment company and be forced to watch that bitch Miyeon flirt with you every day like you’re not married?” Mingyu is forced to concede to her point with that one. Miyeon is one of the stylists at the company and, despite his repeated rejection, is too flirtatious for his liking as well. Unfortunately, she’s deeply entrenched in the corporate hierarchy and nothing short of murder would make the higher ups get rid of her even if all of the members have lodged complaints against her. 

“Is that the simple hoe you come home smelling like every time you’re ‘out with the boys’?” Kamile adds on as if she’s finally started connecting some dots in her overactive imagination. The fact that she has even entertained the thought of Mingyu not only cheating on her but cheating on her with Miyeon of all people makes his blood boil.  

“Why do you think I’m cheating on you? Why do you always just assume the worst about me? Do you think Vernon would ever let me even think about cheating on you? The man hates violence but he would beat my ass over you and we all know that.” The frown on Kamile’s face falters at the mention of her oldest friend. Mingyu is correct in saying that he would absolutely fight him, but there are still some thing that aren’t adding up. Yeojin attempts to halt the conversation so that they can delve deeper into what Mingyu just said but Kamile beats her to the punch. 

“You come home smelling like warm vanilla sugar every night when everybody knows that I am a Japanese cherry blossom supremacist. What am I supposed to think, Mingyu?” She can’t believe that he has the audacity to sit next to her and still lie. The palms of her hands itch with the urge to throw things but she’s done enough of that plus this isn’t exactly her house either.

“Seokmin always sprays us down with some random perfume because he says it keeps the women away and honestly, it actually works like a charm so I’m always first in line to get sprayed.” Kamile’s anger deflates almost immediately. To anyone that doesn’t know Lee Seokmin that would sound like a crock of shit, but it’s perfectly on brand for him.

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

“We’re fucking married, Kamile. You could’ve just asked. Better yet you could have come with me to these events like I’ve asked you to do a million times.” 

“You know I hate those things.”

“Everyone hates them, but I would hate them a lot less if I had you there with me. I just feel like I’ve been trying to make an effort but you’re not meeting me halfway.”

“I knew my Gyu Bear wasn’t a cheater!” Sidra, who hasn’t set a word since things had started to get heated, pipes up.

“God, Mom could you at least pretend that you love me more than him?” Kamile throws her hands up in frustration. Her mother’s obvious favoritism is really starting to get to her right now.

“Not until you start giving me less grief.”

“Now, now, Sid. Let’s not derail the progress we’re making here. Kamile, is there anything you’d like to bring to the table?” Yeojin pats her dear friend on the back of her hand to reign her back in. She’d hate to ruin the momentum they got going by having Kamile suddenly switch gears to argue with her mother.

Kamile is only too happy to tell her side of the story as she recounts the events of the night that she decided to leave Mingyu and how it was the tipping point for her. Yeojin listens intently, taking note of the fact that none of the issues that Kamile has with her husband are particularly heinous aside from the debunked cheating suspicions. Each transgression on it’s own wouldn’t be enough to end in divorce, but rather it’s the heaping pile of them that overwhelmed Kamile to the point that she felt she needed to get out.

The more she listens, the clearer it becomes to Yeojin that their marriage is suffering not because they don’t love one another but because they’ve forgotten how to talk to each other which has lead to an unfortunate disconnect. The biggest obstacle is definitely going to be Kamile’s determination to end things. She’s made up her mind and getting her to change her mind is not going to be easy.

“I think I’ve heard everything that I need to hear for today.” Yeojin sets her notepad down on her coffee table, relaxing in her chair a bit before she continues. “The first year in a marriage is usually the hardest, but that seems to have been exacerbated by the fact that the two of you have never lived together before now plus Kamile here has uprooted her entire life and moved to a new country.”

“Saving this marriage is going to take considerable effort on both sides in order to restore the balance you had before you said your vows. Here is what I recommend.”

Yeojin challenges the young couple to separate themselves from their daily lives for the next week and go somewhere remote. A place where it’s just the two of them without any outside influences. Of course, this won’t be just some run of the mill vacation. They’ll have “homework” of sorts that Yeojin will be checking to make sure they complete. Mingyu is all for it but Kamile is much more hesitant. All they’ve done is argue for the past few months and she’d rather not be stuck in a house arguing for two weeks straight. 

“I’ve spent the past year stuck in a house with no outside influences and look at where that’s gotten me. On the verge of a fucking divorce!” Mingyu looks like he has something to say, but Yeojin thankfully stops him before he can rile his wife up any more than she already is. 

“You’re not just going to be ‘stuck in a house’. Think of it like a game of Among Us. The two of you are crewmates and this wall that’s been built between you is the imposter.” Kamile looks at Yeojin as if she’s grown three extra heads. There’s no way she just related this counseling session to a freaking video game. 

“I will also stop bugging you about grandkids for six months if you go.” 

“You should’ve just started there. I’ll go.”

Yeojin claps her hands excitedly. She sounds way too happy to be shipping them off to self-guided marriage boot camp, but Kamile stays silent though that becomes increasingly difficult as her mother’s friends lists out the “tasks” she expects them to complete.

“So here’s the game plan, I want you two to be totally and completely honest with each other as much as possible for the entire time you’re gone. Often times in relationships, both parties will censor themselves as a way to keep the peace but that can be detrimental as it has been for you guys.” Mingyu and Kamile don’t realize it but they both frown simultaneously at the proposal of this honesty idea. Yeojin takes it as a positive sign that they are still in sync on some level. 

“If the thought of doing it all day is too daunting, then start with just one hour. This doesn’t mean that you have to sit and stare at each other for a whole hour and trade statements just act normally but speak honestly. Okay so far?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Mingyu casts a glance in Kamile’s direction, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out to her. He’s had to stop himself several times since she arrived and it’s not getting any easier.

While Kamile’s mind is running wild with all of the potential for disaster that an hour of honesty could result in, Yeojin powers on with the rest of her required tasks. On top of separating themselves from society and this so called honest hour, Yeojin has mandated that they share at least one meal together every day with one of them being dinner on their wedding anniversary. Just when Kamile thought that Yeojin couldn’t possibly pile more on, she brings up the “activity days”. Each of them will have to plan some sort of activity for the two of them to do together while they’re away. It could be as big or as small as they want, but it has to be meaningful. Mingyu draws Kamile’s attention when he pulls his phone out of his back pocket to start tapping away on the screen like a mad man.

“You guys have a lot of preparing to do in order to be ready to leave tomorrow so we’ll stop here for today. I’ll be checking in on you daily to assess your progress and offer any guidance you may need.” 

Kamile is out of her chair and halfway to the door before anyone can blink. The room suddenly feels too small as the gravity of what’s about to happen sinks in. She’d convinced herself that she no longer wanted to be married to Mingyu. She was so sure that her run as Mrs. Kim, albeit short as it was, had come to an end, but now she’s been confronted that her main reason for ending things was baseless. This is not how she thought things would go.

Day 1

The drive from the hotel to the home she’s shared with Mingyu for the past year goes way too quickly for Kamile’s liking. Mingyu had texted her about having to go gas up the rental car so he’s nowhere to be seen when Kamile arrives. She sits in the driveway for a few minutes thinking of the memories saturated into the home that looms before her. The memories she had hoped to create. A stray tear slips down her cheek and she swipes at it furiously. She swore that she was done shedding tears over this but they just keep on coming.

Her pity party is interrupted by an unfamiliar SUV pulling into the driveway behind her. Kamile looks in the mirror to see Mingyu getting out of the driver’s seat. She does her best to erase the evidence of her tears, but the look on his face when she opens her own door says that she wasn’t very successful. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine.” Kamile cuts him off before he can even finish his question. She stalks to the back of her car to start transferring her bags from her car to the behemoth of an SUV behind her.

“I’ll get them.” Mingyu takes the bag she’d already grabbed from Kamile’s hands, motioning to the passenger’s seat. Kamile, no longer in the mood to speak, wordlessly follows his directive and climbs into the SUV.

It takes Mingyu no time at all to load Kamile’s bags into the back with his own. 

“Obviously this is a sign that we should just leave.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to let a lost set of keys stand between me and keeping my marriage.”

“Why do you even care? Why are we even doing this?” Kamile screams. She’s been holding this in for far too long and she can’t take it anymore. 

“For better or for worse.” Mingyu’s face is a mask of carefully controlled fury and it’s giving Kamile pause. She’s never seen him like this before. “We promised each other for better or for worse and yet you’re ready to run for the hills at the first sign of trouble. I’ll admit that I’m not perfect and certainly played a role in why we’re here but I’m willing to put in the work to make it better because those vows meant something to me. I thought they meant something to you too.”

Kamile is incredibly taken aback at Mingyu’s fervent desire to stay married. She didn’t think that he cared that much anymore. Without any further protest, she joins him in the hunt for the elusive key to the front door. Fifteen minutes pass and they are no closer to gaining entry than they were when they first arrived. A rep with the rental company calls as they’re checking the bottom of the flower pots that line the front porch and tells them that the keys were mistakenly put in the mailbox. The same mailbox that sits at the end of the mile long driveway. Kamile makes to get back in the car to drive to the end of the driveway but Mingyu suggests walking it.

“It would be faster in the car.”

“You heard that therapist lady. We’re supposed to be spending time together. What better way to do it than by walking two miles?” Kamile walks back and forth as she considers her options. She can resist which will probably lead to yet another fight or she can just suck it up and walk to the mailbox. With a groan, she makes her decision.

“Fine, but if I get tired you’re carrying me.”

“Anything for you, my lady.” He bows deeply which almost makes Kamile crack a smile. She steels her resolve quickly though and reminds herself not to get caught up in his antics. He’s going to have to do a lot more than make her laugh in order to get out of the dog house.

The walk to the mailbox and back is quiet for the most part. Their footfalls join the hum of the wildlife in the woods that line the driveway on either side, but the jokes and playful jabs that used to fill the air between them is noticeably absent. Neither one is sure of what to say or do around the other anymore. Thankfully, the key is hanging on a hook inside the rather large mailbox.

Mingyu fully expected for Kamile to ask to be carried on the way back. She’s never been a huge fan of physical activity so it doesn’t come as a surprised to him when she starts whining halfway back to the cabin.

“I can’t do it just leave me here with my flower friends. I’ll become one with the forest.” Mingyu wordlessly moves to crouch down in front of her. He’s thankful that she can’t see his face to save himself the embarrassment of having to explain why he’s so excited to carry her for the last half mile to the end of the driveway.

Kamile doesn’t hesitate a single second to climb onto his back, clinging to him like a koala. It’s not lost on either one of them that this is the most physical contact they’ve had with each other in months. She’s wrapped around him tight enough that he doesn’t need to support her thighs, but he does it anyway. No way in hell is going to let this moment pass by without taking full advantage. 

They opt to spend the rest of the day just getting settled in. Yeojin had encouraged them to share a bedroom but Kamile is not down with that. Mingyu is disappointed when she wheels her suitcase into one of the guest bedrooms but he takes solace in the fact that she’s chosen the one right across the master where he’d dropped his things hoping she’d follow. He hopes that at some point in the next few days she’ll finally share a bed with him again. 

Dinner ends up being Thai takeout. Kamile has to admit that she’s impressed when Mingyu is able to rattle off her usual order with practiced ease. There once was a time when they’d get Thai food together all the time, but they’re so far removed from that time that she was sure he’d have forgotten by now. They eat without a single word exchanged before going their separate ways to bed.

Day 2

Mingyu wakes up before the sun despite the fact that he slept all of two hours the night before. His hands are on the verge of trembling from all of the nervous energy coursing through his body. Today is the official first day of marriage bootcamp and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s barely seven so there’s no way that Kamile has even attempted to get out of bed yet. Like a thief in the night, Mingyu creeps down the hall to peek into the bedroom that she had claimed as her own. A small smile graces his face at the cute way she hugs one of the throw pillows to her chest. It falters a little when his brain reminds him that she used to hug him close to her like that and not a pillow, but he shoves that depressing thought away for now. He has work to do.

The smell of bacon rouses Kamile from sleep, luring her down the stairs. She grunts a greeting at the man currently tending to a pan of scrambled eggs as she reaches for the stack of bacon on the counter to his left. Mingyu is quick to swat her hand away before she can secure her bounty.

“The eggs are almost done. Be patient.” Kamile whines at being chastised, scowling at the back of Mingyu’s head with disdain.

In the midst of her grumbling, she finally takes notice of his attire or the lack thereof. Saliva pools in her mouth at the sight of his muscles flexing as he cooks the eggs. Her gaze moves lower to his trim waist and the pair of gray sweatpants hanging from said waist in a way that has no business being as attractive as it is. Her fingers twitch with the urge to slide her hands beneath the waistband of those sweatpants to get at that prize she knows is there but she keeps them to herself.

“Earth to Kamile.” Mingyu chants as he waves a spatula in front of her face. She blinks rapidly, doing her best to clear the thick fog of arousal from her mind. The uncomfortable sensation of her panties sticking to her skin is quickly forgotten when Mingyu holds up a plate peeled high with bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes.

“Thanks, Gyu.” Kamile murmurs as she takes the proffered plate and heads for the table. She falters half a step when she realizes that she’s let his nickname slip. She prays that he didn’t notice and if he did, she prays he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Gyu? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Looks like that prayer went unanswered. The shit eating grin on Mingyu’s face makes her itch. 

“I’m hungry and thankful. Don’t push it.” 

They eat in silence. The only sounds are their forks as they make contact with their plates.  Mingyu is kicking himself in the ass for not saying anything but his brain is short circuiting. Thankfully, the buzzing from the intercom by the front door signaling that someone is at the front gate. It’s the special grocery delivery he’d requested for the first of their planned activity days. 

“What’s all this for?” Kamile asks curiously. She pokes through a few of the bags to see fresh strawberries and a variety of other fruits along with a very large bag of rice cakes.

“I was thinking we could have a picnic today for our first planned activity.” His heart races as he waits for Kamile’s reaction to his idea. She munches on a piece of bacon as she continues to pull things out of bags.

“I dig it.” Mingyu feels weak with relief at his idea being well-received. “Why so many rice cakes though?”

“You’ve been a tteokbeokki fiend since we met. Didn’t see the point in depriving you while we’re here if I could just make it for you.” Kamile groans at the thought. She’s more than capable of feeding her own addiction with the spicy rice cake dish, but she’s never been able to make it as good as Mingyu. Despite the fact that she just ate, she contemplating requesting that he make a batch of it right now.

Mingyu grabs a knife to start chopping up some of the fruit. Kamile takes a seat at the island across from him, propping her chin in her hand as she watches him work. She’s always loved watching him cook almost as much as eating the food he makes. She can’t even remember the last time that she was able to do this. It feels like a lifetime ago. Her eyes with sparkle with fascination watching him prepare the food for their picnic. 

“Open up.” Mingyu holds a strawberry up to her lips and Kamile opens her mouth without hesitation. The berry is perfectly ripe and so juicy that a stream of it runs down her chin. Mingyu reaches out to swipe it away, licking the liquid from his thumb. 

“Tasty.” Kamile squirms in her seat at the way his lips wrap around his thumb. Time for her to make an escape before she does something crazy like fuck her husband in someone else’s kitchen. 

Mingyu watches Kamile hastily retreat with barely concealed glee. He’d thought that she’d stopped being attracted to him, but that is incorrect if the results of the little experiment he’d decided to conduct are to be believed. He smiles to himself as he continues cutting up fruit. There might be hope for them yet.

After agonizing longer than he should have over the best spot to set up their little picnic, Mingyu finally picks a spot. He’s so focused on how best to arrange everything on the blanket that he doesn’t even notice Kamile creeping up behind him. He nearly jumps out of his own skin when she clears her throat much to Kamile’s amusement.

“Did I scare you?” It’s clear to her that she did, but making him admit it is too good for her to pass up. 

“No…maybe.” Kamile hums in response, kneeling across from him on the blanket. “That dress is really pretty on you.”

“Thank you.” She mumbles in response. It’s been so long since she’s heard any sort of praise or compliment from Mingyu that she doesn’t even know how to respond anymore. It almost feels brand new. 

Eager to rid herself of the awkwardness blooming in her chest, Kamile grabs a fork and shoves what she thinks is a potato straight in her mouth. In her haste, she fails to realize that the potato she thought she had is actually an onion. Mingyu doubles over with laughter at the pure disgust painted across Kamile’s face. She desperately wants to spit it out but she was raised to believe that spitting out perfectly good food is only a half step below a sin so she powers through. She chugs one of the glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade on the small tray to her right as Mingyu continues to cackle at her plight. 

“You set me up for failure.” Kamile has hated onions from the womb according to the stories her mother told about the smell of onions making her nauseous for her entire pregnancy. Mingyu must pay for this. 

“I purposely cut them big enough for you to easily pick them out. You weren’t supposed to eat them.” Mingyu defends himself breathily as he tries desperately to stop laughing. Kamile reaches out to punch him in the arm which only serves to make him laugh harder.

Silence falls over them again although, unlike breakfast this morning, they’re able to exchange some small talk here and there. The awkwardness that they’d started off with wanes and wanes until they’re left comfortably enjoying each other’s presence for the first time in a long time. 

Mingyu finds himself unable to take his eyes off of Kamile. He’d meant it when he’d said that the yellow sundress she’s wearing looked pretty on her. It compliments the rich mahogany of her skin as if it was made especially for her. The plethora of curls that he’s always loved are full of life as she bobs her head side to side, one of her many habits that Mingyu has always adored. His chest feels tight with the weight of his love for her. He can’t believe that he nearly let her slip away.

“You’re staring, Mingyu.” Kamile says between bites of the strawberry she’d grabbed. Mingyu opens his mouth to answer when a distant rumble beats him to the punch. 

“Oh shit.” 

The two of them hastily toss the near empty dishes back into the picnic basket. Dark clouds are steadily rolling in with the speed of a bullet train. Just when they think they might be able to make it back into the house, their luck runs out. The rain comes down in sheets, drenching them in seconds. Kamile is so thankful that the lack of pockets on her dress lead to her choosing to leave her phone inside.

Kamile is the worst mood when they finally reach the safety of the house. She just went through the stress and physical exhaustion of wash day two days ago and now she has to do it all over again five days ahead of schedule. 

“Did you not check the fucking weather before you decided to turn us into sitting ducks outside?” She seethes. Mingyu arches a brow in confusion at her sudden mood swing.

“Of course I did. It was supposed to be nothing but sunshine all week.”

“Well, clearly that was a lie but I’ve grown to accept that from you. Now I’ve got to go suffer through wash day ahead of schedule.” Mingyu winces at her words, but he’s nothing if not an opportunist so he chooses to ignore it in favor of jumping on the more important statement Kamile just made. 

“Can I help you with your hair?” He asks as he follows his grumpy wife up the staircase. She pauses outside her room to fix him with a glare.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? I’ve always helped you with your hair.” In his mind, this isn’t a huge request. The Kamile he knew used to be only too happy to allow him to hand over her hair products for him to do her extensive wash day routine for her. He’d actually gotten so good at it that he’d even started doing her younger sisters’ hair whenever he was in the states to visit.

“I barely know who you are anymore and you expect me to let you touch my hair? Not a chance in hell.” Kamile’s voice climbs in volume until she’s practically yelling. 

The last thing Mingyu wants to do today is fight, but enough is enough. Their screams echo through the spacious house as they go back and forth over Kamile’s mistrust of Mingyu. He doesn’t get it and she thinks it’s incredibly shocking that he doesn’t. Kamile’s phone rings somewhere in the bedroom she has yet to enter, effectively interrupting their spat. She leaves Mingyu in the hallway in favor of answering it and groans out loud when she sees that it’s a FaceTime call from Yeojin. She’d forgotten all about the daily check-ins that the therapist had mentioned she’d be conducting. She goes back out to the hallway and drags Mingyu with her to the staircase so they can get this call over with without ruining the carpet in her room. 

“Hello, love birds! How’s everything going?” Yeojin chirps once the call connects. Her hopeful smile falters slightly when she sees the sour looks on her clients’ faces.

Mingyu is only too happy to give the attentive marriage counselor a full rundown of what was happening before she called. Kamile scowls at him the entire time. To hear him tell it, she’s the bad guy but anyone with common sense would’ve left her alone after she’d made it perfectly clear that she was not in the mood to have a conversation. She can’t wait for Yeojin to drag him therapeutically for not picking up on that. 

“Kamile, what do you think lead to you lashing out like that? The rain was not his fault.” The woman in question is thrown off when the outcome she was expecting doesn’t come to fruition.

“He should’ve checked the weather before deciding to have a picnic outside but that’s neither here nor there. I feel like I made it very clear that I didn’t want to talk to him and yet he kept pressing the issue.” Kamile can’t believe that she has to defend herself. Mingyu is so hasty with responding that it sounds like a keyboard smash is coming out of his mouth.

“I would like to make it known that I did not say one word to you when we came back inside until you started yelling at me.” He looks incredibly smug as he watches Kamile’s mouth open and close as she tries to think of a way to refute his statement. “I would also like to make it known that I have been obsessive about every detail of this picnic and I would have never had it outside if there was even a slight chance that it might rain. Maybe if you had a little more faith in me you could see that.”

“And that brings me to my next point.” Yeojin begins. “We’ve established that the infidelity was a myth, so why do you continue to hold on to that mistrust, Kamile? I want you to really think about it and be completely honest with both us and yourself. I’m not saying that whatever you’re feeling is wrong because you are entitled to feel that way but I think it would be good for the both of you if why you feel that way is better understood.”

The theme of the day continues to be silence as Kamile ponders the question put before her. She’s mature enough to admit that not trusting Mingyu while also admitting that she believes him when he says that he didn’t cheat is contradictory. The root of that contradiction is something she’s been trying to avoid ever since she got roped into that surprise therapy session. Mingyu’s alleged infidelity had been her out. Her escape. She had cut and run on the back of a false truth and that reality is something that’s been hard for her to process. Tears well up in Kamile's eyes as she thinks back to Mingyu’s rant about their wedding vows when they’d first arrived. She’d thought that everything was his fault and being forced to face the truth is difficult. Mingyu’s harsh glare softens as he reaches out to wipe the tears from her face as they start to fall. He sighs when she pulls away from him.

“I can see that I’ve found a sore spot so I won’t press this any further today. We’ll revisit this in the future.” Yeojin gives them some tips on how to better communicate before she ends the call.

Kamile is only too happy to end the call so she can lock herself in her room. She doesn’t even come back out for dinner despite Mingyu all but begging outside of her door. He’s not sure what mental dots she connected when they were talking to Yeojin, but whatever it was seems to have upset her more than he’d originally thought.

A weather alert comes through on Mingyu’s phone as he watches TV downstairs. Apparently the storm that had snuck up on them earlier is part of a much larger system of severe weather that changed course and is expected to hang around the area for the next day or two. His first thought is Kamile. She’s terrified of thunderstorms. Always has been. 

He thinks back to a time before they started dating when Kamile was just Vernon’s pretty American friend that he had a huge crush on. She had come to Korea to visit and insisted on sleeping on the couch despite the fact that everyone tried to give up their room for her. Much like today, a nasty storm rolled in and in her panicked state she had accidentally ended up in his room instead of Vernon’s. The realization had been comical and she’d tried to leave to go to the right room, but a sudden clap of thunder that seemed to shake the whole building sent her diving into his arms where she stayed for the rest of the night. She slept through a thunderstorm for the first time in her life that night. A selfish part of him hopes that this storm brings him the same luck he had all those years ago.

Day 3

Heavy rain beats against the window like a prize fighter while thunder rattles Kamile’s brain until she feels like screaming. There aren’t many things that strike true fear in her heart, but thunderstorms are definitely somewhere in the top five things on that list. She’s got her headphones in and her music blasting, but it does very little to drown out the war going on outside. She rips the blankets from her body and makes for the bedroom door to go get in bed with Mingyu but like the fifty other times she’s attempted to do that she stops herself in the hallway. The door shuts with a soft click as she seals herself back in her own personal hell. 

Kamile jolts awake not even aware of when she had even managed to fall asleep. Sweat has glued her clothes to her skin and it’s making her skin crawl the longer she lays there. She groans aloud when she hears the rain still beating against the window pane. The alarm clock on the nightstand says that it’s just barely six in the morning which means it’s been exactly one hour since she apparently passed out from exhaustion. A rumble off in the distance lets her know that she probably won’t be getting more sleep any time soon so she drags herself to the bathroom for a shower. 

Freshly showered and in desperate need of caffeine, Kamile makes for the kitchen. Mingyu’s bare back comes into view for the second consecutive morning when she rounds the corner. His hair is sticking up in odd directions and he looks to be five seconds from falling asleep standing up as he stabs at the buttons on the coffee maker.

“Why are you up so early?”

“You need coffee.” He replies with a yawn.

“Yeah, but I can make it myself. You didn’t need to lose sleep to make me coffee.” She protests. Mingyu turns to glare at her until Kamile raises her hands in surrender.

“If you’re up, I’m up.” Kamile shakes her head at him as she pulls two mugs out of the cabinet. No sense in arguing with him when he’s clearly made up his mind about suffering.

The two of them sit in silence side by side, sipping their coffee, and staring out the window watching Mother Nature do her thing. Out of habit, Kamile leans over to rest her head on MIngyu’s shoulder. She stiffens when she realizes what she’s doing. Mingyu holds his breath. Scared that if he makes any sudden movements the bubble will burst and she’ll move away from him. She surprises the both of them when she lets the tension drain from her shoulders instead, relaxing into him.

“I’m sorry.” Kamile whispers into the void. If Mingyu wasn’t so acutely focused on her every move, he probably wouldn’t have even heard it over the wind. 

“Me too.” He turns his head to softly kiss the top of her head, taking a moment to inhale the familiar scent of her hair products. He never knew it was possible to miss a singular smell so much.

They’ve exchanged exactly four words since they sat down at the table, but they mean so much. There’s a near palpable shift in the air. Like a switch has flipped. An unspoken truce between them that they are in this together. Kamile lifts her head to finish her coffee and Mingyu immediately misses the weight of her head on his shoulder.

“Did you ever finish watching The Originals?” Kamile asks before downing the last of her coffee.

“No, it was kind of our thing so I haven’t watched it since we stopped watching it together.” She hums in response.

“Well, it looks like we’re going to be stuck in this house all day so we may as well pick up where we left off.” Mingyu nearly chokes on his coffee. He can’t even remember the last time Kamile willingly suggested that they spend time together. He pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming which she rolls her eyes at. 

“Come on. You’re in charge of snacks.”

For the next eight hours, their butts are glued to the couch. They only get up to use the bathroom and replenish their snack pile. They’ve spent so much of their time arguing that Kamile had forgotten how much she loved just being with Mingyu. Klaus is about to rain down hellfire on some of his enemies when Mingyu’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his sweatpants. Kamile can feel it against her own thigh and it’s only then that she realizes the way that they’ve gravitated towards each other over the course of the day. If she were to get any closer to him, she’d be sitting in his lap. Mingyu had intended to ignore the call, thinking it might be someone from the company despite his strict instructions not to contact him, but he answers it instead when he sees that it’s Yeojin. 

“Well don’t you two look cozy. I was planning to pick up where we left off yesterday, but I’d rather talk about this first.” Yeojin looks entirely too smug as she brings attention to the lack of space between the two of them. Mingyu half expects Kamile to scoot away from him now that it’s been pointed out just how close they are, but she stays put. 

“Can’t a girl just sit next to her husband without being questioned to death?” Kamile asks playfully. Yeojin chuckles and moves on with their daily check in. 

“Fine, fine I’ll leave it alone. Let’s get down to business. Mingyu we didn’t get to hear from you a lot yesterday so I’d like to get into how you felt when Kamile left. What was that like for you?” Yeojin rests her chin on her hand as she waits to see what’s going to come out of the box of emotions she just opened. 

Mingyu briefly realizes that this is the first time he’s talked about that day to anyone as he recounts that dark morning like the nightmare it was. Kamile listens in stunned silence while he tells his story. After seeing the bags under his eyes at Yeojin’s house, she’d figured that he’d suffered just like she had, but she’d never imagined that waking up to find her rings and the note she’d left had affected him to the extent that it did. The guilt that’s been festering in her gut increases tenfold at the thought of him heaving into the toilet.

“I knew things weren’t the greatest but I truly did believe that we were strong enough to get through whatever. Divorce never crossed my mind even once so it killed me to know that it had not only crossed her mind but became a viable option that she ran with. I get why she thought that was the best option now, but then it felt like I’d been blindsided.” Mingyu explains. His words are laced with the hurt that he’s been keeping to himself. Kamile picks at the words screen printed down one of the legs of her sweatpants wishing that a hold would open beneath her and swallow her up. She’s never felt so low.

“Kamile, I see you’re getting emotional. What are you feeling right now?” Yeojin gently pries. Mingyu pulls Kamile into him as his own emotions start getting the better of him. Yeojin is pleased to note that, unlike yesterday, Kamile doesn’t snatch away from him. 

“I was so focused on how unhappy I was that I didn’t consider anything else. It was all about me, me, me.” Kamile stares off into space as she opens up. She’s never talked about this with anyone but her best friends. In hindsight, they might not be sitting where they are right if she’d just talked to Mingyu about it ages ago but then again hindsight is always 20/20. “I visited Korea plenty of times when we were dating, but living here as the black wife of an idol has been so hard. Being from America, I’m used to people treating me different because of my skin color but when people feel entitled to be so invasive about it because of who I’m married to…it’s different.”

Mingyu’s jaw is on the floor as he listens to the struggles that his wife was having right under his nose and he never knew. He noticed that she’d become more withdrawn and hostile but he could never figure out why and she wouldn’t tell him when he asked. It comes as no surprise to him now that she stopped going outside. He can’t exactly blame her. Seventeen is going on their eighth year so Mingyu is a seasoned veteran at ignoring the things people say on the internet. Unfortunately, Kamile didn’t have that luxury. His stomach turns at the tales of her being approached on the street by people who wrongly called themselves fans thinking they were protecting him. The racist comments made about her online. She was suffering and he just let it go on thinking that she was just being moody.

“Do you think that caused you to develop a little resentment for Mingyu and his idol status?” 

Kamile’s first instinct is to say no, but given that they are supposed to be as honest possible she tamps down the lie before it can slip out. She did resent that she’d fallen for someone with such great public notoriety sometimes. It was different when she was just one of Vernon’s childhood friends. The general public didn’t really care what she did from day to day, but now one wrong move turns her into a trending topic and she doesn’t know how to handle it. There are days that she wishes that Mingyu was just a normal person, but then they would have never met and that’s not a reality she truly wants to live in despite her feelings towards him when she walked out. 

“Maybe a little bit but I know we’d have never met if he wasn’t Mingyu from Seventeen so it’s pointless really.” 

They talk with Yeojin a little while longer before she has to go to her next appointment. The air between them is heavy with the weight of the secrets that have come to light. It’s a stifling atmosphere and it’s beginning to drive Kamile insane. She reaches for the remote to restart their show, but Mingyu takes it from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” His eyes are misty as he struggles to hold himself back from crying once more. He could kick himself for not doing his best to shield her from the people that had killed her spirit.

“You’re already so busy and the last thing I wanted to do was add to everything else on your plate.” Mingyu wants to scream. She means more to him than being an idol. She always has. He cups her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“Promise me that you won’t hold stuff inside like that anymore and I promise to be better at not letting you. Deal?”

“Deal.” Kamile’s eyes flutter closed as Mingyu pulls away to press his lips to her forehead. 

He clears his throat before grabbing the remote to resume their show. For the next few hours, conversation is limited to the messy lives of the supernatural beings on the screen before them. The wind still howls. The rain is unceasing. Yet in the little bubble of Netflix and snacks that they’ve created, it may as well not even exist. 

Until bedtime that is.

“You know,” Mingyu says as they file up the stairs. The seemingly ever present bad weather still continues, “…you don’t have to sleep alone. I know you don’t like storms.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” It would be so easy to take him up on his offer. She could finally get some sleep, but for whatever reason she can’t bring herself to do it.

“Well you know where I am if you change your mind. Good night, Kamile.”

“Good night, Mingyu.”

Kamile stares at the ceiling in despair. She didn’t think it was possible for the storm to get worse but apparently Mother Nature took that as a challenge. She’s starting to genuinely concerned about whether or not the window by her bed can withstand the force of the weather it’s being forced to deal with. Kamile contemplates running to Mingyu’s room but shuts that idea down for the millionth time. Things feel...different between them after today’s call with Yeojin but she’s not sure if they’ve been different enough to justify hopping into bed with him quite yet. 

“This is fine. I don’t need to sleep.” She whispers into the void. 

She’s accepted her fate and made peace with it. Or at least that’s what she thought she’d done. A crack of lighting illuminates the room despite the blackout curtains over the window followed by a thunderous boom so loud it seems to vibrate her very being. Kamile is across the hall before she even has the time to process what she’s doing. Mingyu is out cold when she bursts into the room. Her brain chooses that moment to catch up to what she’s doing and flips on the switch of self-consciousness. Another loud boom has her throwing caution to the wind once more, sliding beneath the blanket to get as close to him as possible without waking him up. 

Kamile lays next to him a trembling anxious mess as the storm rages on. She’s so consumed by her own fear that she doesn’t even notice the man next to her has roused from sleep until he’s wrapped both of his arms around her to pull her into his warm chest. It’s as if the environmental warfare outside ceases to exist the second Kamile’s cheek makes contact with Mingyu’s skin. His presence drowns everything out just like it did all those years ago. The sleep that had been evading her comes quickly in his embrace. 

Day 4

A ray of sunlight shines perfectly through a crack in the curtain to hit Kamile square in the face. She squirms around trying to escape it and gets a frustrated groan in response. It’s then that she registers the weight of the arm that rests loosely across her midsection. The memory of running to Mingyu’s bed in the middle of the night comes rushing back to her. Her first instinct is to bolt, but she’s so touch starved that she finds herself turning in his hold in a bid to get closer. 

“Good morning.” Mingyu grunts something in response that she’s sure he thought sounded like good morning.

He slots one of his legs between hers and unintentionally allows her to feel the morning wood barely contained by his boxer briefs. Mingyu’s even breathing indicates that he’s fallen back asleep. Kamile would love to do the same but all of her attention is laser focused on the hardened appendage intimately pressed against her upper thigh. A damp spot has already started forming in her panties. She needs to get out of this bed now. Kamile squirms and wiggles around trying to get away, but it would seem that her efforts are having the opposite effect. A throaty groan slips from Mingyu’s lips.

“Stop moving.” He mumbles still half asleep. Kamile does her best to stop fidgeting and focus her attention elsewhere, but it’s not working. Her inner muscles clench around nothing as thoughts of what Mingyu could do to her dance dangerously through her mind. 

“I have to pee.” Mingyu cracks one eye open. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he doesn’t believe her for a second but he releases her anyway. He sighs as he watches her run off to the en suite bathroom. 

Mingyu is noticeably absent when Kamile emerges from the bathroom fresh off a rushed orgasm though hardly sated. She follows the scent of coffee downstairs to find Mingyu bent over digging through one of the crisper drawers in the refrigerator. Back before everything went to shit she would’ve slapped his ass with glee and run away before he could exact his revenge. Good times.

“Did you hear what I said?” Kamile was so focused on his ass that she hadn’t even registered the fact that Mingyu had said anything.

“Huh?”

“I said do you want to get in the hot tub later since we can go outside now?” He repeats as he hands over a cup of coffee already milky and sweet the way she likes it.

“It’s almost 80 degrees outside and you want to get in a hot tub?” She questions slowly to which Mingyu responds with an emphatic yes. “Be honest. Are you just trying to see me in a bikini?”

“Absolutely.” He giggles when Kamile reaches out to smack him on the arm. “Why are you attacking me? Yeojin said we have to be honest at all times.” 

“I don’t think that included being a horny little shit.”

“I’m a man with eyes and a hot wife. I can’t help.” Despite the compliment, Kamile’s mood sours at his words. Mingyu’s freshly honed observation skills picks up on it immediately.

“Uh oh, did I say something wrong?”

“If I’m so hot, then why haven’t we had sex in four months? We used to go at it like rabbits and then one day you just stopped initiating things.” 

Mingyu is quick to point out that he did try to have sex with her plenty of times, but she pushed him away. Eventually, he gave up. It’s almost funny when the dots start connecting in her head. Her personal struggles had originally been why she denied him sex, but then he’d started coming home doused in perfume so she really didn’t want anything to do with him then. Mingyu has never been a very pushy person so he figured he’d just wait her out. He didn’t think that he’d end up in a four month dry spell (and counting), but he was also not about to look for satisfaction outside of his marriage either. 

“How about we save this sex talk until after I’m finished cooking? All of the blood in my body is rushing south and these rice cakes are starting to look like nipples.” Kamile nearly chokes on the water she’d just taken a sip of. Tears pour from her eyes as her body can’t decide if it wants to laugh or die of asphyxiation. 

“Woah, woah! When we said till death do us part I was hoping we’d be farting dust not barely 26.” Kamile is sure that he wants her dead now as her internal war between laughing and choking only gets worse. 

Despite her earlier protests, Kamile finds herself seated across from Mingyu in the hot tub later that evening as they watch the sun set. She fully expects him to try something from the way his eyes keep drifting south to stare at her chest, but he’s on his best behavior the entire time. 

Day 5

“Hello, love birds! I missed you two yesterday. What happened?” Yeojin looks hesitant almost as if she’s scared of their answer. She looks downright relieved to hear that they missed her call because they fell asleep cuddling on the couch. After getting a run down of everything that’s happened since they last spoke, she encourages them to continue sleeping in the same bed together. 

“Couples often downplay the amount of good that just being physically close to your partner can be. If you’re both comfortable sleeping next to each other without a thunderstorm being the driving force, please keep doing it.” Yeojin pleads before ending the call to go to her next appointment. 

Her words hang in the air even after she’s gone. Mingyu looks over at Kamile with a questioning look on his face. It’s clear that he’s after her opinion on this whole shared bed situation, but Kamile doesn’t have much to say on the matter. The two of them have been pretty much inseparable during the day now, but she’s still nervous about sleeping in the same bed together and she doesn’t know how to shake that feeling. She was too scared to think about it last night but without the weather to distract her she’s not so sure if sit’s a good idea.

“What’s going on in there?” Mingyu taps a finger against Kamile’s temple to get her attention. She shakes her head but he’s got a feeling it’s about what Yeojin’s bed sharing idea.

“If this is about sharing a bed, don’t worry about. You’ve got the rest of the day to decide.” She nods in acknowledgement of his point but Mingyu can tell that the gears in her head are turning even faster than before. Her overthinking is going to give her a headache.

Night time comes entirely too quickly for Kamile’s liking. Mingyu has kept her so busy that she hasn’t had the time to sit down to sort through her thoughts. Knowing him, he probably did that on purpose. He always hated her habit of overthinking everything, preferring to live in the moment and make decisions as they arose. Kamile has never had much success doing that which is why they work so well together. He balances her out and helps her weed out the important aspects of the topic at hand to make faster decisions. 

Her mind is racing as they climb the stairs on their way to bed. Mingyu stops at the door to his bedroom and looks at her with such hope on his face that she almost feels guilty for what she’s about to say. His face falls when Kamile tells him that she thinks it’s better for them to sleep in their own respective rooms tonight. Mingyu is a good sport about it, bidding her good night with a lingering kiss to her forehead. 

Falling asleep has never been a problem for Mingyu which is why he’s utterly confused when he’s still wide awake three hours after getting into bed. He’s in danger of pulling the sheets off of the mattress on one side from how much he’s been tossing and turning. 

This is bullshit. I’ve been sleeping fine every night. What’s the difference now?

Mingyu sits up to fluff his pillows. It doesn’t help. He kicks the ceiling fan up a notch. That doesn’t help either. He counts sheep, ducks, and even cows, but nothing is working. The longer he tries to avoid the obvious the more awake he seems to be. Sleeping in the guest room most nights to avoid arguing had taught him to sleep alone. Now that he knows what it’s like to hold her again, he’s ruined. He wonders briefly if Kamile is awake too. Is she just as restless too? 

He tosses and turns for the better part of another hour. The clock on his phone says that 3 a.m is quickly approaching and Mingyu caves. It takes less than ten seconds to cross the hall to her room, but practicing his explanation as to why he’s in her room at ass o’clock in the morning takes much longer. He knocks twice and pokes his head in.

“Kam?”

“You can’t sleep either, huh?” She asks without even turning to look at the man poking his head into her bedroom. 

Mingyu nearly collapses from sheer relief when Kamile simply reaches behind herself to lift the blankets after he confirms that he’s been unable to fall asleep just like her. He wastes no time sliding in behind her. Before he can even get it out of his mouth to ask, Kamile reaches back to find his arm, pulling it across her waist. 

“Good night, Gyu.” Kamile whispers. Her words are slurred as if she’s already half asleep. Mingyu kisses her shoulder, letting his lips linger against her skin.

“Good night, Kam.”

Day 6

A feather light touch to her lower lip is what prompts Kamile to open her eyes long before she���s ready. She pulls back slightly once her vision clears and she realizes just how close Mingyu’s face is to her own. He even has the audacity to laugh at her surprise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d wake up.” He’s not sure how long he’s been watching her sleep, but he’d do it for the rest of his days. The pesky organ in his chest skips a beat as he holds Kamile’s gaze like a lifeline. He mulls over his next words very carefully, preparing for a possible rejection just as he did when he came to her room in the middle of night. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.” She whispers into the inch of space that separates them. 

Mingyu closed the gap slowly as if he’s giving her time to change her mind. Kamile sighs when his lips finally touch hers. One of his hands comes up to untie the silk scarf tied protectively around her head so that he can bury his hand in the curls he’s always been obsessed with. He uses his grip on her to guide her head as he deepens the kiss. 

She rolls onto her back and pulls him with her so that his much larger frame nearly covers hers entirely. Mingyu lets his primal instincts take over. Too lost in the way her lips are moving against his own. A groan rattles his chest when she squirms beneath him until his hips are situated between her thighs. The thin fabric of their respective underwear are the only barriers separating his aching erection from the place she needs him most. He can’t resist the urge to grind himself against her. If his brain wasn’t so clouded in lust, he’d probably have the mental capacity to feel a little embarrassed at just how quickly he’s risen to full mast. Kamile is floating somewhere beyond cloud nine when Mingyu’s hand that had been cradling her head moves to lightly grip her throat instead while the other rhythmically squeezes and pushes at her ass in time with his thrusts. Her head is tipped back in ecstasy as he kisses along her jaw.

It takes a herculean effort that he wasn’t totally sure he was even capable of, but Mingyu separates himself from the panting woman in his arms. He rocks back on his heels and Kamile’s eyes are immediately drawn to the tantalizing bulge at the apex of his shapely thighs. She reaches for him but Mingyu grabs her wrist before she can get her hands on him. He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing kisses to the back of it.

“Trust me when I say that I would love nothing more than to ravage you right now but if I’m going to be inside you again, I want you to have my ring on your finger.” Kamile starts to speak but stops when Mingyu presses his index finger to her lips. He traces the outline of her kiss swollen lips almost as if he’s in a trance. “I don’t want you to make a decision that you’re not totally comfortable with just because you’re horny. I want you to really want it. I want you to really want us. Now get up so I can feed you.”

A vulgar comment about what she really wants him to feed her crosses Kamile’s mind as Mingyu playfully swats at her thighs to get her moving. She respects his resolve and keeps it to herself but only barely. 

“It’s super nice outside. Wanna go for a walk?” Kamile would actually rather stay inside and enjoy the comforts of the air-conditioning, but Mingyu looks so excited that she finds herself giving in. She disappears upstairs to put on her sneakers mentally kicking herself for being so whipped for the man waiting for her by the patio door.

Mingyu laces his fingers between Kamile’s

They happen across a small stream during their casual stroll around the property. Kamile stops to look at Mingyu to see if he’s on the same wavelength as her. 

“Let’s do it.” 

Their shoes are abandoned under a tree near the creek before running full speed into the water.  The cooler temperature of the water feels like heaven. Kamile squeals when Mingyu splashes her with water. Mingyu suddenly lifts her over his shoulder, using the hand that’s not holding on to her to splash Kamile with more water. She’s out of breath from laughing when he finally lets her down only to steal the rest of her breath away when he surprises her with a kiss. 

“What was that for?” She’s slightly dazed both from the lack of oxygen and the searing kiss he’s just laid on her.

“Because.” He smirks at her before swooping in for yet another kiss.

“And that one?”

“Because part two.” Kamile giggles at his corniness even though she does her best not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it gets to her. Mingyu’s smile somehow gets even bigger at the sound of her laughter. He digs his fingers into his sides to prolong her laughter for his own enjoyment. 

They spend a little longer frolicking around before finally heading back to the house to shower and start on dinner. Kamile unsuccessfully lobbies to shower together but Mingyu is adamant in his refusal. He’s positive that the self-control he exhibited earlier that morning used up all the restraint he could’ve ever hoped to have for the next six months. There’s no way he’d be able to deny her. He kisses her quickly before running off to his own bathroom. 

Mingyu is totally and completely in love. He absentmindedly pushes his food around with his fork as he listens to Kamile rant about the mistreatment and near erasure of some X-Men character named Darwin. He’s got absolutely no idea what she’s talking about but she’s so passionate about it that he can’t help being fascinated. 

“Darwin’s whole entire superpower was that he could adapt to anything and you mean to tell me that robots designed to adapt to and counteract the powers of mutants were built off of Mystique’s DNA? Absolutely not. I might be a little-” Her rant is cut short by her phone ringing on the kitchen counter where she’d left it. She grumbles about being interrupted as she gets up to go get it. It’s Yeojin. 

Kamile returns to the table with her phone, choosing to sit in Mingyu’s lap for their daily check-in. The marriage counselor should get a kick out of that one. Sure enough, their seating arrangement is the first thing that Yeojin comments on. They take turns updating her on everything that’s occurred since they last spoke with her though they leave out some of the more sordid details. 

“This is what I like to hear!” She exclaims with an excited clap of her hands. “It seems that everything is going well right now. Is there anything we haven’t talked about this week that one of you wants to go over? If not, I’m comfortable ending the call here.” They say their goodbyes after confirming that they feel like they’re in a good place right now. Yeojin makes them swear to call her the moment they think they need her but she doubts that she’ll be hearing from them  until their follow-up appointment in a few days. 

Kamile makes to get up to return to her own chair but Mingyu stops her. She shrugs and reaches across the table to grab her own bowl. He smiles to himself as she resumes the rant that she’d been in the middle of before Yeojin’s call. He still has no idea what she’s going on about but he’s content to just listen to her vent. 

Day 7

Anxiety twisting her gut into knots is what eventually pulls Kamile from the bliss of sleep. Mingyu’s side of the bed is empty and she’s thankful for that to a certain extent. She heads for the shower, taking extra care with everything she does until she realizes how cowardly it is to stall like this. Deciding against putting on actual clothes, Kamile opts to just pull on one of oversized hoodies.

“Good morning!” Mingyu leans over to kiss her sweetly before turning back to the pan he’s tending to on the stove. He’s been doing that a lot since yesterday. Just randomly stealing kisses like he’s making up for lost time. 

“Just so you don’t get freaked out when they show up, I’ve got a private chef coming to cook us dinner tonight.” Mingyu mentions as they sit down to eat breakfast. She’s pleasantly surprised that he’s put in so much thought into their anniversary even though he’s yet to directly mention the fact that today is their anniversary. 

Today is their last day in their little safe haven away from the world and the status of their marriage is still technically up in the air. They both know that a decision needs to be made before they leave in the morning, but neither of them has brought it up. It’s like they’ve been tip toeing around the giant elephant in the room and expecting for it to just disappear on its own. 

Other than Mingyu making tteokbeokki, extra spicy and extra cheesy just the way Kamile likes it, they don’t really do much throughout the day. A majority of their time is spent tangled in each other on the couch just talking. They reminisce on the days when they’d first started dating. Kamile nearly falls off of the couch in a fit of laughter at Mingyu’s spot on impression of Vernon’s face when he’d caught them sneaking a few kisses in the dorm kitchen one day. Each memory is sweeter than the last and Kamile is overcome with the urge to make more of those memories. Now that she’s been able to let go of the anger and misplaced resentment that had made her bitter, she actually has hope in that possibility.

The heels of the platform pumps she’d decided on for the night click with every step as Kamile slowly descends the staircase. She’s determined not to let her natural clumsiness send her to the hospital on such an important day. Mingyu holds his hand out to her when she reaches the last few steps. He looks every bit the international superstar that he’s known to be.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Warmth spreads across her face at the whispered compliment. She barely manages to return the favor. Kamile’s nerves are starting to get the better of her and she hopes and prays that there’s wine on the table so that she can drink them away.

Thankfully, Kamile notices a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket next to the table when Mingyu leads her into the dim dining room. The dinner prepared by the chef looks delicious and she’s can’t wait to taste it but wine is her first priority if she expects to make it through dinner without bolting. Her first glass is tipped down her throat in record time much to Mingyu’s amusement. He refills without hesitation though she chooses to actually sip that one as intended.

Conversation flows easily between them as they eat. However, the topic that deserves their attention the most continues to stew on the back burner as they talk about literally anything else. As nervous as Kamile was when she first came downstairs, Mingyu is doubly so. He’s done his almighty best to convince Kamile that their marriage is worth saving without outright begging her. Based on the past few days, he’s incredibly hopeful that she’ll come back home with him tomorrow and stay there but she’s always been a wildcard. You never truly knew what move she was going to make until she made it. The small velvet box in his pocket feels like a stone. During a lull in the conversation, Mingyu makes his move.

“Kamile,” He reaches across the table to grab both of her hands, “Four years ago you agreed to be my girlfriend and I thought that surely that was the happiest day of my life but then you said yes to being my wife and I knew then that I was wrong. You’re the most precious part of my life and I was a fool for not making sure that you knew that every day for the last year.”

Mingyu pauses to get down on one knee next to Kamile, pulling the ring box from his pocket. Her ring is nestled in the tiny velvet box. It sparkles brilliantly even in the dim lighting. “Kamile Kim, will you do me the honor of staying my wife?” 

Tears well up in Kamile’s eyes as she nods her head yes. She’d made countless lists and weighed her options, but in that moment she throws all of that logic to the wind. At the end of the day, Mingyu is the one. He always has been and he always will be. She can’t believe that she almost threw everything away over her own assumptions and insecurities. Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to slide the piece of jewelry onto her trembling hand when she holds it out to him. He stands, pulling her with him so that he can kiss her senseless. 

“I’ve been waiting to say this until I knew where we stood but….happy anniversary, babe.”

“Happy anniversary, Gyu.” She whispers against his lips before kissing him deeply once more. “Now take me upstairs.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.” 

#the intimacy anthology #kim mingyu #mingyu seventeen #mingyu idol au #mingyu au #mingyu established relationship #mingyu x oc #mingyu x reader #mingyu x black oc #mingyu x poc oc #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #vernon

[thebakunawa]

Paint me in trust

Cross posted from my archive I’m just here to vibe and be gay

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t settle. I’m not made that way.” You smile, flagging another drink for yourself and raising it to her as she smirks. “Then what will it take to change your mind?” “A lot more drinks, for starters.” She smiles back, her teeth seemingly glinting under the light of the bar and you nod, clinking your glasses together. “I can do that.” “What do you want, demonio?” Revenant chuckles, his voice the familiar cold and steel that haunted her nightmares. He leans against the doorframe of the room they were in. His cold eyes looking over the room where the USB is located. She notes this, because her hand goes to her little pack, securing it. “Relax.” His voice echoes in the room. “I’m not after that,” “Then what are you after, demon?” She sneers. “Why are you here?” “A little courtesy call.” He says standing up properly and grinning. “How are you and your, pet?” She immediately tenses, her expression cold. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play coy with me, girl.” He tuts, stepping over a dead body. Loba doesn’t move back, instead standing her ground as Revenant moves a little closer. “We know about her, your little, pet.” “Whatever business or interest you have with her, you can conduct.” The bitterness is in her voice. “I have no care about it. What she does with her life is on her.” Revenant laughs, and Loba finds herself cringing, the hair on her arms rising in a mix of fear and barely contained anger. “If this concludes our business, then I suggest you leave. We’re done here.” She turns on her heel, walking out, pulling out her Jumpdrive, and readying herself to go when Revenant speaks up again. “Did you know she did it for you?” The words make her pause, and she berates herself for turning around. For looking at the obvious trap the demon had set but it was interesting news. “What do you mean?” “We’ve all heard of what broke your relationship,” he sounds happy with himself, his voice reeking with delight it makes Loba’s guts sick and twist. “And I know what happened.” “You sound like click-bait.” She deadpans. “It’s done. It’s history. She made a mistake and I moved on from her.” She tries not to betray the emotions that swirl in her chest, the sharp ache that never leaves every time she is reminded of you and your treachery. “Tsk, little girl, you never learn.” Revenant laughs and before Loba can tell him to fuck off or any other variation of it, he tosses her another USB. She catches it easily, the device cold to the touch and Revenant has stepped back, making his way through the door he entered. “I suggest you watch it.” He says, pausing to looking behind him and offer her one last smile. “I’ll tell you when I find her—you might want to be present at least for her funeral.” He disappears soon after, just before she can reply. She grits her teeth, and sighs, looking at the USB in her hand and it’s decorated to look like a wolf head. She considers breaking it for a moment but Revenant has never gone this out of the way to offer her anything. Against her better judgment, she pockets the USB, readying herself before jumping out and throwing her Jumpdrive. Letting the air rush past her calm her as she runs back to her home.

-------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve known for months they’d come for you. You did your best to hide. You’ve laid low, survived off of the odd jobs here and there. You’ve also killed your fair share of people, garnering a vanishing vigilante/mercenary that never lingered too long. But you were new to this game, you weren’t a seasoned outlaw, nor were you blessed with the resources some of the hunters hunted you with. More than once you’ve only barely managed to save yourself from walking into a trap set by hunters for the device. You’ve killed even more when you entered them without meaning to. Somedays you wonder if any of this was worth it. After all, you’re dead to her. If you ever showed face to Loba she’d probably greet you with a bullet and a kick to the groin. Then again, given what you’ve gone through, the idea sounds a lot more tempting and needed. But you know you owe it to her, she trusted you. Even if you did betray it, you intend to see the promise through. You remember the hurt in her eyes, the way she had pushed you back and you knew, you’d never reach through to her. The smiles you’ve gotten, the secret vulnerability she had shared, all a memory now, and you’re left with the cold, heart-wrenching memory of her pulling her gun out at you. “Go.” She says, the laser dot in between your eyes. “Consider this my mercy.” But you both know you didn’t deserve her mercy. You ran from her like a coward, you knew she wouldn’t believe you. Not after you had gone behind her back to give crucial information. Not that you were held at gunpoint or tortured for it. Your mind lingers to the burn marks at the base of your neck or the hot iron on your thigh. You sold her out, the worst crime to do. At least that’s what everyone thought. You gave them enough information to make it factual, but you gave it in disorder. You gave half guesses and half-truths, and you knew the moment they found out you had actually lied they’d sent people after you. It was only time they’d send Revenant after you. You know he’s there before you even open the door. The cold that seeps from the other side makes the hair on your arms rise. You’re exhausted, having barely escaped from a skirmish earlier and a part of you wants to ignore it and simply let yourself get taken but you know it would be a fate worse than death. So you pause, looking out at the window, wondering if you’ll die if you’ll be injured if you fall—and test it out only seconds later when you hear the familiar hiss of his Silence and you immediately launch yourself out the window. Your eyes close and as you break the glass, falling for a few seconds before you open them and roll safely onto the ground. There’s screaming in the apartment, a gunshot was fired from where you were standing moments ago and you run. Your feet hitting the pavement, your blood thundering in your ears. Everyone starts running inside, not keen on getting caught in a firefight. You can hear Revenant’s distant cursing, and you make a beeline to hide under the bridge. Traversing through the confusing huts and houses all strung together. You don’t hear him coming after you but it doesn’t mean you're out of the woods yet. You’ve slowed your running into a walk, you're exhausted, your bones feel like they’d grind themselves and your breathing is harder, much more labored. Your joints ache, and you have enough energy to check your bullets, revealing you’ve only got 32 left in your Flatline and your Mastiff only has 6. In short, you’re truly and utterly fucked. The people under the bridge don’t dare talk. Fear of Revenant has kept them cowed and you have to get out of there quickly. It wouldn’t be the first time you had been squealed on by a passerby. Not that you blame them, the Syndicate had sweetened the deal for your capture and your appearance was a signal for a mess. But you’re tired, dead tired. The ground seems to be calling to you and it wouldn’t be safe for you to pass out here in the open. So you push yourself up, not realizing you had fallen to the ground, you force yourself to crawl until you could walk, trying to find a place where you could pass out in. It took a lot of time, time that Revenant spent hunting you down. You’ve barely made it to the edge, walking using your Mastiff as a cane when a gunshot is fired and it bounces right in front of you. “Well, well, well,” Revenant says, a coffin on the ground next to him. “Caught you, girl. Time to go.” You manage a snort, “I can’t believe you’ve actually brought a coffin.” You smile, much too tired and delirious to take the situation seriously. “Nice to know you keep your promises.” “If it suits me.” He replies amused. “Now get in.” “You know I can’t,” you muster your bravado. “Got the good ground calling me into bed.” “Get in so I can shove you in the dirt then.” Their amusement is waning and you can hear the edge in their voice. “I’m taking you in this, whether you like it or not.” “Pass.” You say and you pull your Mastiff back, brushing a smoke grenade you hadn’t accounted for, and throw it—using the last vestiges of adrenaline you have to run. Revenant doesn’t seem too concerned and it worries you—only realizing why when you feel a bullet tear through you. For a few moments, there’s no pain. Just a fleeting feeling of something passing through you, it was like going through Wraith’s portal, except the bullet was the one passing through and you fall onto the ground, biting down onto your lip, barely suppressing the screams. You hear his footsteps, and see his feet before you’re suddenly on your back, the air knocked from your lungs and you’re gasping for breath—the action making your lungs burn. “I have to admit, softie, you did well.” He says, stepping on your chest, and you struggle to breathe, weakly trying to push it away but you know it’s futile. “So tell me, where is it?” Your vision is dancing now, the red is occasionally taken by black. “I—won’t...talk....” you wheeze out. “Rath...er...die” You hear his laughter and you don’t know if you scream, you feel him crack a rib. “You will die. Just not quickly.” Revenant promises, and you feel another rib crack and you’re sure you’re screaming because your voice is hoarse. “I’ll ask again. Where are the codes? Where did you place the map?” “F...fuck—off—!“ You say and you feel another crack and snap and his growl. “I have no patience for this, girl.” He sneers. “Every time you deny me—I can have you killed and brought back to life. Again and again, and again.” His voice has a sharp glee in it. “So answer me. Where. Are. The. Codes?” You can barely focus now, the exhaustion and the wounds have taken a toll on you. You manage to meet those glowing eyes, the cold expression, and weakly make an attempt to spit at him. “Fuck...off...” His boot deepens on your chest and you pass out promptly after that. “Wait until you see what I have in store~” You turn around to see Loba smiling at you, her hand outstretched and you take it. She’s smiling, the same smile you’ve seen on her when she had found some rather good loot or when she had time to visit you. It’s a quick trip down your apartment, loading up into the cab she must have called and you lean against her. “Aren’t you affectionate?” She teases, nudging you slightly. “You utter poor fool.” “Better a fool for you,” you murmur and you smile against her, feeling her tense up before relaxing. “Besides, I’m your fool.” “That you are.” The words are laced with more affection and you bask in it. “My, poor, pain-loving fool.” This time it’s you who flush. “Excuse me! I’m not—" you pull away to continue your sentence but she places a hand over your lips. Her eyes glinting with amusement. “Not all secrets need to be spilled,” she purrs and you sigh, leaning into her touch as she strokes your cheek. “So where are we going?” You ask after a while, pulling away to smile at her. “I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important.” “For your sake, I hope you never do.” She hums before turning her attention outside. “Be patient.” She tells you. “I’m not patient.” You grin and lean against the chair. “But for you, I’ll do it.” “You do a lot of things for me,” Loba says, and she turns to look at you again, appraising you. You hadn’t seen her look at you—not when your eyes are closed and you’re covered in the lights of the city—a myriad of different colors that somehow brighten your features. “You’ll see.” “Okay, Ms. Andrade.” You snort, opening your eyes, barely missing her quick glance at your direction. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” She smiles, hiding it by looking outside and she holds the vault key to her own treasure vault tightly. “Good. I’d like to keep it that way.”

#apex legends #loba #loba/reader #loba x female reader #loba x reader #did I sell my soul for her #absolutely #am i a gay mess?? EVEN BIGGER ABSOLUTELY #I'm just a mess please HAHAHA

[maribatshipper]

A dare to help everyone

Ladybug: Kim, I have a dare for you. Kim, grinning: I never back down from a dare! Ladybug: I dare you to find out Hawk Moth’s secret identity.

Gabriel Agreste was arrested the next day. 

Kim was a weird Jock. Taking dares left and right. Normal, right? Not when the superheroine of your city hears about it and dares you to find out the identity of her arch-nemesis.

It started normal enough for a Parisian day. With the Akuma attack near the school Kim goes to. What is different, though, is he was dared to get close to Ladybug and take a picture of her with an annoying face, then delete the picture, which happened. Imagine his shock when the blue-haired heroine asks him something.

“You’re Kim, right? That kid that is always dared to do something weird?” Ladybug asks.

Kim nods, “Yeah, that’s me.”

Ladybug smirks, “Kim, I have a dare for you.”

Kim grins. Dares are one thing, but dares from Ladybug, the superheroine of Paris? Hasn’t even been heard of.

“I never back down from a dare!” Kim grins.

“I dare you to find out Hawk Moth’s secret identity.” Ladybug smirks.

Kim blinks. It was genius. Why hasn’t anyone else dared him this? He agrees wholeheartedly.

***

After a few hours investigating possible suspects, he’s banging his head against his desk. He’s narrowed it down to Bob Roth, Alec Cataldi, Vincent whats-his-name that shoots Adrien’s photos, XY, and Gabriel Agreste. He picks up his phone and dials a number.

“Yes? I am busy, Kim.” A monotone voice announces.

Kim cuts to the chase, “I was dared by Ladybug to find out Hawk Moth’s identity and I need your help.”

“We’re on our way.”

Barely two minutes later, a knock is heard on Kim’s door. He opens it to reveal Max and Markov.

“We are ready to assist. Do you have any suspects?”

Kim nods, dragging Max over to his chart which you would normally see in a conspiracy theorists home.

“I’ve been working on this for hours. I’ve narrowed the list down to Adrien’s photographer, Alec the show host, Bob Roth, XY, and Adrien’s Dad.” Kim frowns.

Max frowns, “You can take XY off the list. He doesn’t have enough brains to even think of using that kind of power. Vincent has no motive and is normally angry when an Akuma interrupts the photoshoot. Alec is a risk-taker, but he has no motive and wouldn’t risk getting targeted so many times. Bob Roth and Gabriel Agreste are the most likely candidates. But I don’t believe Bob Roth is creative enough to create any Akuma costumes. Gabriel’s fashion line is going slowly downhill, like the Akuma designs, so I believe Gabriel Agreste is our most likely candidate.”

Just as Max, Kim, and Markov discuss who Hawk Moth might be, another Akuma attack happens. The boys exchange glances and run outside to the Akuma. After Ladybug purifies the Akuma, Kim runs after the purified butterfly, Max barely keeping up. Kim loses the butterfly around the Agreste mansion.

“I have an idea!” Kim exclaims.

***

The next day, Gabriel Agreste is being dragged out of his house by the police.

“What are you doing? I have my rights! I haven’t done anything!” Gabriel yells.

“You are under arrest for hiring an underage model illegally, forcing your son who is still under the legal age to work any kind of job to model for your industry, exceeding the strict working hours, terrorising the entire city, child abuse,…”

The cop drones on with the number of laws Gabriel broke. Adrien frowns at his father, anger just radiating off his body. Juleka’s talking with her brother about adopting Adrien into the family. Marinette walks up to Kim, Alya close on her heels.

“How’d you know it was Gabriel Agreste?” Marinette asks.

Kim and Max exchange a glance.

*flashback*

At 2300, Kim, who is dressed in black ninja clothes covering his face, with a small camera on the shirt, crawls through the window of Adrien’s room and sneaks through the mansion. He makes it to Gabriel’s room, where Gabriel Agreste is dead to the world.

“If only he were dead.” Kim thinks.

He walks towards the office Gabriel works in and walks up to the painting.

“Max?” He whispers.

In the earpiece he wears, Max responds, “There should be some trigger or something. Touch the painting until you find a crevice of some kind.”

“Eh?”

“Move your fingers around the painting until it makes a strange bump.”

Kim complies, moving his fingers around the painting, finding a few parts that shouldn’t feel like that. They feel kind of like buttons. He positions his fingers until just over them all and pushes them in, causing the floor to move beneath him, like an elevator. His eyes widen.

“I bet Adrien doesn’t know about this.” Kim frowns.

“Keep searching. If he truly is Hawk Moth, this would explain where he hides.” Max frowns.

Kim walks until he comes across a glass coffin and pales. But it’s not the coffin that sends fear up his spine. It’s what’s in the coffin.

“Max… Are you seeing this?”

“This is impossible… She’s been dead for more than a year already. How is her body still there, not even a sign of decay? Adrien can’t have known about this. We have to get this evidence to the police now.” Max orders.

Suddenly, there is a noise nearby. Kim hides behind a tree near the coffin. He watches as Gabriel Agreste walks towards the coffin. Two questions going through Kim’s mind is, “Why is he fully clothed? Why isn’t he in his pyjamas?” Then he notices a little butterfly creature floating next to him, who looks an awful lot like Xuppu.

“Emelie, soon I will have the Miraculous and be able to bring you back. I thought Adrien was Cat Noir. I was wrong, thankfully. Just a little longer and you will be back in my arms again.” Gabriel frowns.

Nooroo notices the boy in black but refuses to let his master know. While Gabriel is busy talking to Emelie’s body, he flies over to the boy.

“The Miraculous is his brooch. You have to stop him, please!” Nooroo whispers before flying back over to Gabriel before he notices he’s gone.

“Nooroo, Dark Wings Rise!” Gabriel exclaims, causing Nooroo to get sucked into the Miraculous, transforming Gabriel into Hawk Moth.

“That is enough proof, Kim. You have to get out of there! Now!” Max exclaims into the earpiece.

“Not until I get his Miraculous to give to Ladybug.” Kim whispers back.

Markov inputs, “I would not recommend staying. There is an 89% chance you will be captured if you do not escape.”

Kim waits for a few hours until Hawk Moth detransforms and goes back up into the house. He waits another ten minutes before walking out of his hiding place.

“I’m going up, guys.” Kim frowns.

He quickly runs towards the elevator and pushes the button to go up into the house. He then sneaks into Gabriel’s room, quickly running to the closet. Gabriel walks in, buttoning up his pyjama shirt. Gabriel places the Miraculous into a small box, making Nooroo disappear. Gabriel then lies down on the bed, falling asleep.

“Kim, I do not recommend moving from your spot for the next thirty minutes. If you make any noise, he will wake up. He has to enter REM before you can move.”

Kim doesn’t understand exactly but complies anyway. The nerd knows best, after all. After thirty minutes, Max tells Kim he can move, so he opens the door to the closet and takes the miraculous, running out of the room as fast as he can. He then opens the box and pins the Miraculous onto his shirt.

“What are you doing, Kim?”

“Hawk Moth has a helper. We need to get that Miraculous as well. I’m asking the Kwami to take me to it.”

Nooroo forms in front of Kim.

“Thank you, new Master.”

Kim asks, “Where’s the Peacock?”

Nooroo answers, “Follow me.”

Kim follows Nooroo to the painting of Emelie, who tries to pull the painting. Kim helps him, showing a safe.

“How do we get into the safe?”

“There are many possible combinations-”

Nooroo phases through the safe and opens it, showing a book, tickets to Tibet, and the peacock Miraculous. Nooroo tosses both the Miraculous and the book to Kim.

“You need to get this book to Ladybug’s hands. Can you do that?”

Kim nods and runs back to Adrien’s room, where he jumps out the window and runs.

*End Flashback*

“It was quite difficult. But long story short, you give me a dare, I follow it through.” Kim smirks.

Alya smirks, “I dare you to find out the identity of Ladybug!”

Kim and Max exchange amused looks.

“Already done. But we’re not telling you.”

Alya groans, “Why not?!”

Max answers, “I dared him to never tell anyone her identity.” giving Marinette a side glance.

***

Later that day, both Max and Kim are wearing the Miraculous, talking to the Kwamis, when there is a knock on the window. The boys turn around to see Ladybug. They open the window, pulling her in quickly. “Ladybug, we are so glad you’re here.” Kim smiles.

“You completed my dare. I’m impressed.”

Max smiles, “It was nothing, Marinette.”

Ladybug’s eyes widen in shock.

“What? I’m not Marinette.”

Kim scoffs, “Yeah you are. I noticed every time Ladybug appeared, Marinette was never around. Markov confirmed it. But we won’t tell anyone. Here. You have to keep the Miraculous out of the bad guy’s hands.”

He pulls the Moth Miraculous off his shirt and hands it to Ladybug, Nooroo flying into the Miraculous.

“If you ever need us, we’ll be here, ready to assist.” Max smiles, giving her the peacock, Duusu flying into it.

#Gabriel capture #Kim figures it out #Miraculous Ladybug #Hawk Moth #Gabriel Agreste #Nooroo #Duusu #Ladybug #Marinette #Alya #submission

[zuffer-weird-girl]

maybe for pirate kai pt.2, Reader had been working for overhaul for a while, when an enemy ship attacks the Shie Hassaikai ship and the captain of it takes reader cuz he's interested in her. this makes kai furious and fights to rescue her, which makes him realize that he actually developed feelings for her at the end?

"You missed a spot." That voice which you came to hate and feel shivers at only hearing from afar spoke from behind you as you scrubbed the floor with a mop.

You turned to give him a dirty look behind your shoulder as he merely raised one of his eyebrows with arms crossed over his chest.

How you wanted to give just a piece of your mind to this fucked up Captain... but the fear of being throw on a icy cold sea surrounded by sharks just like the last time. So it was better than remain quiet and atture.

... but that doesn't mean you couldn't at least give one or two snarky comments to him.

"If you think that is such a shitty job then why dont you do it asshole?" You mumbled while aggressively shoving the mop on the bucket and then splashing rather close to his shiny boots.

"What is the fun of having a slave then? I can clean properly later, is much better when I can see you here paying for what you did, and slowly watch that hope to get out of here fade away." His boots echoes on the deck as he threw you a dark glance before walking off.

You mimicked him talking with your hand before continuing scrubbing the floor.

"You should be grateful!" You deadpanned at hearing Irinaka's voice from above you "Captain doesn't speak with actually no one asides from you!"

"Wish he just could shut it up instead and leave me alone!" You shouted back, flinching at how the strand led shout of a crow left his throat and almost killed your earbuds.

You heard laughter and shouting at your little discussion with Rappa until he shouted again some incoherent words while landing on the deck with a hard thud.

"What the-" you holded the mop close but then he ran past you and shouting after Overhaul.

"CApTAin! FuCK THErE ARe A enEmY ShIp NeArBy And TheY wAn-" overhaul lifted his palm at the man, an action you learned that it was a quite polite 'shut up' but then a canon ball hitted close to Setsuno's head as you screamed.

His golden's eyes narrowed at the direction it came the canon ball as he put it on his hat and started to walk.

"LIFT THAT CANDLE AND GET READY TO ATTACK YOUR BAND OF VERMS!" You widened dyour eyes and clinged onto teh mop in shock at hearing that man shouting and how fast everyone followed to his rules.

"W-What do I do now-?!" You looked at your sides but then Overhaul came by and grabbed your arm and dragged you to the coffins of the ship "LET GO YOU-YOU-! YOU PIRATE!"

"Goadly to know you have some sense." He growled out and pushed you into his office "Dont get out of here." He glared at you before slamming the door.

"Hey!" You punched the door and kicked as the ship started to shake "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

You heard damon balls and shots and ju God did it scare you shitless. You started to wander off at hearing more and more shouts as you started to search for something, anything that could potentially be useful for self defense.

His desk was clear as ever and some old paintings and books were sprawled and tossed by the way the shipton was going as you looked for anything on the sheets.

You found a book and opened out of curiosity and widened your eyes at it.

"The jerk's jornal..." you muttered as you started to flip pages... even fouding the date where you were prisioned by these pirates.

It had been months since you were kidnapped... by as you started to read the notes and descriptions of ever treasure and how the sea looked for future provisions for traveling you saw your name writen over it.

You furrowed your eyebrows at it...

This (Y/n) is quite a feisty one. Cant follow any of my rules, give snarky comments. By seas, I guess even Rappa Kendo can be more respectful towards me than this little thief rat.

Yet I cant deny there is something... intriguing about her... She does this... witchcraft on my chest. Ever time she leople back at one of my orders I just have to talk back... I have to remain as best as I can to have her on this ship.'

"... this man is crazy or what?" You muttered while reading until you screamed when the door bursted open to see a blue haired man looking his ruby blood eyes with yours and smilling.

"What do we have here?" He spoke nonchantly as you clenched on the diary.

"Another pirate and just a slave of other.maybe?!?!?!" you shouted and yelped when he pointed a gun towards your head.

"Captain Tomura. Pleasure to meet you slave, now come with me before I decided to burst your brains on this neat office of that Captain of yours."

You gulped and followed his orders.

.

.

.

This Compress guy was good with swords despite having one fucking arm.

"Glad to see you havent changed!" The man smiled and hitted his swords along with his befor ehe twirled Compress's sword and threw at the air and pointe the tips of both at him, one at his throat and other at his heart.

"You miserables never change." He growled before hearing a shot gun and looking at Shigaraki keeping you captive.

Fuck..

"Stay right there Oveehaul, unless you want one of your stolen things yo have her their brain busted."

"P-Please dont. I prefer the cleaning maniac then this man seriously-" you whimpered and Shigaraki laughed as his own crew smirked and giggled.

"Owww! Can we keep her?!" Toga squealed as he threw a dirty look at the teenager.

"We will." Shigaraki smiled "Take us out of here. Kurogiri!" He shouted as some black and purple clouds started to surround the ship as Overhaul saw that one by one were dissapearing.

"Dammit-!" He threw his swords and ran towards Shigaraki, even extending one of his hands towards you "SHIGARAKI GIVE HER BACK-!"

You widened your eyes as Shigaraki grabbed your neck amd put his face close to your before dissapearing.

"Come get her then, Captain Overhaul..."

And just like that they were gone and Chisaki only grabbed the air as his eyes widened.

"Overhaul!" Chrono shouted and came to his side "They hadn't rook anything besides (Y/n), so I guess there is no prejudice-" he flinched when Chisaki pinched the wall of the ship so hard that it broke.

"DAMMIT!" HE shouted so loud that even Rikiya shivered, and just when it finally ended his shouting he ran towards the wheel, even letting his hat fall as he harshly turned the wheel towards where Shigaraki ships had dissapeared.

"The fuck you're doing?!" Rappa shouted while clinging to some place as others did the same to prevent being throwed in the water "THERE'S A STORM COMING OUR WAY YOU FUCKER! WE NEED TO GET OUTTA OF-"

"They stolen something that was mine AND I WONT HAVE LOSE IT! EVERYONE JUST ON THEIR POSITION AND IF ANYONE DARES TO DISOBEY MY ORDERS-" He pointed at the sea while the clouds started to get darker and even some thunder started to echoes "I'M FEEDING THEM TO THE FUCKIING KRAKEN HIMSELF!"

Everyone lowered their heads as Chisaki lead the ship, clenching his jaw at feeling the salty water and drops of rain hit his skin.

.

.

.

You sighed, rolling your eyes at being tied up on the mast as Shigaraki walkes around while reading Overhaul's diary which you might or not accidentaly stolen.

"My, so you are more than a slave then."

You chuffed and looked at him with hate as the indigo haired man tighten the rope even more around your waist, chest to the mast.

"Yet it seems that you are... huh. Quite special to that fucked up project of a Captain."

"To be honest he does keep his ship and subbordinates better than you do." You mumbled before the ropes around you were cutted and throw over to see Shigaraki glaring at you.

"Kneel, slave." You glared at him back and spitted on his boots as he threw a look to a lizard man.

"Kill this bitch."

You sometimes hated how you were always a snarky woman.

Just before the lizard could even step closer to you a thunder echoed along with a guttural amd terrifying shout as you widened your eyes at the sign of the known ship.

"SHIGARAKI!" The ma shouted and pulled his swords before taking one rope of his ship, running and even throwing himself at the deck of the other ship as the other did the same. Landing perfectly on two foots... excluding Rappa whose fell face planted.

His golden eyes narrowed as he growled at the other male as you could only blink.

"Attack!" Shigaraki commanded as one 13 old boy grabbed you by the waist and dragged you to the top of the mast by climbing on ropes. How? You didn't know.

He clenched his teeth together as he went forward, not caring how much blood he had to drip as he cutted with his swords at anyone who got in his front.

He grabbed one rope and jumped and crawled until you.

"One more step and she is food for the sharks!" The boy shouted while holding only your arm as you were being holded just above the sea as teh thunders echoed.

"Drop then." His comment was so nonchantly as you send him a desperate look.

"Wait what?" The boy spoke as you repeated his words but with more hate and desperatioms towards then.

"Drop. Her." He growled as the boy shrugged.

"You miserable son of a-" you screamed as the boy let go of your wrist and you fell towards the water.

you closed your eyes but when you thought you were going to find frozen water, you were simply ripped off and brought to a warm chest and an arm holding you very tightly against it.

you opened your eyes and screamed again when you realized that Chisaki had also jumped and caught you in the last second, grabbing a rope while you two seemed to fly around the boat.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING MY GOOD NEPTUNE LOVED THAT'S IT- ?!"

"Do you want to stop screaming?" he asked as if it was nothing and turned his head to his subordinates to give the final attack while he fell on his own ship, holding her in his arms in a bride style.

You later on noticed you were clinging to death on him and soon yelped when you meet his nonchantly gaze. Throwing yourself out of his arms.

"L-Lets forget about that." You mumbled as he put his hand behind his neck, only for you to gasp at him grabbing your hand and pulling you to a safe place.

"Stay there."

This time you decided to follow his orders... mostly because you can tease about the blushy om his cheeks later.

So he had feelings towards you for real? Huh....

What a weird pirate...

While he jumped and managed with his swords couldn't get the thoughts of you out of his head... even when he was battling with shigaraki.

Maybe he should invite you to tea later...?

Wait-

"WHAT?!" He shouted while lifting one punch and attacking one enemy from behind.

He was fuming in embarrassment at even the thought... why?! Why did he ever thought about that?!

"Overhaul?" His crewmates asked but he could only concetrate on the tone of your voice and just was actually waiting for him to get back.

What the actual... did he... fell? For a thief rat?

Boy he was screwed.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha villains #bnha characters #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha au #captain overhaul #zuffer writings

[ottelis]

"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

.

.

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix.

09—la vérité

august 11th, 1968

07:55

caen, france

~

Eliott sleeps much better the night after his appointment than he thought he would. Perhaps the exhaustion took over and freed him from his thoughts. He's grateful for that, but now that he's awake, he has to face Lucas again. He's not afraid of looking Lucas in the eye, or seeing all the expressions that could flicker across his face in half a moment. He's afraid of what Lucas might say, of the way his tongue may curl and slash in his mouth, or the way it could lie still and tie itself in a knot. But he can't let his fear show anymore, not when he knows Lucas is in pain, when he knows he can try to help his best friend. 

He decides to talk to Lucas before mass, since he knows he'll be there most of the morning. He dresses for mass, too, putting on his white shirt and tying his black tie beneath the collar. He hasn't been to mass, let alone inside the church, since his father's funeral, and he supposes that now could be a good time to go.

His dress shoes are too small for him now, something he never would've anticipated. He borrows one of his father's pairs, and though they're a bit too big, they fit better than his own. They're old, but his father was buried in his nicer ones. It feels a bit strange, wearing his father's shoes, but he doesn't expect to be wearing them for very long. Just until after mass.

His mother is in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast as he gets ready to leave. He apologizes to her quickly and tells her where he'll be, and that he'll meet her at mass. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells her he loves her.

He takes a deep breath as he opens the door, but it catches in his throat when he sees Lucas on the other side, his hand raised and ready to knock.

"Lucas, hey," he stammers. "Is everything okay?"

Lucas nods, bewildered, too. "Yeah. Yeah. Um, this might be an odd question," he begins awkwardly. "But I've kind of become the organist at our parish, and I have a key to the church. I like to get there early and practice some songs. It's just… It's lonely in there sometimes. The echo gets too much when you're alone. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

Eliott blinks, fumbling for an answer. "Of course," he manages, smiling. "I've missed hearing you play anyway." He's not being untruthful, but his mind starts running even faster once the words leave his mouth. Maybe he can steal a moment to talk to Lucas. Maybe on the way there, or right before mass. 

Lucas smiles, and his eyes brighten. "Thank you so much," he sighs. "It's honestly so eerie in there and it was about to drive me crazy."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, smiling warmly. "Were you planning on leaving now?"

Lucas nods. "If that's okay."

"Okay," Eliott nods back. He calls over his shoulder, "See you in a bit, Maman."

"See you, honey," she calls back. "See you, Lucas."

"See you, Madame Demaury," Lucas responds as Eliott goes through the door. 

Eliott shuts the door behind him, taking another deep breath. Now he has to wait for the right moment to talk to Lucas. And he has to hope it won't go poorly like he's worried it might. He has to trust Lucas. 

They don't say a word as they walk to Lucas's car, but the silence is strangely comfortable, easy. Perhaps this should be the moment that Eliott grabs by the horns, but it's too precious for him to ruin. He's too enamoured by the sound of their soft footfalls on the grass, the slightest whisper of a breeze in the air. It's going to be a beautiful day.

"It is," Lucas says suddenly, startling Eliott. He must've said his thought aloud without realizing. "Most Sundays are. The whole world is at peace on Sundays." 

"Remember when we would build sandcastles almost every Sunday?" Eliott asks quietly, still afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment.

"Because the sea was calmer," Lucas chuckles lightly. "I just can't believe we basically built the same sandcastle every week. How did we not get bored of it more quickly? We did that until we were almost ten."

"Maybe after mass we can build a sandcastle," Eliott suggests. "I think it'd be nice to come back to that."

"I like that idea," Lucas smiles warmly, letting his head tilt slightly down. 

They reach Lucas's car, piling in quickly. Lucas keeps the radio off again, but Eliott's parents never played music on the way to mass, either. Eliott doesn't mind the silence here, either. He thinks they've carried the silence from outside with them. 

The sun has risen considerably by now, but it still casts a soft, faint light on the city, coaxing it awake. It's kind today, loving. Fatherly, almost. It flows gently through the windows of Lucas's car, bathing them in a thin but warm layer of light. Eliott lifts his hand ever so slightly, letting it swim through the light. It's like water. He wiggles and curls his fingers, holds his palm face up to illuminate the lines there. 

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks with a chuckle.

"With my hand?" Eliott laughs, too. "Swimming."

Lucas smiles, glancing at Eliott's hand. His eyes follow the smooth, graceful movement of it until the car starts to swerve slightly. He quickly looks back up to the road, but the smile lingers on his face, small and content.

Eliott hopes that that smile means Lucas is doing better, that he won't have to ask him what's wrong. But Lucas was always good at hiding things, he's had so much practice with it anyway. Eliott keeps finding himself hoping and hoping.

The parking lot is empty, and it's a strange sight for Eliott. He's so used to hearing his father complain about how there weren't any parking spots left when they arrived for mass, he never thought it could be so barren. He could see what Lucas means when he says it can be eerie seeing the church deserted. He could only imagine what it's like in the chapel. 

They don't talk in the brief time it takes to get out of Lucas's car and to enter the church. Lucas still seems at ease, though, a stark contrast to his behavior at the cemetery last week. Eliott takes it as a good sign.

The lock unclicks with a creaky thud, and the door squeaks faintly as it opens. Lucas lets Eliott walk in first, making sure to lock the door behind them.

Eliott pauses just past the threshold, gazing at the chapel. It's still exactly as he remembers it—the stone floors gray as ash, the pale columns, the smooth arches, the statues with faces as familiar to him as someone he's known in real life. All the old paintings are still on the walls, all the elaborate stained glass is still intact and shining, all the same chairs are sitting in front of the altar like sentinels. He can still smell all the burning wax, the incense, wet stone. But there's something different, something in the air he doesn't recognize. Maybe he really has been away for too long and forgotten it was ever there. But it's heavy, leaves something crawling just beneath Eliott's skin. Maybe it's the ghost of memory—the ghost of a boy who prayed to God to make his papa feel better and not get sick anymore, the ghost of his father, the ghost of the flowers and incense that clouded and covered his coffin, the ghost of hymns played and sung through bitter tears.

"Spooky, isn't it?" Lucas teases, nudging Eliott's arm. 

Eliott nods, gulping. "I can see why you don't wanna be alone in here," he agrees, his voice thin.

Lucas chuckles lightly. "It's not as bad once I'm sitting at the organ. Then all of it's behind me."

"But you said the echo gets to you, too, right?" Eliott asks. 

Lucas nods, sighing. "I think you hearing it, too, will help. It won't be as lonely. It'll feel real for once. Not just some cruel trick of my imagination."

Eliott nods back, imagining the shrill yet regal notes of an organ filling such a cavernous, empty room. No voices to accompany it, no other instruments to help it swell and wane into sacred, gorgeous music. The thought sends a chill down his spine. 

"Tu viens?" Lucas asks softly, tilting his head towards the direction of the organ. His hand brushes against Eliott's, his touch another ghost in these hallowed halls. 

Eliott nods weakly, and Lucas smiles kindly. He leads Eliott to a corner of the building that he doesn't quite remember being there before, where a stone staircase lies in front of them. He can see the organ at the top, sitting below one of the large stained glass windows. He follows Lucas up the stairs, their footfalls only a quiet shuffling in the silence of the chapel. 

"Do you want to sit next to me?" Lucas asks as if he takes his place at the seat in front of the organ. It's wide enough to fit both of them. And Lucas is looking at him with a warmth that he could never deny. 

"Yeah," Eliott smiles, sitting next to him. He can't help but look up at the stained glass window above them. It's so simple—just a mosaic of diamonds dyed with gold and silver and oceans and clouds and jewels—but the way the light filters through it is enchanting, even in the half-light they're in right now. The sun hasn't risen high enough yet to shatter through it completely. Eliott can only imagine how beautiful it must be, then. He wishes he had paid more attention to this window before. 

"This is my favorite thing in the whole church," Lucas says, his eyes gazing up at the window, too. 

"It's beautiful," Eliott replies, reverent.

"Selfishly," Lucas begins, shrugging, his brow furrowed. "I feel like it's mine, in a way."

"I don't think that's selfish," Eliott shakes his head. 

Lucas smiles, looking down at the organ keys. His smile fades, but quiet thought takes its place. His hands hover over the keys for a moment, his fingers taking shape after shape of a thousand chords before settling on one. Lucas begins playing gently, slowly growing louder as the prelude progresses. Eliott instantly recognizes Ubi Caritas, and he lets himself smile. 

The organ was never Eliott's favorite instrument, despite hearing it his whole life. It was so easy to play too loudly, too dully. But in Lucas's hands, the organ is as elegant and stately and warm as it possibly could be. Lucas takes the love Ubi Caritas speaks of and lets it pour from his fingers and into the keys. Lucas could take any instrument and turn it to gold with the slightest touch, after leaving the faintest scar of a fingerprint on it. The echo of the music rings sweetly from the cold, aged stone, and Eliott can't imagine it sounding eerie or lonely. 

Eliott looks at Lucas, and for the first time today, he seems tense, anxious. His shoulders are tight, his back is hunched, his hands are shaking, his lower lip is caught beneath his teeth. But he doesn't let it betray his playing. The music still flows out of him so easily, so beautifully. 

But at the same time, Eliott has never seen Lucas like this while he's playing. He's been nervous before, of course, but it usually melts away once his fingers find their place on the keys. He's never started relieved and confident then grew nervous and stiff. 

Eliott feels the easy, comfortable dynamic between them start to break. His mind starts to reel, and his heart begins to stutter, all for Lucas. 

The hymn is over quickly, though, and Lucas releases a deep yet trembling breath. He stretches his hands, curling his fingers over and over. He's studying them as if they were someone else's hands, as if they don't belong to him.

"Does the echo bother you that much, Lucas?" Eliott asks softly, grasping at straws. 

Lucas shrugs fraily, hiding his hands between his thighs. His eyes flit across every visible thing around him except for Eliott. 

Eliott feels helpless, watching Lucas retreat into himself again. He shakes his head, maybe to help his brain rattle out a way to help Lucas.

"What if I played?" he tries, shrugging. "I know I don't how to play, but that's the trick. Maybe if I play a hymn off-key it won't make it quite as eerie in here."

Lucas smiles weakly, considering.

"Would that be sacrilegious?" Eliott asks under his breath, as if someone would hear them. "Playing random notes on a church organ?"

This makes Lucas chuckle, and Eliott already feels a thousand pounds lighter. "I don't think so, Eliott," Lucas shakes his head. "Just try not to play too loudly, okay?"

Eliott nods, hoping he'll know how to do that. He sees his hands trembling slightly as he places them just above the keys, playing whichever one each finger lands on.

He starts out with a discordant burst of music, one that nearly makes Lucas guffaw if he hadn't covered his mouth in time. After that, Eliott decides to not use all his fingers at once, instead plucking out a few random notes at awful, unsettling intervals. It's really not as awful as it could be, since he's not trying to play a real melody, but it's still not anything you would ever want to hear in a mass. 

Soon, Eliott thinks he's getting the hang of it and starts trying to make the notes string together, rather than play them stiltedly one by one. It doesn't work very well, though, and he only rushes into each note, making them bleed together until it's just noise. But it makes Lucas laugh, and maybe cringe a bit. 

"Okay, okay," Lucas interrupts after another one of Eliott's clumsy attempts at playing. He takes a moment to keep himself from laughing again before continuing. "I'm going to help you play because I don't think I can take anymore of this."

"You're going to teach me a lesson?" Eliott smiles, raising his eyebrows. 

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly. "I guess you could say that, yes," he agrees begrudgingly, but teasingly. "Here, let me take your hands," he continues, placing his hands just above Eliott's. "First, your form is terrible."

"Thanks," Eliott remarks sarcastically.

Lucas bites back a chuckle, ignoring Eliott's comment. "Pretend you're holding a ball in both your hands," he instructs. "They should be curled just slightly, they should never be completely flat. And straighten your back a bit, you're such a sloucher."

Eliott pouts, but follows his instructions. "Yes, maestro," he drones jokingly. Lucas can't hide his laugh that time. 

"You know 'Hot Cross Buns'?" Lucas asks through his laughter. 

"I don't think so," Eliott answers, genuinely this time. 

"It's really simple," Lucas continues. "It teaches you chords. Like this."

Lucas guides Eliott's hands to the correct place, gently pressing down on each finger that needs to press a key. They go through the song rather slowly and haltingly, Lucas letting Eliott get the hang of using his hands correctly. Lucas sings the words quietly as they go through it each time, and Eliott thinks that putting the words to it helps. He has something to pair the chords with, something he can picture in his mind while his hands bring it to life. 

"Okay," Lucas sighs, satisfied. "Try it by yourself. Go as slowly or as quickly as you want." 

Eliott nods, picturing the balls in his hands and the words to the song in his head. He gets through it slowly, but doesn't make any major mistakes until the very end when his left hand slips somehow.

"It's okay," Lucas says quickly, taking Eliott's hand and putting it back in the right place. "Try again if you want to."

He does, but messes up at the same spot. He admits a small mite of frustration flashed in his chest, but Lucas's comforting voice made it vanish as quickly as it appeared.

"Let's try just that part with me helping you again," Lucas suggests, only putting his hands on Eliott's once Eliott gives him an affirmative nod. "Here we go, slowly."

They take a moment to pause between each chord, slowly moving to the next one and making sure everything is in the right place. Slowly, but surely, Lucas takes his hands away and lets Eliott play by himself. 

Eliott plays the whole song, top to bottom, without any mistakes. It's the slowest version of "Hot Cross Buns" ever, but it's a successful attempt.

Lucas beams, telling him to play again, then again, then again. 

"We should play together," Eliott suggests after his fourth or fifth time through the song. "I'm on one side and you're on the other." 

"That'll be hard on an organ," Lucas replies, his eyes flitting across the keys. "It's not as similar to a piano than you would think it would be." 

"Do you think we could try?" Eliott asks, shrugging. 

Lucas studies the keys for a few more moments, then nods slowly. "I think so," he mutters, finding his place on the keys. "Go as slow as you want, I'll follow your lead."

"You're not going to show me up?" Eliott asks, raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Maestro?"

Lucas smirks. "I won't make any promises." 

Eliott chuckles, taking a moment before starting the song. And he realizes all too quickly that Lucas didn't promise for a reason.

Lucas is moving all around the keys, finding the perfect octave jumps and steps and half-steps. It sounds beautiful, of course, but a little too elaborate for a song like "Hot Cross Buns." 

Towards the end of the song, Eliott's left hand and Lucas's right hand land on the same area of the keys, Lucas's on top of Eliott's. They both stop suddenly, taking their other hand away, but Eliott's hand stays pinned beneath Lucas's. Lucas's skin is so warm and soft, and his hand looks so small against Eliott's. It makes Eliott smile, small but still brimming with joy. Lucas clings to Eliott's hand, awkwardly but sweetly intertwining their fingers.

As Eliott turns his head to look over at his best friend, Lucas's lips are suddenly crashing into his. 

Eliott's eyes widen, but flutter closed as Lucas deepens the kiss. He feels Lucas's hands in his hair, pushing him closer and closer to him. Lucas still tastes the same, like sleep and salty sea air. His lips are chapped, desperate, but Eliott would kiss them forever if he could. Eliott starts kissing him back once he's out of his stupor, cradling Lucas's face in his hands, fighting back a smile as their noses smush against each other. He feels Lucas's eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes fly open. Lucas takes Eliott's hands and yanks them off his face. Eliott stumbles forward slightly at the force, his eyes opening now, too.

He looks up and sees Lucas stepping backwards from the bench, his hands clasped over his mouth, his eyes too wide and his face too pale. He starts shaking his head, holds out his hands pleadingly. "Eliott, please," he whimpers, his voice shattering. "I-I didn't mean to, I—"

"No, Lucas, it's okay," Eliott interrupts, approaching Lucas carefully. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stays stuck there, thick and aching. "I'm not mad at you. It… It just happened, right? We got carried away." 

Lucas shakes his head, tear after tear rolling down his cheeks. "No…" he chokes out. "I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to. And I did, and—" his tears stop his voice, his breath. His chest rises and falls so sharply Eliott feels his own breath strangle in his throat.

He takes another step towards Lucas, still careful as he can be. "Lucas…" he begins, unsure of what he'll say next. He reaches out a hand, nearing Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas takes a few more steps back, a sob tearing out of his throat. "No, no, don't touch me, please," he begs, holding out his hands again. "Please, Eliott, just stay away from me." 

Eliott opens his mouth, but nearly gets the wind knocked out of him as Lucas suddenly shoves him aside. Lucas rushes past him, heading towards the stairs. He pauses just before it, though, nearly falling to his knees before supporting himself against the wall. He leans against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, softly, sitting in front of him. "I'm not leaving you again. I'm not going to do that to you. I can't. I care about you too much, and you're hurting too much right now for me to leave you like this." 

"Please, Eliott," Lucas sobs. "Just leave. Please. You haven't done anything wrong, and I don't want to ruin that for you. I can't ruin you. I'd never forgive myself." 

"You're not ruining me, Lucas," Eliott reassures, still careful not to touch him.

"I love you, Eliott," Lucas cuts in. His voice had been hard to discern through his tears, but for some reason those three words rang out clear as a bell. "I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. Don't you remember me telling you that? When we talked about everything that happened? I told you the exact same thing."

Eliott does remember. He remembers Lucas practically screaming it out of a bleeding throat. He nods at Lucas, feeling tears run down his face. 

"The more time I spend with you," Lucas begins, hopeless. "The more I realize that we're not meant to be together. Not even as friends. Because we could never be just friends anymore. Every time I look at you, I remember the times you would kiss me and love me like I had always wanted someone to. But what I want doesn't matter. It's wrong. It's a sin. And I don't want you to become a disgusting sinner because of me."

"We talked about this before," Eliott replies desperately, his heart beginning to hammer against his chest. "Remember? We agreed that it wasn't. God made us this way, Lucas, and God doesn't make mistakes. So how could we be mistakes? How could the way we love be a mistake?"

"God didn't make us like this," Lucas shakes his head bitterly. "And you have a chance to be saved, Eliott. You could meet a girl and love her with everything inside of you. I can't. It's too late for me."

"Lucas, what are you talking about?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "You have Chloé. You're marrying her next year."

Lucas buries his face in his hands again, shaking his head weakly. "I don't love her, Eliott," he weeps, his voice muffled by his hands. "I can't love her. It doesn't matter if I marry her or maybe start a family with her. It's pointless if I don't love her. I'll always want someone else instead of her. I would still be sinning."

Eliott is speechless, unable to find an argument. He feels completely helpless, useless.

"Sometimes I wish you had just let me die that day," Lucas whispers, his heart climbing up his throat to nearly shatter Eliott's. 

Eliott feels himself sway, feels his breath getting crushed out of his lungs. His body grows numb, his head spins, his blood chills. 

"Why didn't you?" Lucas asks, lifting his head. His eyes are glassy, nearly empty as they meet Eliott's. "Why didn't you just let me drown?"

"You're my best friend," Eliott chokes out. "And I love you. And it would've been my fault if you didn't make it. And I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

"If I had just died you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself," Lucas says, his voice losing its emotion, as if he's thought of this a thousand times and it's as natural as breathing.

"That's not true," Eliott whimpers. 

"And you never would've gone to the institution—"

"That's not true—"

"And they wouldn't have done all those awful things to you—"

"Lucas, stop—"

"And you would've learned to be happy again. To miss me and smile like your papa said—"

"Please—"

Lucas rises to his feet then, pacing the balcony. He tugs on his hair, claws at the back of his neck. "I should've died. I was supposed to die. I never saw a light. Just darkness. I was never going to make it to heaven. I was supposed to die and go to hell and—"

"I said stop, Lucas!" Eliott begs, practically shouts. 

"Why can't I just die—"

Lucas's fist collides with the stone wall with a sickening crack. He screams, falling to his knees, holding his now broken, bleeding hand in his other one. 

Eliott rushes to Lucas, gathering his trembling body in his arms. He cradles him close to his chest, lets him sob into his shirt. He rocks back and forth, as if it would lull Lucas to sleep or take all his pain and torture away. He knows it won't, but he has to try something.

"I can't be a queer, Eliott," Lucas weeps, Eliott's shirt muffling his voice. "But I don't know how to stop it." 

"You don't have to stop, Lucas," Eliott tries again softly. "You don't have to try to be someone you're not."

"What if I hate who I am?" Lucas asks weakly, bitterly. He lifts his head slightly, turning it to where his ear is resting against Eliott's chest. "What if who I am keeps myself from getting everything I want? I'll be sent to hell. Everyone I love will be in heaven, and when I die I'll never see them again. I'll never see you again. I'll never see Maman again." 

Eliott starts gently shushing Lucas, holding him a little tighter, but Lucas keeps talking.

"My poor Maman," Lucas chokes out, sniffling. "How many times have I broken her heart over the years? I can't break her heart again. I'm the only thing she has left. And who knows when she won't have me anymore? Who knows when she'll die or when I'll die and then eternity comes between us? How has she lived with having me for a son? I'm not her baby boy anymore. I don't think I ever was." 

"She loves you more than anything, Lucas," Eliott replies. "I've seen it. She's your maman, and she loves every second she gets to be your maman."

"She fell in love with someone else," Lucas shakes his head. "Everyone has. You have, too. I can't be that person anymore. But I can't be myself either, because I can't bear to look at myself. I'm… I'm trapped, Eliott. I'm either trapped in someone I've created to make everyone happy, or I'm trapped in myself, who's a disgusting, filthy sinner—"

"Lucas," Eliott interrupts, taking Lucas's face in his hands and making him look at him. "You're not disgusting. You're not filthy. You're not a sinner. You're Lucas. And because you're Lucas, you love so much and feel so much that you explode sometimes. You're exploding right now. You've had all this weight to carry on your shoulders and on your mind, and you're starting to let it go by telling me how heavy it is. And I know how heavy it can be. Believe me, I do. And it's breaking you open and that's okay."

For once, Lucas doesn't have a rebuttal. His voice is silent and his tears are quiet. He rests his head on Eliott's chest again, and Eliott lets him. 

"I haven't believed in God much since Papa died," Eliott continues, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. "But when I did, I always felt He just wanted all of us to be happy. And when we're with someone we love, we're the happiest we could ever be. And that can't ever be wrong. Love can never be wrong. Especially from someone who calls Himself the God of love. Right?" 

Lucas doesn't answer, but Eliott can feel him trembling. 

"Listen, Lucas," Eliott sighs, gingerly weaving his hands through his hair. "When has that whisper the clergy always say is God speaking to you ever told you that you're wrong for being queer? When has that little voice ever told you anything like that? Or has it always been the clergy? Or has it always been other kids' parents whispering about queers before mass? Or has it always been Sunday school teachers? When have you ever felt a truly divine voice tell you anything that those people have told you?" 

Lucas is quiet again for a moment, but then shakes his head weakly. "Never," he replies fraily.

"You can love God and be devoted to Him and not go to mass every Sunday," Eliott says. "You can pray to Him and let Him speak to you in whatever little ways He does and you can get all your answers and comfort that way. You don't have to listen to other people who say they know what's best for you in the eyes of God, because what do they know? What do they know about the way God loves or speaks to one of His queer children? What do they know about the way He loves or speaks to any of His other children? God speaks to all of us in different ways, and maybe this isn't the way He needs to speak to you. Maybe you hate the way the music echoes in here because God speaks to you through music, and this building gets in the way of it. Maybe you need to take some time to find the way He speaks to you and hold onto that. Whether it's music, or reading His word, or a combination of multiple things, or whatever. And never let anyone take it away from you. Do you hear me, Lucas?"

Lucas nods. "I do."

Eliott smiles to himself. "Good," he sighs in relief. "And… We don't have to talk about us or do anything drastic until you've made peace with everything. You come first right now. I'll hold your heart for you once it's healed, once it tells me it's okay for me to cradle it. And then I'll give you mine, too. I'll wait as long as I need to." 

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, sighing. "Thank you so much, Eliott." 

"Anything for you, Lucas," Eliott smiles, kissing the top of Lucas's head. "And we're going to leave here now, and get that hand checked out. They'll find someone else to play the organ in your place."

He feels Lucas nod. 

"And one more thing," Eliott continues. "Remember when you and Chloé ran into me outside of the psychiatry office?"

Lucas nods again.

"If you want to, you could start being a patient there, too," Eliott suggests. "Dr. Garnier is extremely kind and patient. And he's like us, Lucas. He understands. He was in the same place you were once, and he knows how to get out of it. He can tell you so many things that you probably need to hear right now. I think he'll help you." 

"Okay," Lucas agrees, his voice a little stronger now. 

Eliott closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I love you, Lucas," he says quietly. "I don't want you to hurt like this anymore. I want to be here, no matter how awful or angry or lost you feel. Okay?"

"I love you, too, Eliott," Lucas returns, and Eliott can feel him smile. "And I'll let you be there. I promise I will."

Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head again, unable to fight back his smile now. 

"Eliott?" Lucas says softly. 

Eliott hums in response, lifting his head.

"What would you have done?" Lucas asks, his voice getting quieter. "If I had died that day?" 

The thought has invaded Eliott's mind a million times, has appeared to him in countless nightmares, and it attacks him again once the words leave Lucas's mouth. 

Eliott resting his forehead against Lucas's, waiting, begging please open your eyes so I can see them again please wake up please come back to me please please please don't leave me, but Lucas never breathes again. His body is hollow as Eliott takes it in his arms, as he clings to it and his grief comes back to him in a tidal wave. He cries until he can't anymore, until the sun has nearly set. Someone approaches him, their footfalls soft, almost frightened on the sand. Then a scream, so agonized Eliott feels his own grief has shrunk to a spec of dust. Lucas's mother. Someone else comes, too, carefully removing Eliott's hands so they can take Lucas's body away. Eliott is too weak to fight back, to hold Lucas tighter, to refuse to let him go. His arms are emptying, and the last thing he feels is Lucas's lifeless hand brushing against his thigh. Madame Lallemant follows the person carrying her son's body, weeping and wailing, leaving a new ocean behind her. Eliott stays on the shore, broken and empty, the tide receding further and further away. 

It always ends there, Eliott alone with the weight of Lucas's body haunting his arms like a ghost. He always wakes up then, or something snaps him out of his thoughts. He never knows what happens next. He's never wanted to know.

"I don't know," he answers. He holds Lucas a little tighter, lets himself remember the way they fit together. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile. "But you're here now, Lucas. And you're alive. That has to mean something. If you really were meant to die that day, God would've found a way to stop me from saving you." 

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding slightly. 

"Do you remember what I said to you when you came back?" Eliott asks quietly. 

Lucas shakes his head. 

"I'm so happy you're here," he recites, his tears finally leaking into his voice. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Lucas lets out a sob, bunching Eliott's shirt in his hands. Another sob ripples through his body; another, another.

"You're safe now," Eliott whispers. "You're here. You're okay. God loves you. I love you. Your maman loves you. We all love you so much, Lucas. You're alive and you're so loved." 

Lucas cries harder, but Eliott can feel him smiling against his chest, hear his relieved sighs between sniffles and sobs. He smooths soothing circles into Lucas's back, holds him as closely as he can, waiting for Lucas's tears to dry, but almost hoping they won't. It's nice here, tucked away in a corner of the church; the stained glass window spilling heavenly light on them, all the bad memories that live in this place being slowly burned and faded away like incense, Lucas in Eliott's arms and Eliott in Lucas's. It's calm, tranquil, peaceful. All the cold stone and lifeless statues have been chipped away, only leaving the warmth you're supposed to feel from holiness, from sacredness. The warmth of love, understanding, safety, life. Eliott could stay here forever, knowing it means that Lucas will be safe in his arms, and that they can just exist. They don't have to be anything or mean a certain thing to each other. They're together, and they love each other, and they're meant to be close to each other. Eliott has always known that, but now Lucas does, too.

But soon, Lucas isn't trembling with sobs anymore. He's breathing deeply, easily. Eliott actually thinks Lucas has fallen asleep for a moment, but Lucas speaks when Eliott is about to check.

"Eliott?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Can we go to the hospital now?" he asks. "My hand is killing me. I think it's broken."

Eliott looks down as Lucas pulls away slightly, revealing his hand. Scarlet blood is slicked all over it, gushing from his knuckles. And if Lucas's hand is broken, the blood is covering up any bruising. Eliott's stomach turns at the sight, nodding hurriedly. "Okay. Can you get up?"

Lucas nods, slowly rising to his feet. There's blood all over his pure white shirt, and when Eliott looks down at his shirt, his is, too. Somehow, these sights make him feel nauseous, too, but he manages to force the bile down. He rises, too, guiding Lucas down the stairs and out of the church. 

Luckily, Eliott is able to drive from the church to the hospital. Eliott goes a little faster than he should, but it's still fairly early, so the roads aren't too busy. 

When they're nearly there, Eliott looks over at Lucas and sees him cradling his injured hand close to his chest, his eyes closed. He watches for a moment as the stains on Lucas's shirt get darker, and he involuntarily pushes the gas pedal a little further forward.

"I'm not dying, Eliott," Lucas mutters, almost chuckling. "You don't have to speed to get me to the hospital."

Hearing Lucas joke puts Eliott slightly at ease, and he lets his foot slightly off the gas. He exhales slowly.

Everything is going to be okay. 

They arrive at the hospital about five minutes later, and their first priority (besides Lucas's hand, of course) is to call their mothers. They'd be going to mass soon, and when they realize that their sons aren't there and that Lucas's car is gone is a recipe for panic and chaos. Eliott will have to use the hospital payphone of course, he doesn't have a potentially broken hand. 

"But what am I gonna tell them?" Eliott frets as they wait for someone to take Lucas back. "They're going to ask what happened, and I can't tell them you punched the church wall." 

"I don't know," Lucas shrugs. "But, I'm pretty sure a bit of my blood is on the wall so maybe we should just tell the truth. Well, not the whole truth." 

"How much do I tell them, then?" Eliott asks. 

"Say the empty church got to my head and I started panicking and I punched the wall," Lucas suggests. "That's all true."

"Okay," Eliott nods, writing out a script in his head. "What if your maman gets upset?"

"She's going to, Eliott," Lucas sighs. "That's how she is. The best thing to do is tell her a few times that I'm okay, and that we're at the hospital and someone is taking care of me. If she says she'll be coming down here, don't tell her not to. If she's here with me, it'll make her feel better." 

Eliott nods again. "My maman will probably want to come down here, too."

Lucas nods. "A Lallemant-Demaury party at the hospital," he chuckles lightly. 

Eliott chuckles, too, his head thudding lightly against the wall. He sighs deeply, and Lucas does, too, next to him. He looks over and Lucas's eyes are closed again, bursts of pain flashing across his face. "Are you sure you're okay, Lucas?" Eliott asks again for the twentieth time in the last hour.

Lucas nods, opening his eyes. "It'd be nice if someone would see me already so they can fix me up and then I can sleep. I forgot how exhausting attacks like that are. I could sleep for a week, I think."

Eliott opens his mouth to reply, but someone calling Lucas's name interrupts him. Lucas sighs in relief, rising to his feet.

"I'll go ahead and call our mamans," Eliott tells him as he leaves. "Get better, okay?"

Lucas smiles at him over his shoulder as he follows the nurse down the hall. 

Eliott watches Lucas disappear into a room, letting out another deep sigh. He hopes Lucas's hand won't be as badly hurt as it seems like it could be. He hopes Lucas will remember everything Eliott told him today, that it won't be lost in the fog of panic. He hopes that today is a turning point for Lucas, that he can actually start healing, that he can nurture his heart the way it needs to be.

Eliott smiles to himself as he stands up, feeling cold coins on his fingertips as he fishes through his pockets. Now's the hard part: calling their mamans.

august 14th, 1968

10:58

caen, france

~

"I still don't know how you managed to punch a stone wall and walk away with barely a fracture," Eliott teases, noticing how nervous Lucas seems. They're sitting in the waiting room of the psychiatric office with Madame Lallemant. It's a dreary day today, heavy with the humidity of a coming storm, making the usually warm office not as welcoming as it has been before. And, of course, that doesn't ease any of Lucas's worries.

Lucas smiles weakly at Eliott's comment, but it doesn't linger. He's gone back to his old habit, even with an injured hand. His right hand is clasped over his left, rather than the other way around, and he doesn't squeeze as hard as he usually does. Eliott's noticed that if he squeezes the slightest bit too hard he winces, exhaling sharply.

"Are you sure you don't want me in there with you, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks kindly, placing her hand on Lucas's shoulder. 

Lucas pauses a moment, then nods. "Yes, Maman," he sighs. "I'll be okay."

"Would you want Eliott to go with you?" she asks, looking at Eliott.

Lucas looks at Eliott, too, and there's something in his eyes that Eliott can't quite read. He sighs, then shakes his head. "I'll be okay."

Eliott finds himself smiling, pride flitting softly in his chest like a heartbeat. "Dr. Garnier is really easy to talk to, Lucas," he says. "He's really good at what he does. He'll help you a lot."

Lucas smiles, too, exhaling slowly. 

"Lucas?" Dr. Garnier's voice calls as he steps into the waiting room. He smiles when he sees them all, approaching them. "You're his mother, I presume?" he asks Madame Lallemant, holding out his hand. 

"Yes, sir," she smiles, shaking his hand. "Madeleine."

"Nice to meet you, Madeleine," he smiles back. "And Lucas, nice to meet you as well," he says, shaking Lucas's hand now. "What happened to your other hand?" he asks, staring at Lucas's injured hand. 

"It's a bit of a long story," Lucas replies shyly.

"We can talk about it once we're alone," Dr. Garnier dismisses. He looks over at Eliott, smiling wider. "It's good to see you again, Eliott. How are you?"

"I'm well," Eliott nods, smiling back. 

"You don't need to see me today, either?" Dr. Garnier asks.

Eliott shakes his head. "Just Lucas."

"Very well," Dr. Garnier nods. "Are you ready, Lucas?"

Lucas nods, standing. He says a quick goodbye to Madame Lallemant and Eliott before following Dr. Garnier to his office. 

Once they hear the door shut behind them, Madame Lallemant sighs deeply, almost shakily.

"I always worried he would end up like me," she says quietly, biting her nails. 

"What do you mean?" Eliott asks, his heart aching for her at her words.

"Sick," she replies, thin and tired. "I don't know if you noticed, you were so young, but… he was different after his father left us. He was able to move on from that, of course, but it changed him more than he admits. He's been becoming more and more like me. He's getting sick."

Maybe it's the exhaustion the past few days have left him with, but tears start filling Eliott's eyes. He shakes his head weakly, fights back the tears. "Lucas is strong. He's just not as strong as he usually is right now. He's not sick."

"You haven't seen him the last two years, Eliott," Madame Lallemant replies fraily. "Nightmares, these… spells where he's panicked beyond belief and I can't calm him down… The whole time I was waiting for him to break like I have before. He never did, but… He came so close so many times. He…" A tear rolls down her cheek, then, but she quickly wipes it away. "He started drinking at one point. He would be gone all night but then I would see him at the table at breakfast every morning like nothing ever happened. Like he'd been sound asleep in his bed all night instead of drinking himself dizzy."

Eliott's eyes are wide, his mouth dry. "He was drinking?" he asks quietly, his voice almost not coming out.

"He stopped when he met Chloé," she replies quickly, seeing Eliott's worry. "And even if he hadn't, I was planning on sitting him down and talking to him about it. Back then, I was worried the drinking would have the same effect on him that it did on his father. He was already so much like me, I didn't want him turning into his father, too. But after Chloé, he was almost himself again. He still had nightmares sometimes, but they were only once in a blue moon, really. He wasn't gone all night anymore. And at breakfast, his eyes were sparkling and alive, not glazed over because he's still the slightest bit drunk. He would talk to me, tell me about his day, tell me about all these plans he had with Chloé," she smiles widely, chuckles lightly. But she bites her lip, looking down the hallway where Dr. Garnier's office is. "Now he's not talking to me again. He's going out at night again, but he's never out too late, so I don't think he's drinking again. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's my son and I don't know what's wrong with him. I'm his mother. I'm all he has and he won't turn to me anymore."

Eliott stands, quickly moving to the seat Lucas was sitting in as Madame Lallemant cries harder. He places a careful arm around her shoulder, takes a moment to gather himself before offering any words of comfort.

"He's learning right now, Madame Lallemant," he begins. "He's learning how to rely on people. He's getting the help he needs to do that right now as we speak. He's talking with Dr. Garnier, and the more he talks, the easier it'll get. He needs time. It's painful, but that's all you can give him right now. Give him time and space and make sure he knows that you're there for him when he's ready. And, thankfully, that's all he needs."

Madame Lallemant nods, breathing deeply and wiping away her tears. "Okay," she sighs, nodding. "Okay."

"He's going to be okay," Eliott promises, and this time, his voice doesn't waver. "He's going to go off to school and become the doctor he's always wanted to be, and he's going to be married, and he's going to be the happiest man in the world. He's meant to be successful and happy and the most wonderful person we've ever met."

"He is," she grins, nodding. "He is." 

Eliott grins back, giving her shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze. He waits patiently for her breath to even out, for her tears to dry.

"I never thanked you," Madame Lallemant says before Eliott can think of a way to pick the conversation back up. "For saving him that day. And I never apologized either, for the way I acted when you came to visit him."

Eliott shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize," he dismisses. "It was so long ago."

"You're like a son to me, Eliott," she cuts in. "How could I not apologize to my son?"

Eliott smiles, getting emotional again, nodding once. "I didn't know how to tell you I almost lost him," he shrugs. "I don't think I'd fully processed it anyway. I wouldn't have been able to talk about it."

"I understand," she nods. "I just remember them starting to take his shirt off, and there were all these bruises on his chest…" 

A wave of nausea washes over Eliott for a moment, but he's able to keep himself steady.

"The doctor and the nurses all looked at each other, like they were having a conversation without saying a word. One of the nurses started feeling all over his chest, then he stopped at one spot, saying that one of his ribs was cracked. And the doctor nodded and asked me if my son was unresponsive before we brought him here," her voice catches, and she takes a moment, breathing deeply. "And I asked him if he meant dead, and he nodded. And I said I didn't know, because I wasn't there when it happened, but you were. So he sent someone to find you and ask you about it."

Eliott nods, the memories briefly passing through his mind. 

"I think I was in shock," she shrugs. "First, you run in telling me Lucas needed to go to the hospital because he almost drowned. Then, not even thirty minutes later, someone asks me how long my baby boy was dead for," her voice breaks again, but she keeps talking. "I think I felt guilty, too. I had no way of knowing it was happening, of course, but I wouldn't have been there in his final moments. I wouldn't have been able to tell him how much I love him one more time. I couldn't remember the last thing I had said to him. It had been almost a full day between that last night and the moment you came running in. I was… I was such a mess."

"It's okay," Eliott says softly.

"I need you to know that I was never mad at you, or upset with you, or anything like that," she adds. "If it weren't for you, I would've had to bury my son. It was simply too much for me to handle. Just the thought of it. Everything was happening so quickly and—"

"It's okay, Madame Lallemant," Eliott repeats, a little louder. "And I forgive you. I know how much you love Lucas. I've felt how overpowering and all-encompassing a mother's love is. That's all it was. After nearly losing him, you loved him even more than you have before."

Madame Lallemant is quiet for a moment, smiling with teary eyes. "You really do have Noémie's heart, Eliott," she says quietly. "So… full and pure."

Eliott bites his lip to keep from smiling to wide.

"And you look just like Eduard did when we were all younger," Madame Lallemant adds, a notable sadness in her voice now. "I wonder how your mother stands it sometimes, you know. Seeing so much of him in you."

Eliott's smile fades, and his lower lip remains caught beneath his teeth. He nods weakly, looking down at his lap. "If I had a penny for every time someone's said that to me…" he mumbles, shaking his head now. He doesn't think Madame Lallemant heard him.

"He was about your age when he volunteered for the military," she continues. "Imagine, a boy as young as you are right now going off to war…" she trails off, shaking her head. "I pray for a lot of things every day and night, and one of them is that you and Lucas will never have to go through what your fathers went through." 

"The war killed Papa," Eliott thinks aloud. He doesn't know where the thought came from, only that it ended up on the tip of his tongue. "It doesn't matter that it took over 20 years for it to kill him. It did." 

Madame Lallemant places her hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know, Eliott," she says softly. "I know."

She drops her hand, and Eliott pulls his arm away. He occupies his hands with the hem of his shorts, absentmindedly tracing the seams. The small curves of each stitch are comforting, steady and constant like a heartbeat. He doesn't mind the silence between him and Madame Lallemant, either. It's not quite comfortable, but it's not intrusive, either. He keeps tracing seams, keeps himself occupied.

Outside, rain begins to pour gently, tapping almost rhythmically on the pavement, on the asphalt. Eliott wishes he could hear the sound of the rain as it falls on the ocean right now. It always sounds different accompanied by the waves, like black and white keys on a piano being played at the same time. Maybe him and Lucas can listen to it when they get home, if Lucas is feeling up to it. Maybe Lucas can memorize the combination of black and white keys and hold it gently in his hands until it's written in the lines of his palms, his fingertips. Then maybe he can play it whenever they miss the sound, or whenever they don't want to go out into the rain themselves. Eliott smiles at the thought, at another secret him and Lucas can keep until later.

A door opens down the hall, and Lucas steps out first, the picture of relief. He smiles as Dr. Garnier steps out and pats him on the shoulder, easy and comfortable. Lucas's smile widens when he looks over and sees Eliott and Madame Lallemant, waving at them as he walks a little faster. Eliott notices faint tearstains on Lucas's cheeks as he approaches them, and a tint of pink at the corner of his eyes, but he's smiling still and breathing easily. 

"How was it, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks, pulling her son into a tight hug. 

"Good, Maman," he replies, kissing her cheek. "I needed it."

"You're feeling better?" she smiles, wiping the stray tears from his face. 

Lucas nods. "Much better." 

"If it's all right with you, Madame," Dr. Garnier begins. "I'd like to see him again next week. But, of course, we can have him back whenever you're available." 

Madame Lallemant nods. "Of course. We should be okay for the same time next week."

"Great," Dr. Garnier smiles. "It was nice meeting you, Madame," He turns to Eliott then, holding out his hand. "It was nice to see you again, too, Eliott. Remember to call if you need anything at all, okay?" 

Eliott shakes Dr. Garnier's hand, smiling back warmly. "I will." 

"Drive safe, okay?" Dr. Garnier says, waving goodbye as he turns on his heel and walks back down the hallway.

Eliott shifts his gaze over to Lucas, and their eyes meet. He relaxes when he sees Lucas smile, take a step closer to him. 

"Thank you, Eliott," Lucas says. "For telling me to do this." 

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, nodding.

"Do you and your maman want to join us for lunch?" Lucas asks. "Maman always buys too much food and we just end up throwing it away. It'll be like the old days, too."

Eliott grins, nodding. "I'd love to. And I'm sure Maman would love to join, too."

Lucas grins, too, bowing his head. His grin has shrunk to half of a smile when he looks back up. "Let's go." 

august 16th, 1968

18:34

caen, france

~

Since he came home from the institution, Eliott helps his mother with the dishes almost every night. She reassures him she can do them herself on the days where his mood was lower than usual, but for the past few weeks they've been able to do them together. 

It's comforting to Eliott, doing something so casual and mundane with his mother. They talk about what their days were like, or whatever random thoughts come to their mind. Lately, his mother has been talking about all the TV shows she's been watching. Eliott hasn't seen any of them, but he lets his mother explain every character and every plotline because it always makes her smile, makes her eyes light up. 

"Have you talked to Lucas recently?" she asks tonight, a hopeful yet relaxed look on her face.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not since we had lunch with them the other day. He told me right before we left that he was going up to Paris for a couple of days to tour his school."

"He'll be starting his first semester soon, won't he?" she replies, cleaning a spot on a plate that Eliott missed.

"Beginning of September, I think," Eliott nods. "Hopefully he'll find someone that can help him like Dr. Garnier while he's there."

"I'm sure there's plenty of people in Paris that can help him," his mother smiles, but it begins to fade from her face as a beat of silence hangs between them. "I just feel bad that you two just reconciled and now he has to go to school."

"It's okay, Maman," Eliott reassures her. "We'll write letters. He'll be here for the holidays. This isn't goodbye for us." 

"But you'll miss him," she says, rather quietly.

"Of course I'll miss him," Eliott agrees, shrugging. "But I know that he'll miss me, too." 

His mother smiles again, sighing contentedly. "You know, Ellie, Papa always said that God gives us people we're meant to fall in love with. But I think He also gives us best friends, someone we love in a different way, but we love them with a love just as powerful as the romantic kind. I think God meant for you two to be best friends."

"Was Papa your best friend, too?" Eliott asks, unable to help but think the two loves could be intertwined. "Or was he just the person you were meant to love?"

She considers, tears filling her eyes. "He was both," she nods. She fidgets with her wedding band, smoothing her finger over it. "He was both."

"I think I've found someone who's both, too," Eliott begins, not stumbling over a single word. He remembers saying the truth resting on the tip of his tongue to his father's grave, remembers the way saying it aloud reminded him that he'll never know if his father's love was unconditional. He remembers Lucas's voice echoing hauntingly in the empty chapel as he says they could never be just friends again, as he says that he loves him, always has loved him, will never stop loving him. He remembers how much he kept from his mother whenever she asked him what had happened with Lucas. He wonders how much his world will change all over again once those fateful words leave his lips. 

"You have?" his mother asks after a moment, her face unreadable. 

Eliott nods, tries to breathe but his chest is too tight. Somehow, the words strangle out of his throat: "I love Lucas, Maman." 

"Oh," breathes, her eyes flitting as they must be scanning through memory after memory. She looks back at Eliott after a moment, softening when she sees his tense, nervous expression. "Is… that why you were so upset when you came home? You love him, but he's in love with Chloé."

Eliott nods weakly. "And because we were together. Before I had to go to the institution. I thought we were still together, but somewhere along the way it ended without me knowing. I came home, and it was over."

His mother blinks, shaking her head slightly. "How long were you together? When did you…"

"About a month and a half before Papa died," Eliott replies, his voice growing thin and weak. "Not very long at all, since after that night we just wrote letters. But that month and a half held some of the best days of my life, Maman. Because he was mine and I was his. Because he loved me and I loved him, too."

"Does a part of him still love you?" she asks quietly, watching for any reaction from Eliott that says she's crossed a line, asked the wrong question. 

"I don't know how much of his whole it takes up," Eliott sighs, shrugging. "But there is a part of him that does. He's… He's told me so. That he still loves me." 

"Does Madeleine know about this?" his mother continues, subconsciously looking in the direction of the Lallemants' house. 

Eliott looks too, his heart sinking as the answer comes to his mind. "I don't think so." 

Tears spring in his mother's eyes again. "Did… Papa know about this?"

Eliott instinctually bites down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He shakes his head as he waits for the lump in his throat to dissolve. It never does. "No," he chokes out. He realizes the lump in his throat is the memory of telling the truth to a stone. It claws at his throat, scratches behind his eyelids. "He never knew. I never got to tell him…" He trails off, a sob stopping his voice. 

A tear rolls down his mother's cheek, becomes lost in the crease of her wobbling frown. "Then tell me, honey," she sobs. "Tell me. Tell me what you never got to tell him."

The lump, the memory in his throat seems to burst, filling his chest and mouth with a burning, bitter taste. He almost chokes on it, but he's able to take a deep, steadying breath. "I'm queer, Maman," he repeats from that day at the cemetery, the first time living ears will hear him say the words. "My heart's stammered for girls before, but it can skip a beat for boys, too. My heart can fall in love with anyone I think, but it's loved Lucas above all else. It loves him because he's beautiful and stubborn and wonderful and paper-thin and warm. I've… I've loved him my whole life, I think. I think I'll love him forever." 

"Even after everything that's happened?" his mother asks, still quiet, hesitant. "Even still?"

"Even still," Eliott nods, his voice clearing enough to make the words sound as resolute and sure as they feel on his tongue. He holds his breath once they leave his mouth, though, his heart bracing, steadying itself against his ribcage. He can't bear that awful weight he felt at the cemetery again. He can't.

But his mother smiles, ear to ear, a new sun appearing and shining in her eyes. She lifts her hands to cradle her son's face, wipe away his tears. This only makes Eliott cry harder—the warmth of her hands, her love. He places her hands on top of hers, holds them as tightly as he can. 

"My sweet Ellie," she sighs, her voice thick with tears now, too. "There's nothing else in this world I love more than you." 

A sob bursts like joy from Eliott's throat, choking him with the refrain of a majestic orchestra. He drops his hands and envelops his mother in his arms, wishing he'll never have to let her go. She slowly guides him to the floor as his knees become weak with relief, keeping him safe close to her chest.

"I'll never forget," she begins, running her hands through his hair. "The day Papa and I went to the doctor and he told me I was pregnant. We'd been trying for over three years to have a baby, and suddenly we had one. I squeezed Papa's hand and looked down at my belly and my heart burst like it never had before. You were the smallest you'd ever be and my love for you was bigger than my body will ever be. And it was immediate. The love I had for the baby I was carrying. The love I had for you. And it keeps growing. The day you were born, and I held you and looked at your sweet, little face for the first time and you were real and you were mine. The day you learned to walk and talk and sing and play. Every birthday and Christmas. Every drawing you've ever given me, every smile. My love for you grows every single day. It could never shrink, let alone disappear completely. Especially in a single moment. There's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you." 

Eliott's tears keep running down his face, staining his mother's shirt. "What about Papa?" he asks, his voice muffled. 

"I wish you could've known just how much he loved you, honey," she replies, close to sobbing now, too. "Every time he got sick, he would get scared that it was his time and that he would leave you. He was always afraid he wouldn't get to say goodbye to you. That night… He was begging everyone who would listen that he needed to see his boy one last time, before God took him home. Every doctor, every nurse, random people passing by his room. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing you again. If you had had the chance to tell him, I think he would love you even more for being so brave and so yourself." 

Another sob escapes Eliott's throat, his mother's words replacing the memory of the silence of the cemetery. He urges the words to echo in his mind, to keep filling the silence, to keep reminding himself of the fact that he was blessed with two best parents he could've asked for. He reminds himself to never forget that he is loved, despite everything. 

"I'm so happy you trusted me enough to tell me, Eliott," his mother says, kissing the top of his head. "I'm just so proud of you. You'll always be my baby boy." 

"Thank you, Maman," Eliott replies, his voice flooded with tears of joy. "I love you so much." 

"I love you, too," his mother returns, pulling away and helping him to his feet. "Let me make you some tea, honey."

"We just did dishes," Eliott replies, slightly fatigued now.

"I'll just need the kettle and a cup," she dismisses, turning around to give him a kind, reassuring smile. "It won't be the end of the world if I use those."

Eliott returns the smile, sitting at his usual place at the table. He watches her make the tea, the way she treats everything so carefully and so lovingly. He's overwhelmingly glad his doubts about her were so wrong he wonders where they came from in the first place. The whistling of the kettle doesn't make him jump like it usually does.

She sets the tea in front of him, the teabag already steeping and curling in the nearly boiling water. He wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth becoming softer when his mother moves her hands on top of his. She squeezes lightly before pulling away, sitting across from him.

"What's happening between you and Lucas?" she asks quietly. "Is he going to stay with Chloé?"

Eliott bobs the teabag, shrugging. He doesn't want to recount what Lucas had said about her in the church earlier that week, so he comes up with an innocent lie. "Probably. I don't blame him. I never could." 

"But he loves you," his mother replies. "He loves you the way you love him?"

Eliott nods. "I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous it is for people like us, Maman. He doesn't want to fight the rest of his life."

"Do you?" she asks, even quieter now.

Eliott bites his lip, looks at the darkening liquid in his cup instead of his mother's eyes. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "For Lucas, I would. But I can't force him into a battle he doesn't want to fight just because I want him to. That's not what loving someone is. It's fighting with them, not for them." 

"The people we love can only fight for so long," his mother replies. "We need to let them rest. That's when we fight for them. When they can't fight for themselves." She sighs, taking Eliott's hand again. He looks up, his heart softening when he sees the earnest, passionate curl to her lip as she continues. "Honey, maybe… Maybe Lucas needs to rest right now. Maybe soon he'll be ready to fight again. And if he is, he'll find you and stay by your side as long as he can." 

Eliott smiles, squeezing her hand. "Maybe." 

His mother smiles back, tears reappearing in her eyes. "Don't give up on him. Even if he doesn't love you the way you want him to, you still need each other. You still complete each other. You're still best friends."

Eliott nods. "I won't, Maman. I promise." 

"He needs to hear you promise that to him, too, Eliott," she tells him. "Especially after the week he's had…" 

Eliott nods again. "I know." He sighs, looking over his shoulder to stare at the small part of Lucas's house he can see through the window. "I know." 

"There's a reason you were able to save him that day," his mother continues. "And there's a reason he was able to save you that night."

"I know," Eliott repeats one more time, remembering him saying the same thing to Lucas in the chapel. "But I'm not sure if Lucas knows has fully realized that yet." 

"All the more reason to talk to him," his mother smiles. "There's still so much more he needs to know and you need to tell him those things. As soon as you can."

Eliott looks back again at Lucas's house. "Should I go over there now? See if he's home?"

"I think it's worth it to try, honey," she nods. 

"Okay," Eliott nods back, rising from his seat. He sighs when he sees the pride in his mother's eyes, pride of his own filling his chest. "I don't know what I would do without you, Maman."

His mother's watery smile widens as she rises, too, giving her son another tight, loving hug. "I love you, Ellie."

"I love you, too, Maman."

Then, a knock at the door. They both jump, pull away from each other's embrace. 

"I'll answer it," Eliott tells her, crossing to the front of the house.

A laugh nearly escapes his throat when he opens the door and sees Lucas standing there, hopeful.

"I was… I was just about to come and see you," Eliott says, letting himself chuckle.

Lucas chuckles, too, his eyes crinkling. He pauses, his smile fading slightly. He looks towards the sea, taking a deep breath. He looks back at Eliott. "I know it's not Sunday, but… Do you want to build some sandcastles?"

august 16th, 1968

19:10

caen, france

~

Eliott lets Lucas lead him down the beach, making sure he doesn't force him closer to the shore than he's comfortable with. He watches Lucas, too, trying to pay as much attention to his body language as he can. Lucas doesn't seem anxious at first, only wound up slightly, but his nerves seem to build with every step. His eyes keep flitting between the sand beneath his feet and the horizon ahead of him, most likely trying to keep himself from going too far, too. He's squeezing his hand again, right over left. He'll stop occasionally—look beneath, ahead, behind, at Eliott—but then keep walking. He walks a little slower each time, his shoulders drawing further and further inward, his body close to collapsing in on itself.

"We don't have to do this, Lucas," Eliott says, almost begging. "I can tell you're anxious. You don't have to do this for me." 

:Lucas stops again, turning around. He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on Eliott's as they plead trust me, please. Lucas must've seen the recognition cross Eliott's face because the plea is gone with a blink. "Here's a good spot," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

Eliott takes a deep breath, nodding. He sits next to Lucas, who's already started gathering handfuls of sand. Eliott watches the streams of gritty glass flowing from between his fingers, watches them catch the light of the setting sun and send out a burst of crying, white light. He feels the urge to find every grain of it and hold it in the palms of his hands, let them bury themselves in the lines there so they'll know they're safe. He knows, too, how it feels to slip from Lucas's grasp, if only for a moment. Maybe empathy is what's giving him that urge, too. 

Lucas isn't looking at him. He's studying the piles of sand he's built into a small mound, the piles currently melting in his hands. His mouth is open as if he's about to say something, but a minute or two passes by and not even the smallest sound comes out. He looks out at the sea, and Eliott can't see his face.

"I can still taste it sometimes," Lucas says. "The ocean. Filling my lungs and…" 

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He sighs, debating whether he should reach out and place his hand on Lucas's shoulder. But Lucas turns and looks at him again, his face tired, reassuring him that he doesn't need Eliott to say anything at all.

Lucas's lips are chapped, Eliott notices. Pink as can be, but cracking. Eliott remembers all the times he kissed those lips, all the times those lips formed the words that his heart and mind needed more than anything. He imagines those lips kissing Chloé, kissing a bottle or a glass—

"Your maman told me about the drinking," Eliott blurts, the image too strong in his mind to simply ignore it.

Lucas's hands open completely, the sand falling with a dull thud. His head snaps towards Eliott's direction, his eyes wide but never meeting Eliott's. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyelids falling slightly as he nods. "I hated it, but it made me forget everything for a few hours. And it was easier to kiss girls when I could barely tell they were girls." 

"But you stopped because of Chloé," Eliott replies. "Right?"

"Technically yes, but not really in the way you'd think," Lucas shrugs as he trails off. "She made sure I never went to pubs or parties. She made sure we went places where it was hard for me to get a drink. I'm glad she did, don't get me wrong. God knows, I could be dead right now if she didn't. But she wasn't as good of a distraction as the drinks were. I just latched onto the fact that she probably saved my life, and how can I not love someone who's done that for me? What kind of heartless… thing would I be if I didn't?"

Eliott bites his tongue as the only logical question he could come up with appears at the back of his mind. You really loved me, right? He knows the answer, but the doubt and discouragement in Lucas's voice makes him second-guess, if only for a moment. 

"You're not heartless," Eliott says instead, choosing comfort over query. "Your heart just doesn't belong to her."

Lucas shakes his head. "It can't." 

Eliott nods, almost hesitantly. "It can't."

"You don't have to be afraid to talk about her, Eliott," Lucas sighs, pity written in his voice. "Or the way I am. Sometimes I feel like you're more afraid of everything than I am." 

Eliott is speechless. "L-Lucas, what—"

"I think we need to stop dancing around what happened to us. What we are," Lucas continues when Eliott trails off. "We're queers. I drowned, and I was dead. You tried to kill yourself. You have manic depressive disorder. There's words we can use, Eliott, and I think it's time we start using them." 

Eliott nods weakly, slightly overwhelmed by Lucas's sudden conviction. 

Lucas sighs deeply, composing himself. "I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but… I've been thinking a lot since Sunday, since my appointment with Dr. Garnier… There's a reason you were able to save me that day, Eliott."

Eliott can't fight the smile that appears on his face. "And there's a reason you were able to save me that night."

Lucas smiles, his eyes brightening as he nods. "Yeah. There's a reason we're both alive right now. I don't know what the reason is, but maybe we could spend some time looking for it."

"How will we?" Eliott asks, trying to sound brave. But Lucas is right. He is afraid.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Where do I begin," Eliott hears him mutter. He looks up, speaking louder now. "I have some things to tell you first."

Eliott shifts uncomfortably, nodding. "Okay."

"I talked to Chloé," Lucas begins. "I told her that I'm queer."

Eliott's eyes widen. "Oh," he replies dumbly.

"And I told her that I'm still in love with you."

Eliott feels pink creep along his cheekbones, reaching the tips of his ears. "Oh." 

Warm blossoms bloom on Lucas's cheeks, too, but he somehow manages to make them wilt and disappear. "Eliott, she was relieved."

Eliott's jaw drops now. "What do you mean?"

"She's a queer, too," Lucas replies, disbelief and amusement mingling strangely in his voice. "Chloé is queer, like us. She's in love with her best friend, Maria."

Eliott laughs, too, clumsily. "So?"

"We've called off the engagement," Lucas sighs in relief, gathering more sand in his hands. 

"Have you told your maman?" Eliott asks cautiously.

Lucas's shoulders tense; barely, but enough for Eliott to notice. "Not yet," he answers quietly as his shoulders relax. "I thought about just telling her that Chloé is queer, but that'd be terrible of me. I don't know if I'm ready to tell her the truth." 

"It's okay if you aren't," Eliott reassures him, digging his hands in the sand next to Lucas's. 

"I know," Lucas shrugs, smiling sadly. "I don't want to live the rest of my life without telling her. I know I would regret it." He glances at Eliott, then, silently asking for confirmation.

Eliott nods, unable to admit out loud that not coming out to his father is quite possibly the biggest regret he'll ever have. His throat is starting to swell with tears again. 

"She won't be here forever," Lucas says quietly, trying to knit his fingers to where no sand would slip through them. "No matter how much I beg God that she will." 

Eliott reaches, cupping his hands beneath Lucas's to catch any falling sand. Only a small trickle escapes, but it lands warm and soft onto Eliott's waiting palms. He's careful to keep them directly beneath the stream, refusing to let a single grain touch the ground. 

He looks over at Lucas when he feels his eyes on him, his breath catching. There are tears in Lucas's eyes, but they aren't a puddle pooling at his lashline. They're like stars scattered in the night sky; freckles of light set randomly yet perfectly in place. 

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, as if the words were sealing his final breath. 

Gravity rubs circles into Eliott's back, gently pushing him forward. Eliott lets himself fall, feeling heat rise and bloom like a heartbeat as he draws closer and closer to Lucas. He only resists the pull when their lips aren't even a breath apart.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice a note away from silence.

"Yes," Lucas responds, his own voice breaking. "Please." 

Eliott tilts his head until his lips fit perfectly against Lucas's. In that moment, the entire world and every parallel universe fell back into place. It feels like it all had been standing still until now. It's all moving again now, dancing in its natural rhythm as the kiss deepens, broadens. 

Both their hands fall open and spill the sand they were holding as they suddenly remember the path they're supposed to be on—weaving through Eliott's hair, standing steady at the curve of Lucas's neck. How could they ever have gotten lost? How could they have ever forgotten the places that were made for them?

Eliott's hands say, forgive me, as they find Lucas's heartbeat. Lucas's hands reply as they kiss Eliott's scalp, there's nothing to forgive, now that we've found each other again. 

Eliott remembers him and Lucas's very first kiss feeling like coming home. But after two years, after everything that's happened, Eliott is realizing that first kiss was finding home. The exhilaration and peace of finally having a place you know belongs to you. Finding home comes with tears of joy, breathlessness. This kiss, the one he wishes will never end, was coming home. A sigh of relief, a calming of the heart. You walk through the door and the smell you've become blind to comes rushing back, and that name of home is the only way you can describe it. Everything is the same, exactly how you left it. Safety, familiarity—something bigger, stronger than belonging. Home is everything you can't name but know better than the back of your hand. Kissing Lucas is home. 

Lucas must have come to the same conclusion, because the kiss becomes a mess of lip-splitting smiles and knocking teeth. Eliott has never had a kiss like this, and he prays that every time he kisses Lucas from now on he'll have that exact same thought. 

Eliott's lips feel weightless, slightly numb when Lucas pulls away to laugh, but feeling explodes in his chest, bubbles in his stomach. He laughs along with Lucas, their music more beautiful and rich than the crashing of the waves could ever be. 

They kiss again, but in bursts. Their lips touch, then break apart, touch, break apart. The brief moments where their lips are pressed together are more relieving than the only slightly longer moments of fresh, salty sea air. Soon, the kisses last longer as their laughter dies in their chests, replaced with fuzzy, addicting warmth. They kiss until they need to stop for breath, still never pulling too far away from each other, never quite opening their eyes. 

When Eliott finally does open his eyes, the sun has become a golden, crescent moon upon the lip of the sea. The first shadows of night are beginning to touch Lucas and Eliott, bringing the slightest bites of cold with them. Lucas shivers, his eyelids fluttering, his lip trembling. 

Eliott pulls him into his embrace, letting his eyes close again. All he wants is to stay here. The world could end just beyond his eyelids and he wouldn't bother to notice. But then again, the world has shrunk into the Lucas-shaped mass quaking in his arms, and he wasn't going to let anyone touch it. 

Eliott's heart finally bursts when he hears Lucas whisper, "I missed loving you."

#ttmc #skam france #elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #hush bailey #my writing

[reirashi]

Prompt: "You promised you wouldn't hurt anyone if I came with you willingly to heal your friend!" Kakasaku please! (and if you're okay with it, maybe Kakashi is the one abducting Sakura to heal Obito...? I wasn't sure if abduction counted as 'forced') Thank you!!

Sorry for the delay! This is set after the fourth great war, assuming Obito’s body is somewhere to be found.

Chrysalis

Kakashi had been different recently. Changed. Sakura hadn’t paid specific attention to it till their team meeting where Kakashi had zoned out completely. Normally he was never an active participator in conversation, but he was always present. The small crinkling of his eye when he heard something funny, or the furrow in his brow when Naruto plunged on about Sasuke. But this time was different. He was absent somehow, a vague distance in his eyes.

Nobody else noticed and somehow that bothered her more.

So, on that fateful night, when Kakashi crawled through her window, shrouded in the darkness and rain, Sakura was surprised but not that surprised.

More pissed off than anything that he had taken down three of her potted plants in his ungraceful manoeuvre.

…And slightly wishing she were dressed better than her ratty shorts and cropped t-shirt, no bra and tub of chocolate ice-cream shamelessly half-eaten in hand.

“Kakashi!” She exclaimed aghast and chastising all in one.

Her outrage fell on deaf ears and all she heard was the broken rasp as he called her voice, “Sakura,” agonised and conflicted.

“What- What’s wrong sensei?” Suddenly, her motherly concern overtook every other self-conscious thought, and she plonked the tub on the table and walked over to him hands outstretched ready to help.

But he turned away from her caring gaze, instinctively shied away from her.

“You have to come with me.” Was all he said and not a word more, eyes still glued to her pink carpet.

“Sensei, what do you mean? Where to?” She added when he offered no further information, her concern growing to panic.

“I-” he stopped, swallowing thickly. Sakura had never heard him hesitate in her life. “You need to heal someone.”

Sakura exhaled in a huff of relief, “Of course Sensei. Who? Actually, never mind, where are they? Let’s bring them to the hospital, or are they already there?”

Immediately tying her hair in a messy bun, and walking around her apartment looking for the all the right items to make her decent, she didn’t notice Kakashi’s stillness till she was hopping back through her kitchen, looking for her other shoe.

“Sensei what is it?”

He said nothing so she stopped her manic dressing and looked at him, but his head was turned away.

“Sensei,” she repeated, a hardness to her voice.

“We can’t bring them to the hospital. We have to go to them.”

“Uh okay, then we’ll have to stop by the hokage tower for the permission slip-” she paused thinking aloud, “Actually we might have to stop by Kotetsu’s office direct since it’s probably after hours.”

“Sakura.” Kakashi raised his head for the first time since arriving, and in his eyes she saw all the thunder and darkness he had brought in from the outside. “We are not getting permission.”

“But Sensei-”

“Pack your things. We are leaving now.”

Crossing her arms across her chest, Sakura’s expression was tight as she replied, “Do I have a choice?”

He said nothing, but his dark expression said it all.

“Fine.” Was all she said, as she stormed off into her room and threw her mission and medic items into her bag, grabbing a few extra weapons and body-guards just in case.

When she returned to her living room, Kakashi was standing ready to leave, her potted plants tidied and moved aside, and her window locked.

“How do we even-” Sakura questioned bitterly, but Kakashi interrupted her.

“Follow me.”

In the next day or so the pair did nothing but travel in absolute silence. Sakura, though wanting to bridge the uncomfortable gap, struggled to squash her hurt pride at Kakashi’s lack of trusting her with information. Eventually though, the silence grew too much, and just as Sakura had resolved to break it with some inane topic, her words morphed into a scream as she plunged from the height of the tree that had been her footfall, her shoes - unsuitable for this terrain - how was she to know! - squealing against the wet bark as she slipped.

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, catching her mid-fall. Though he had been a good few trees ahead of her Kakashi had got to her quick. Silently he pulled her up, sliding a hand around her back and pulling her up by the waist once she was close enough.

The bark was thin and covered in wet moss. Kakashi held absolutely still to prevent them tumbling over the edge. Grabbing onto his vest to steady herself, her eyes met with Kakashi’s for the first time that night.

There was a sadness she wished to soothe away, her fingers twitching in response. Kakashi too, did not pull away like usual, he held on a beat longer than he normally would have.

Then, in the blink of an eye the walls were up again, and instead of the inches between them there was a chasm.

In one step he had turned away and leaped to the next branch, leading the way, but not before a few unexpected words of reassurance slipped out, “We’re almost there”.

Sure enough, half a mile or so later, Kakashi slowed down before dropping silently to the ground below. The ground was wet and mossy, little light filtered through the thick canopy of trees overhead.

Kakashi led them to a large overgrown fern, twice Sakura’s height. He reached in and peeled apart the two walls of leaves which camouflaged some kind of entrance. They stepped inside to a dark, eerily silent space. Sakura couldn’t tell if it was a cave or a hollowed out tree.

Kakashi stopped wordlessly at the far end of the circular space, placing his hand gently onto what looking like a sort of ledge. Sakura walked slowly closer till she was by his side, her footsteps squelching in the wet mud. As she passed around the broad cover of Kakashi’s back her eyes laid upon what wasn’t a ledge but some sort of glass coffin.

The gasp got caught in her throat as she realised it wasn’t glass but some kind of membrane. She reached out her fingers to touch it, but a hand clamped down on her wrist stopping her fingers just before they touched.

“It’ll break.”

“W-who set this up?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you are going to make it work.” There was a long pause after which he turned around and walked out the small space, announcing in a low voice, “I’m going to get firewood, get started.”

Sakura stared at the coffin in disbelief, sending chakra to her fingers to feel it out. She shuddered on first contact, immediately understanding who and what was inside.

She turned around and sprinted out the enclosure, panting like she couldn’t breathe. Once outside she used her chakra to get some indication as to how far Kakashi had gone and took off running in the opposite direction.

She barely made it three miles before she skidded to a stop, almost colliding face-first with an anbu mask. She hesitated confused, not sure in their eyes which side she was on.

“Are you here for me? Can you help?” Sakura asked in a shaky voice.

The woman paused, caught off-guard by the Godaime’s apprentices’ words.

“Haruno-sama, you left the village without permission early this morning. Was this against your will?”

It was Sakura’s turn to pause. Would this be selling Kakashi out?

“Well...”

She didn’t have time to debate her principles because Kakashi appeared behind the woman, slick as a shadow and with a speedy chop she was at their feet like a sack of potatoes.

When Sakura met Kakashi’s eyes there was a darkness she couldn’t quite make out.

“Okay, okay.” Laughing nervously, Sakura held up her hands in resignation. “I’ll come help heal your friend, just... just don’t hurt anyone else.”

Kakashi was silent but Sakura couldn’t take his stony exterior and turned away, walking stiffly back the way she had come.

A few paces in they froze as another anbu member appeared from the trees and Sakura opened her mouth to explain holding her hands up placatingly, but before she had a chance the man’s eyes went wide and foam from his mouth escaped the bottom of his mask, before he hit the ground with a thud.

Sakura shuddered as the thick, oppressive wave of a genjustu passed over her.

Kakashi without his Sharingan was just as powerful and terrifying as he was with.

But the fear lasted only a few second as she regained courage and spun around, slamming her fists on her teacher’s chest.

And from Sakura that shit actually hurt.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“I promised no such thing.” He hissed in a low voice.

Sakura turned away angrily, realising he was correct, but that only fuelled her anger at him. Because she had expected the answer to her earlier request to be a given.

“Huh, that’s funny,” she scoffed mirthlessly, “I guess I mistook you for the Kakashi that actually gave a fuck and didn’t even need to be asked.”

Launching into a sprint, Sakura was back at the enclosure in a few minutes, her extra speed fuelled by anger and frustration. Kakashi silently kept up with her, wordless as he entered behind her.

Glowing with a deep green like the colour of her eyes, Sakura drew her hands across the top of the coffin, breathing deeply as she tried to concentrate and calm her emotions.

It could have been hours or mere minutes that Sakura stood there pulling her chakra across the vessel and exploring deep inside with Kakashi a silent protective or restrictive - whichever way you looked at it - presence behind her.

After analysing the structure Sakura began to prod, slipping beneath the skin and using her energy to pull the tissue together and stitch the seams.

A firm hand on her shoulder shocked Sakura out of concentration, and she extricated herself from the inner view of the tissue she hand been focusing on and looked over her shoulder.

Kakashi was watching her with a concerned look on his face. The same Kakashi as always. Only then did she realise the sweat dripping down her face and soaking the small of her back. The breath seemed to leave her the second she stopped the flow of chakra to her hands, and she slumped forward, body heading for the ground.

Kakashi caught her against himself, holding her still while she caught her breath. Eventually when it became apparent Sakura wouldn’t be moving any further, he slipped his arms around her waist and hauled her up, moving her to the other side of the enclosure where he had at some point, laid out tarp and blankets as a makeshift bed. It was clear he had visited here more than once, and over a long period of time too.

It carried on like a routine, for several days Sakura pushed herself to the absolute brink of exhaustion whilst she healed. Kakashi said nothing, he knew her well enough to know when Sakura became determined like this there was no stopping her. All he could contribute in his silence, was support in the way of catching her when she fell and putting her to rest, waking her after a few hours and guiding her half asleep to eat, before she fell asleep, woke up and repeated the cycle again.

Guilt clawed at his heart like a cancer and the longer it went on, the deeper their silence became.

Till one night, Sakura who had aside from that first experience, been stopping of her own volition, fainted and Kakashi who had been nearby just barely made it to catch her. He gently laid her down onto the bedding but was surprised as his fingers brushed her skin. She was burning up. Ripping his gloves off and pushing her hair from her face, he pressed the back of his palm against her forehead, cursing under his breath at the heat of her skin.

Her body convulsed slightly, and he noticed she was shivering, sweat had been pouring out of her skin and now her wet clothes were sticking to her body, causing her to tremble from the cold. Hesitating he pulled back the cover, and carefully lifted her soaked shirt over her head, rapidly pulling off his flack jacket and long sleeve shirt. Taking great care not to jostle her too much, he pulled his long sleeve top over her, aching at how the fabric drowned her small frame.

His hands stopped at her exposed legs, fingers lingering at the waist band to her skirt and shorts. With light touches he could feel their dampness but was battling with himself on what to do. Eventually he withdrew his hands, rummaging instead for the cloak they had worn during their travels and wrapping it around her body tightly.

Appraising her still shivering form, Kakashi clad only in his sleeveless mask-attached under-top, climbed under the thin blanket, and settled next to his student. Awkward at first, he agonised over how to position himself, before eventually he managed to shift her onto her side and he his, turning over to envelop her, resting her head against his chest, and his legs tangled with hers.

He thought he would never sleep that night. From the worry, the stress and mostly the guilt.

Surprisingly however he was out like a light. It seemed with Sakura firmly tucked in his arms, he finally had the mental peace to close his eyes and enter a state of deep sleep for the first time in days.

---------

Sakura awoke to a persistent thudding against her ear. Thinking she had slept too heavily on one side, she shifted to try roll over, only to find her body pinned in place. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find her view blocked, that combined with the familiar scent of rain which she associated with her Sensei, Sakura looked up in surprise to find it was Kakashi who was pinning her.

Craning her neck upwards, her surprise quickly dissipated when she saw the look on Kakashi’s face. For days he had slept beside her, and while she had been borderline comatose most of the time, whenever she had woken briefly in the night, the look on Kakashi’s face always bothered on her.

Now was different. He seemed almost peaceful. His breathing steady and even, his eyebrows relaxed, his mouth...

Without thinking twice Sakura’s fingers crept up, carefully pinching the edge of the mask.

Slowly she inched the material down, anticipating some form of horrific revelation or divine retribution as she carried out what felt like borderline sacrilege. Instead, she was incredibly surprised at the completely normal soft, pink, top lip that appeared, contrasted by the dark of the mask as it cinched in the gap between his lips.

Sakura’s heart thudded in her chest, not quite wanting to admit to herself why her current view made her feel this way.

Glancing surreptitiously up at Kakashi before she made the final tug to reveal the rest of his no doubt completely normal and annoyingly handsome face, Sakura startled when her eyes met slate grey ones, half covered by long lashes.

Frozen like a delinquent caught in the middle of a crime, Kakashi moved so quick she didn’t have a chance to worry about being reprimanded. His eyes were wide with sudden awareness and swiftly he switched their positions, rolling Sakura onto her back so he could assess her with wide eyes.

Sakura could hardly breathe when, pushing his forehead protector and fringe out of the way, Kakashi leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers, checking her temperature.

She felt his warm breath across her cheeks as he sighed deeply in relief, realising belatedly she only felt it because she had pulled his mask half-off. Distracted by the fact, and with his face in better view on top of her, Sakura couldn’t stop herself reaching up and slipping her finger back into the edge.

Long fingers curled around her wrist stopped her, and she found her hand pinned above her head before she knew it. A smirk found its way onto her face. There were many things she couldn’t keep up with her teammates on, but competitiveness was not one of them. She stretched up across the short distance between them, tilting her head and daringly grabbing the edge of the mask between her teeth.

Even Kakashi didn’t know how to react, frozen as he was.

Pinching and pulling the material, she stopped when her lips brushed against his warm ones, the gravity of their closeness finally sinking in. Her teeth parted and the material slipped from between them, her lips still barely against his.

She didn’t know who started it. If she bridged that hairsbreadth gap or if he pushed down first, their slightly parted lips finally pressed together. It was gentle at first, his eyes closed as he seemed to sigh in almost relief, before the life returned to his eyes. Kakashi was back. The same Kakashi that was fire and fangs and cutting intelligence on the battlefield was viciously moving his lips against hers, heavy breaths barely escaping in between, before his hand not pinning her wrist grabbed her jaw and held it tight, coaxing it open. His tongue slipped in, hot and wet and then he froze. Almost as if he remembered what he was and who he was with.

He pulled back, his lips not wanting to separate from her swollen ones, but he only made it a handspan away from her before he found himself thrown sideways, flipped onto his back and pinned down by his student.

Sakura smirked darkly, she recognised his reaction, knew what he would do, and knew she wouldn’t let it happen. He wasn’t allowed to retreat now and act like nothing had happened. Not after that.

Pressing her lithe body against his, she leaned down and gently brushed her lips against his, parting them only to draw her tongue across his lower lip before she pressed down in a fierce kiss. He resisted valiantly for all of ten seconds, before his lips parted, his mouth opened, and he gasped as he let her in. Strong hands grasped the thighs straddling his wait, squeezing the soft flesh as his mouth was ravaged. Unable to take inactivity anymore, one hand reached up and around her back, threading his fingers in her soft hair and tilting her head to the side whilst he moved his mouth down, biting her bottom lip, nipping along her jaw, drawing a wet trail down to her neck where his teeth pinched sharply before sucking on the reddened skin.

It seemed to be a weak spot for Sakura as a shaky exhale mixed with a soft moan escaped her. She craned her neck further to the side to give him better access, whilst her body naturally melded closer against his, her hips rubbing against his and oh sweet heavens did she just grind against her sensei’s-

Sakura’s thought process was interrupted as her body lilted to the side and was overtaken with a numbness and tingling that was most definitely not pleasure.

“Kaka-” Sakura gasped; the light-headed sensation combined with Kakashi assaulting her neck was proving too much to think around.

Clumsily she managed to extricate one hand from his chest and slide it up to her neck where she all but slapped it across his face. For a moment Kakashi hadn’t caught up and his tongue slid against her hand and between her fingers and oh my god that’s way sexier than it has any right to be and maybe it’ll be ok if I let him keep going and pass out like this...

But it was too late, Kakashi had caught up and awareness was bright in his eyes though understandably not yet down below. He leaned up on his elbows, his hands immediately circling her face, tilting her head towards him so he could assess her.

“M’ok,” Sakura mumbled, dropping her head against the palms holding her cheeks. “Just a bit faint,” she sighed breathlessly.

“Sakura.” His voice was thick with emotion and rough around the edges in a way she had never heard it before. “I’m so-”

Sakura interrupted him, fingers covering his mouth as she rested her head more fully on his shoulder, her voice muffled by his body, “Don’t. It was me too.”

He was silent as he manoeuvred her body to be more comfortable on him, but Sakura could practically hear his guilt and worry.

“Just... help feed me some water.” Kakashi sat them both carefully up, bringing the canteen to her lips and guiding her to drink. Sakura couldn’t help but marvel at the strangeness of it, they had gone from anger on her part and silence on his end, to passionately making out, with no discussions or resolution of conflict in between. The weirdest thing of all was how natural it had been. And how much she hadn’t wanted it to end. Sakura had no idea she had such inclinations towards Kakashi till now. Sure, there had been the odd thought here and there, but it had never been something manifestable in reality. Judging from the deep, bewildered concentration on Kakashi’s face, it seemed he felt the same way. Behind his upfront concern for her, it seemed he too was contemplating what had just happened and why they had reacted the way they had.

Granted, she was still very much cradled in his lap with her head resting on his shoulder, so maybe now really wasn’t the time for such musings.

Sakura didn’t move till she felt truly stable and ready and Kakashi didn’t hurry her either. A part of her feared the distance he would put between them the second she was on her feet, and so she revelled in the attention as he carefully helped her sip water and supported her sluggish body against his own. After the last week of painful awkwardness and distance between them, this was a welcome excuse for closeness, and Sakura enjoyed it so much she had to hold herself back from snuggling against his neck and chest.

Eventually she felt stable enough to raise her head, and she did so tentatively, pausing for a moment whilst the ringing in her ears passed. Nodding to herself once, she looked up at Kakashi who had been watching her intently.

“Help me up.”

Wordlessly he slipped his hands around her slim waist as he crouched and gradually brought himself into a standing position, carefully bringing her with him.

Once up, she leaned heavily against him as the blood rushed through her body, and while she waited for the sensation to settle Sakura was reminded of Kakashi’s tall, lean form as she pressed against him. Clad only in his undershirt, his muscles stood out through the thin material, his naked arms even more so.

Since when did Kakashi get so hot? Or more like why has it taken me so long to notice!

Sakura sighed at the blindness of her youth, wasted away on trivial teenage boys that never returned her affection or valued her abilities.

And yet here was someone who valued her enough to kidnap her and use her for a top-secret project which he had asked of no one else. To Sakura, who had always been kept in the dark, always the last to know, she felt almost honoured by the inclusion, if it hadn’t been shrouded in such secrecy.

Returning to the matter at hand, Sakura slowly stepped away from Kakashi and towards the chrysalis, her fingers gently stretching out. A firm hand around her wrist stopped her and Sakura looked up at Kakashi who bore an angered, agonised expression.

“That’s enough!” He bit out between clenched teeth, and Sakura could tell he was angrier at himself for making her do this than he was with her for wanting to continue.

Sakura smiled softly, turning her wrist around and slipping her hand into his. Gently she turned his hand over so her palm lay atop his.

“It is.” Sakura began in a quiet voice. “It’s enough. This is the best I can do; the rest is down to nature and him to finish the process.” Sakura looked at Kakashi meaningfully, spreading the glow of chakra through both their hands so he could see what she saw too.

“I’m sure you knew this already when you bought him to such a place, but this chrysalis heals at its own rate, we cannot control it. I’ve repaired the structural damage to the organic form of the capsule and connected his body to it, so it should start to work now.”

Kakashi’s eyes were tight as she continued, glistening from the reflected light of her chakra. “It could take months, years or even decades for it to draw from nature all the energy it needs and naturally heal his body. Now there is nothing more we can do.”

“I know.” As Sakura had thought Kakashi did understand the workings of the chrysalis, and if it wasn’t Kakashi then she would be surprised he was willing to wait and even miss the revival of his friend. As it were, she knew all it really matter to him was that he lived eventually, be it now or in many years, that one day he would get to live the normal life they had, and that he had missed out on.

Kakashi’s voice was quiet as he spoke, withdrawing his hand from beneath hers.

“Thank you, Sakura.” His head was low and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Sakura placed her fingertips on the edge of his jaw, the dim light casting shadows on his handsome, distraught face.

“If you had just asked, I would have done it. If you had just told me from the start.”

“I know.” Kakashi replied, voice low.

A slow smile spread across her face as she drew closer to him, speaking his true intentions aloud, “But you didn’t ask because if we were caught, you didn’t want me to be held accountable.”

“Oh Kakashi.”

Kakashi looked away, swallowing thickly, he replied, “I’m sorry Sakura. For everything.”

Slipping her hands around his waist, she hugged him tightly until he put his arms around her. Drawing back slightly she touched his face delicately, her expression one of deep empathy.

“I am so sorry for you Kakashi, for everything you went through, and for dealing with this alone.”

It was the first time anyone had ever acknowledged Kakashi’s losses, even months after the war was finished and over, due to his laidback disposition no one ever realised how much he had suffered, how much he had lost.

With a fierceness she wasn’t expecting, Kakashi returned her hug tightly, burying his face in her hair, his tall form trembling. Sakura rubbed his back soothingly, returning the embrace with as much strength as she could muster, feeling like it was only her arms holding the pieces of this man together.

Eventually he pulled back, pressing his forehead against Sakura’s, he whispered a thanks against her lips before he drew away.

Placing a hand on the chrysalis Kakashi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and uttered, “Goodbye Obito,” before turning away.

Within minutes they were packing their stuff and clearing away their bedding, ready to leave.

Suddenly Sakura froze, a very obvious realisation dawning.

“Did-did you change me?”

Kakashi rolled his eyes at her, “That’s what your worried about?”

Considering this for a moment, Sakura conceded with a shrug, “fair point,” and returned to packing.

The journey back to Konoha was far less stressful and they took it at a relaxed, sedate pace; though a knot of anxiety did sit in the pit of Sakura’s stomach at what would happen upon their return.

“Hokage-sama!”

Sakura snapped her neck around at the sound, searching for the voice and its direction which seemed to be them?

“Hokage!?” Sakura turned incredulously towards Kakashi.

It all made sense. He wanted to square of all his debts before taking on the heavy title of hokage, which had been his teammates dream.

Sakura smiled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief, as she went over to the desk to sign her name in for leaving and returning, then quietly snuck away leaving Kakashi to deal with Shikamaru’s badgering. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kakashi, head slightly bowed as he sheepishly apologised and offered a half-hearted explanation.

She made it only a block away before she was pulled into a secluded area between buildings, and before she could yelp in surprise Kakashi’s familiar face came into view. She opened her mouth to protest, a million questions on her lips, but closed it, knowing Kakashi would explain when he was ready or knowing him probably never.

As she stared silently at him for those few seconds, she struggled to decipher his expression. It was… soft almost?

Kakashi’s gloved hands circled her face, the warm tips of his fingers brushing her cheekbones. Her eyes fell to his lips, though she could not see them as he leaned close and whispered in low voice, slightly rough around the edges, “Thank you”.

She felt the gentle press of his warm lips against her forehead, lingering only for a moment extra, before she looked up and he was gone in a swirl of leaves.

Sakura chuckled to herself, the madness of the past few days starting to settle in as was the now glaring fact that she apparently had a massive crush on not only her Sensei, but also her village’s hokage.

Well, she shrugged to herself in thought as she continued the trek back to her apartment, at the very least he probably has a crush on me too.

#kakasaku #kakashi x sakura #naruto #narutofic #fanfiction #sakura #kakashi #this really got away from me #it was supposed to be a short thing #but here we are #thank you for the ask #i'll get back to crying over Kismet now #...maybe #i'll continue this one day #kakasaku is new to me #reirawrites

[akechicrimes]

You have the best takes and I was wondering what an actual Akechi redemption would look like? Sending him to prison is a weird take I've seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it's just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint. I imagine the first step would be talking to Futaba and Haru (and others who were affected by his actions) but I'm not sure what would happen after that.

ok firstly THANKS i do my best yellin into the tunglr void

second “Sending him to prison is a weird take I’ve seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it’s just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint” is the SEXIEST sentence ive ever read re: goro and thank you for putting these words in this particular order i want it framed, truly it makes zero sense whatsoever

third thanks for this super duper cool question because weirdly enough i havent…………….. really thought about it before??? ive seen more than a few really interesting goro redemption arc fics but if i were gonna do one myself………………….. hmmmmmm

ok ok ok ok ok ok i will. do my best. big psuedo revisionist fanfic under cut

a redemption arc needs to address the wrongs and hurts that he’s done, as well as just generally other noxious junk. to rattle them off so we know what we’re working with, he

killed wakaba (unknown circumstances), which hurt futaba

killed okumura, which hurt haru

assisted shido in his rise to power

assisted an unknown number of other douchebags like shido in their rise to power

killed an unknown number of other douchebags

created psychotic breakdowns, involving casualties and potentially some deaths

was generally a shit on live television

lied to sae.

betrayed joker.

and from there he needs to address these in such a way that his character grows and is better for it.

simultaneously i think it’s important to weigh the opposite issues, which are the ways that akechi is either right or has a valid point, the ways that akechi has presumably been mistreated/abused by people around him, and just generally following through on seeing akechi become happier and healthier for having gone through a redemption arc. in no particular order, he:

apparently desperately craves approval/recognition from others, but not in a productive way (sorry the TV audience does not actually love you lmao!!!!!!!)

has some kind of complicated relationship with shido to say the fuckign LEAST, and i think addressing that angle of shido’s abuse is important

really suffers from his inability to be honest with just about anyone; how deeply he’s hidden his true self has not only exacerbated his loneliness, but it’s done so in a way that i think should be really understandable to any one of the thieves, who also need to hide their true selves and feelings when in public

is 100000% correct about how much shido should eat shit and die

does have a valid point about how dangerous the phantom thieves are, and, in irony of all ironies, probably is a good critic and moral barometer to make sure joker doesn’t go over any lines

is canonically the character who is most unafraid to go against joker’s orders

is smart all absolute FUCK while maintaining an attitude of FUCK COPS

so with all that in mind:

i’d say, the engine room confrontation happens as SOON as they enter shido’s palace. not necessarily specifically in the engine room, but that confrontation happens off the bat. the phantom thieves take two steps into shido’s palace and find that they can’t go anywhere–everything’s locked, or off limits, and the whole place is under more surveillance than any palace they’ve ever seen. sojiro was right when he said that shido’s paranoid as fuck.

they try to leave the palace for the day to regroup, and akechi’s there like a guard dog ready to defend shido’s psyche. why wouldn’t he be? he must have planned that perhaps the thieves would retaliate like this, whether or not joker was alive.

that whole very embarrassing breakdown happens. haru and futaba already canonically seem in favor of akechi rejoining the team, so although haru does say she won’t forgive akechi, i do think that doesn’t need to be at odds with them being in favor of him working with the team.

so, say, akechi’s on the verge of being convinced to work with the team, and he’s not necessarily all in on this whole “being alive” thing, and he’s not super convinced that he deserves redemption, but the phantom thieves really really really insisted, because the phantom thieves can and do change hearts, even when they’re not in palaces, and they’ve just changed akechi’s. 

cognitive akechi doesn’t show up because i’m using him later.

first thing: akechi, haru, and futaba need to have a talk, which is actually pretty easy and not even irrelevant. go through shido’s palace, get the letters of rec, everyone recognizes akechi. like haru in okumura’s palace, akechi’s practically their ticket into half the ship.

getting the letters of rec naturally brings up okumura and wakaba, imo, because it hammers home that these sorts of scumbags are the kinds of people that akechi was killing. and also that this is the kind of scumbag that okumura was, in life. have haru go through the five stages of grief all over again, like she did back in okumura’s palace, realizing that her father kills his own employees for the first time. have her struggle all over again to reconcile the father she loves with the father who died with the father who murdered and exploited and drove his employees to the brink of death. have akechi face that even the people he killed were people, too.

depending on your interpretation of wakaba, she was either just as corrupt OR she was genuinely a nice woman, but that can be addressed in a bunch of ways–akechi didnt know what he was doing at the time, or he totally did but didnt feel like he had any other choice–either way, some sort of contextualization of wakaba’s role in shido’s conspiracy needs to be unearthed. 

say futaba wants to know what her mother was like. say she asks akechi because akechi knew her, maybe knew wakaba better than futaba ever did, because futaba was young and also because futaba never spent a few days literally crawling through her mother’s psyche like akechi did. make akechi tell futaba about the woman he killed with his own mouth. maybe he tells her only the good parts. maybe futaba MAKES him tell her the bad parts. maybe futaba thanks him for it, and akechi figures out that an apology could never be enough.

the point, basically, is to use shido’s palace to have haru, futaba, and akechi come to terms with each other. forgiveness isnt necessarily the point–understanding is more important. haru and futaba come to understand how and why akechi did what he did, while akechi has to sit through several weeks of looking his victims in the eyeballs.

for extra bonus points of making akechi look his victims in the eyeballs, personally i think that futaba would be the most supportive of all the phantom thieves of akechi turning over a new leaf. she canonically tells him that “it doesn’t matter where you start over” and relates his struggles to her struggle to turn her own life around, and honestly i think sympathy would fuck akechi up the most.

meanwhile, in the real world, capitalize on akechi’s position: if he’s deep in shido’s conspiracy, it really only makes sense that akechi could locate the people they need rec letters from in the real world, and use that to find their cognitive equivalent in shido’s palace. show me akechi’s relationship with shido, founded on akechi trying to appease shido and trying to avoid shido’s wrath simultaneously. 

maybe shido’s closing in on the phantom thieves in the real world. he suspects that things haven’t gone according to plan. make use of the fact that shido trusts (to an extent) akechi’s word, and have akechi cover for the phantom thieves in the real world. 

maybe show me shido actively manipulating akechi with praise. show me the greys of that relationship, like how we saw madarame treat yusuke well, or saw sae at her best and worst with makoto. show me how difficult it is for akechi to continue to help the phantom thieves even while actively engaging with his own abuser.

make akechi a traitor to shido. being a traitor was his role, wasn’t it? to betray the thieves? just have him betray shido back. he’s good at being a traitor, isn’t he? akechi probably volunteers himself for the role. let him capitalize on his ability to lie and outsmart those around him. let him make it up to joker in the only way that akechi feels he can: even more lying.

get all the rec letters. akechi himself hands shido the calling card. confront shido–cognitive akechi is there and just as much of a bitch as always. show me how much disdain shido has for akechi, how little he thinks of akechi, how nasty he is–and how blindly adoring cognitive akechi is in return. it’s gross as all hell, but it’s a final nail in the coffin to haru and futaba’s grieving process, even forms some sort of solidarity. 

there’s half a second where akechi is in the position to kill shido. shido’s shadow is down, akechi’s got a gun, he could pull the trigger before anyone could stop him. futaba tells him not to. 

haru tells him that he can kill shido if he wants to.

everyone’s like HARU??? HELLO???? but haru says, as far as i’m concerned, this man is just as much my father’s murderer as akechi-kun is. if you want to, i won’t stop you. but i know that it’s harder to survive than it is to die, too.

akechi does not kill shido. they steal shido’s treasure and return to the real world.

at this point in the canon plot, yaldabaoth starts to happen really fast, but bear with me for five seconds–bring sae back on the scene. shido confesses, and akechi’s reputation goes up in smoke. people call him a fraud, people won’t stop talking about shido being his dad, akechi’s name gets dragged through the mud worse than back when the PT were at their most popular.

sae takes up prosecuting shido’s case, and akechi can’t avoid her forever when he’s supposedly a key witness. sae says, i’m going to give you one chance to explain yourself. you lied to him, you tricked me, you pretended to be my partner all that time and then ran rings around me. talk.

so akechi explains himself, even though half that stuff isnt permissible in court. he doesn’t butter her up and he doesn’t use his cutesy prince mask, and for the first time sae sees him as he really is. and sae says, those are some pretty serious offenses, akechi, what are you going to do now? 

akechi’s just gone through that whole bonding session with haru and futaba, during which akechi had to realize, ah, shit, i fucked over the lives of these two very nice girls and even inflicted the same trauma that i myself went through onto other people. so akechi tells sae, well obviously i don’t fucking know, i dont have a career, i might be expelled, and i’ve killed a shitload of people and there’s no way that i can make up for that. but if i could, i would want to do something to right the wrongs that i did–i’d want to address the murders i committed, and maybe do something to fix it.

sae says, you’re smart as all hell, what you’ve done is irrevocable, you know your way around the police and its corruption, you’re willing to do better and you know how hard doing better is going to be. i’m the same way. i might not have killed anyone, but i’ve ruined the lives of so many people in the name of my career and a distorted sense of justice. if you want to do better, i could use a person like you. what do you say that when this case is over, we become partners for real, this time?

akechi says, but sae-san, what about your reputation, what about your career, wouldn’t it be bad to have a fraud like me by your side?

sae says, i didnt have you as a partner the first time around because you were stupid. use your head, make it work, and maybe i’ll buy you sushi off the conveyor belt someday.

case number one is prosecuting the shit out of shido. sae said they’d be partners after akechi is no longer a key witness, but at this point, being a key witness is basically like being her assistant. sae’s there every step of the way while akechi gets shoved through the public wringer. i say, make him lose all his public fame and reputation and more, everything that he thought he wanted, and he come out with sae’s respect, akira’s support, and the phantom thieves on his side.

the trial starts to stall because of yaldabaoth’s influence, which then brings us to that whole reveal about yaldabaoth using akechi as well for yaldo’s own ends. yaldabaoth offers the p5 vanilla bad end, in which the phantom thieves continue on and become incredibly famous and eliminate most crime because they just change the hearts of anyone who does anything halfway wrong.

i say, let the thieves deliberate on that one. all of them, not just joker. it’s not actually a very bad deal, necessarily; it’s just vaguely skeevy and authoritarian. let’s say, akechi is the biggest opposer, and points out that if akira goes down that route, akira will be doing exactly the same thing akechi did for so long–using his power for his own self-satisfaction, power unchecked and out of control. let akechi use the fact that he’s akira’s “rival” and outspoken critic to good use. akira tells yaldo where he can stick it.

fight yaldabaoth, win. sae takes akira into custody. akechi makes good on his deal with sae, and both of them work together to use akechi’s testimony, akira’s testimony, and shido’s testimony to nail shido and clear akira’s name. 

from there, flash forward to the epilogue in the same way that it happens in canon, except akechi is now sae’s lackey and she’s overseeing his efforts to undo whatever damage he did to all the nameless people he’s hurt over the years. she’s going to become a defense attorney, and akechi’s probably going to become her assistant and later paralegal. both of them are committed to reforming the justice system for the better and addressing their past wrongs.

im actually big fucking mad at how little i had to change about persona 5 canon to make this redemption arc work. @ persona 5 royal meet me in the pit.

#mine #meta #it's not really meta but lmao #Anonymous

[enigma-im]

Nothin’ But a Good Time

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Dremora (Demon) X Male!Human (Nord) Warning: Anal, Demon sex, Deals with a demon, Skyrim, blowjobs, handjobs

Word count: 2676

Summoning an unbound Dremora means that it can turn on you. This Dremora has a better idea than just killing the summoner.

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'Summon an unbound Dremora' it was a difficult spell and a dangerous one at that. To conjure a Dremora was on its own, dangerous. To conjure one that you know will attack you is just plain stupid. Yet, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The dungeon wasn’t a challenge for a mage as talented as myself. It was almost comical to be tasked with a quest like this. The Skeevers die on sight, the Draugers are similar to practice dummies, the puzzles are elementary at best. I will be paid in no time at this rate. If only every mission was like this.

As I near the final room I learn that extending some modesty once in a while might be beneficial to me and my ego.

The room ends with a dragon priest instead of my anticipated Deathlord. I really should have kept my mouth shut but the new reward of a mask keeps my spirits high. I face the spirit with a new wave of optimism and cockiness until the graves give way to Draugers. This is fine, I can deal with that. Down the way towards the floating priest two more coffins give way to Deathlords, alright this is less ok.

The battle is full of loud explosions of fireballs and lightning strikes. The Draugers become more of a hassle as anytime I try to deal with them I have to take my attention from the three major threats in the cavern. I take to summoning familiars and Atronachs, drinking bottles after bottles of Magicka. I pick off bits of health from the Deathlords as I try to avoid hits from the priest. His magic staff is becoming too much a problem that I fear I may lose my life this day.

Carding around the edges of the room for the hundredth time I take a direct hit from the Dragon Priest's staff. I hit the ground harder than reasonable, sliding along the uneven cobble on my shoulder. I quickly attempt to stand but the room turns, I fall back with a heavy sigh. I see the low life Draugers come in for the kill. In a last-ditch effort, I cast one more summoning spell, conjuring the one being I swore I wouldn't.

In a swirl of black and purple, a Dremora is officially summoned. Without preamble, the dangerous demon snaps forward and fast. It takes on the Draugers quickly with inhuman strength and speed. As everyone is distracted I look through my bag for potions or food, knowing the unavoidable battle that will come to me.

I watch from the corner of my eye at the Deadra armored beast fights. It takes care of the undead creatures very well, finishing off a Deathlord in the time it took me to swallow down minor healing. Once I catch my bearings I stand and begin to loot through the dead bodies, begging to gods for a potion or two. When that, thing, is done it will turn its ire onto me. I must be prepared for the fight.

I don’t notice the silence for a moment as I reach for the minor magic potion at the bottom of a broken urn. It doesn't occur to me till I feel the dark presence behind me. With a quick breath, I turn and throw a bolt of ice at the demon. With a lazy effort, it pushes the ice off like it was a bug in the way.

"Generally people give thanks but I can't say I'm too familiar with Nord customs," the Dremora chuckles. I straight at his laugh, utterly confused. The being cocks a dark brow at me with a grin," You seem a lost for words."

"Aye," I eye him," just a bit of miscommunication."

His arms cross while changing weight to one leg," How so?" His demeanor is startling, to say the least. I have never interacted with demons before, well in a friendly manner at least. I've killed a few to use their hearts for potions, I'm no saint. The college generally warned against conversing with them unless you can have the upper hand.

"I was informed that this conjuring spell was to summon an unbound Dremora," I clarify.

"That I am," he tilts his head with an amused smirk," Do you believe I have no free will? That I will attack anything that breathes? I found the deal is far greater than the taste of freshly spilled blood."

I sober at his words," the deal?"

"Yes, the deal," he chuckles," you summon me, I protect you, now I get something in return. Give and take sort of thing." I eye him cautious, not open to making deals with conniving creatures like him.

"What kind of deal?"

"Hmm, not sure. I haven't decided on what I want yet, but I do have ideas," he answers in thought.

"What could you want," I slide my hand towards my dagger, cautious but not completely open to fighting just yet. The Dremora casts a glance to my hand then back up at me. His brow raises again but he either doesn’t care or doesn’t mind me reaching for my weapon. Arms still folded he begins to circle me, walking lazily around with his eyes wondering my body.

"What do I want," he taps his finger against his elbow," many things. The better question is what do I want that you can give me. You could be my slave, do my bidding here in the living realm. To kill who I demand, to retrieve what I desire. But I don’t need another one, I already have all the slaves I want. You could give me something I haven't reveled in for a while." he stops his circling and walks towards me. Panicked, I back up till I thump against a wall. Quickly he grabs my face and regards me in an appraising way. "You are very handsome for a mage, most are old and cynical. You are young and full of mirth, perhaps I shall partake just this once," he hums as his thumb brushes my cheek.

"W-What do you want," my resolve slips for a second. I'm not ignorant or oblivious, he wants something I myself haven't partaken in since starting college. Before the time of my studies, I took to parading around as many women as I could, drinking and partying with the liveliest of maidens. I have never been with a man, let alone a demon.

"Here is the deal, you take my seed and we call us even," his hold switches to my throat," if you don’t, then I take your blood as payment."

"You're seed," I ask confused," do you believe you could impregnate me?"

He scoffs," No you stupid man, I wish to spoil myself inside you. Once I do, then we are square. This acceptable, Nord?"

"Blood or cum, such an impossible choice," I roll my eyes," as long as you don’t rip me a new one I will reluctantly lay with you, demon."

"Reluctantly," the Dremora laughs," you caved very fast for someone who is reluctant."

"I'm not above my ego to rather die than fuck a man, just be fast and I can forget about it," I sneer.

"Like I'd give you the curtesy to forget," he chuckles darkly," but if you insist."

I startle when head leans down and captures my lips with his, wasting no time shoving his tongue down my throat. The intrusion sends a jolt down my spine, spurring my interest just a peek. A chill runs through the room and the rock bites into my skin. I shiver when I feel the hard grip of his hands on my uncovered hips.

"You seem to be less reluctant now," he whispers in my ear as his hips brush against mine. I look down at our now nude bodies, seeing my hardening cock against his thigh.

"Is but nerves," I scoff. He hums in an answer as he lowers onto his knees. Its almost a powerful sight to see such an evil being kneeling. The sight is even more uplifting when he grabs my half-hard dick in his hands, stroking me in a lose hold. His mouth joins in for a moment, my spine snapping straight as the electric feeling runs upwards. "damn, Dremora. Ever heard of pacing one's self," I ask as my hips buck. He chuckles around my cock, the vibrations feeling divine.

"You were the one who wanted fast, and I'm the one who didn’t want you to forget," he kisses along my shaft, palming my balls with an uncoy look. His attentions are not what I expected, the sight more arousing than anticipated. I watch him lather my member with his tongue, bucking and sighing with the feeling. I rest my head back to the wall, mouth parted in an unending breath. As I feel myself nearing my end he backs off.

"Don’t want you to end so soon my handsome Nord, now it's your turn to be on your knees," He laughs. I give him an unabashed face before doing as he says. I get down on my knees ready to return the favor. He confuses me by not standing but crawling around behind me. It seems he is ready for the main course. He grabs my shoulder and pushes me forward. I catch myself on my hands as his hand rests on my back.

His clawed fingers trail down my spine, my skin tingling with anticipation. I can feel the warmth of his cock resting at the crease of my ass. The tip nudging just barely between my cheeks. His palm slides over my lower back before trailing over and cupping my hips. He swiftly pulls me flush to his thighs, his cock gliding up and settling close to his stomach. The weight is similar to the one in my stomach, the suspense making my own cock twitch. He pushes me away then pulls me back to him again, enjoying the tension in the air.

I fall onto my forearms and buck back into him with a groan," Just put it in already!"

His deep chuckle echoes in the room," so eager aren't we? I thought this was supposed to be my payment."

I look over my shoulder at his wicked grin," what? Cant, we both get something out of this?"

"I suppose we can," he tilts his head. The Dremora says nothing else as he continues tracing his cock on my ass. Soon he grabs ahold of one of my cheeks, clenching the muscle between his fingers. He spreads me open and regards his new toy. I wait with bated breath as his other hand lazily trails down to rest his thumb over my pucker. My stomach clenches as I choke on a gasp, I guess the eagerness is getting to me. He chuckles as he presses his thumb to me, massaging before inserting. I let out a long groan and rest my head to the filthy floor. He lets himself just rest there, humming as he listens to my panting breath.

"Please," I find myself crying out, not sure what I'm asking for. He somehow figures it out as he removes his thumb and grabs ahold of his cock. He presses himself to my entrance, slowly pressing his tip inside. There is resistance but he pushes on. With a sudden pop, his head is engulfed. The image and the reality of someone being in my ass make my cock leak and a whine let out from my chest. Before I could beg some more he pushes in farther. His head sliding further inside, the unfamiliar feeling of something this far inside me is intoxicating. My anus being stretched isn't pleasant, it aches and stings. Still, my cock remains hard and drips pre to the floor. His length rubbing along my prostate makes the pain feel like nothing.

I relish every inch till his hips are finally flat with my ass. Once he is to the hilt I hear him breathe. He sucks in a greedy breath and grips my cheeks with a painful hold. I can feel my hips try to move, the urge to buck back into him is strong. God, what my guild would think of this. Hell! What would my church think of this?

"By the divines, you are the tightest hole I have ever had the pleasure of fucking," the Dremora calls out in wonder," I believe this will be sufficient payment indeed." before I can comment he pulls back then thrust forward with a sharp snap of his hips.

"ack-, fuck," I cry out. I rub my forehead along the ground, the bits of rock digging into my skin. I hardly notice them as he pulls out again and bucks forward. He finds a pace quickly, using me like some common whore. Seeking his own fulfillment as I whimper and cry in the dirt. His inhuman cock does wonders to my insides, his length hitting places I never knew existed. My cock bobs with each thrust, a string of pre falling to the ground make me groan. I find myself reaching under myself and gripping it. The mixture of him and my hand makes my brain feel fuzzy.

"Are you going to touch yourself, my little Nord," he chuckles above me," Love the feeling of my cock rearranging your insides?" I whimper like a dog as I stroke myself, twisting my hand over my tips then clenching my base. If I knew being fucked in the ass was so grand I would have done this sooner. I'm almost curious if being fucked by a Nord is the same as this? Perhaps a Dremora has better prowess with these kinds of things. Either way, it's hard to think, at the moment a Dremora is a way better lay than any of my past lovers.

"Faster," I cry as I buck back into him. He laughs, curling his fingers over my waist. He slides them down over my stomach, feeling my muscles flex with each push of his hips. His fingers wrap around my base as my palms massages my tip. He gives short quick strokes that make me see stars. I continue pinching along my head as he rubs up against my shaft. My grunts and groans stutter as he fucks me from behind harder, knocking the breath out of me each time.

"Cum for me, my little Nord. I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you do," he rumbles beside my ears. I have no strength to deny him, falling victim to his assaults quickly. In a flash, my body seizes, my spine arching as I feel my balls tighten. I scream like I never have before as I shoot white ropes onto the dirt-covered floor. He doesn’t stop squeezing me, milking me for all I have as his own thrusts stutter. "Yes, just like that," he grunts. As I fall limp on my arms he thrust once more before stilling. I can feel his hot load coating my insides, the feeling is divine. He gasps hard, one of his hands making scratches along my sweaty body.

We both catch our breaths, resting for just a moment in such a dangerous surrounding. He soon pulls out of me, sitting up straight on his knees. I can feel his cum dribble out of me, trailing over my taint and onto my balls before dripping to the floor. I watch between myself as the drops darken the floor.

"You took my seed, the payment is fulfilled," he stands and walks around to my front. He kneels down in front of me as I fall limp to the floor. He grabs my chin and forces me back up on my hands," Till next time, my little Nord." he presses a kiss to my lips then with a smirk, he vanishes. I fall once again onto the floor, naked and defiled.

"till next time," I mumble to myself with a content grin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wanted to write a MLM story and this smut came out. Also my best friend wanted me to write one too. so technically this is dedicated to him, Love you bro.

I love skyrim so enjoy this mess.

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