#its actually the ending. somehow maybe now ill find the words to say. never thought id see the day

[p0ckykiss]

five ways to say "i love you" - jeonghan

summary - how jeonghan shows his love to you, through all five love languages

-> sick y/n, worried jeonghan, fluff, established relationship, soft jeonghan!!!!, whipped jeonghan

seasonal depression is a real thing. at least, according to you it is. personally, jeonghan had never experienced it. its entire premise just didn't really make sense, is all. watching the leaves change colors and fall was beautiful, and when winter rolled around the corner, so did the holidays and days off. if anything, wasn't that a reason to be happier?

a sneeze interrupts his train of thought, and jeonghan feels a pang in his chest at the sight.

it's officially been three days with you being flu-struck, and you both hoped it would've gotten better by now, but if anything it only seemed to have gotten worse. the time reads a quarter past two, and jeonghan can't help but sigh. 

you've been stuck on the couch since noon, curled up in your warmest blanket trying to watch the latest sitcom episode. your drowsiness is palpable, and every time you reach for a tissue to blow your nose, jeonghan flinches.

if seasonal depression corresponded with your well-being, then maybe jeonghan relates to it more than he thinks. and though jeonghan is chock-full of sympathy, his urgency to comfort you proves stronger.

and so jeonghan begins to rack his brain for different methods to make you feel better. and somehow his memories digress to the day you both took the love language test, even before you started dating. much to his embarrassment, jeonghan doesn't actually remember what your love language is, and he's way too prideful to ask. luckily, the nostalgia ends with the spark of a lightbulb, and jeonghan smiles. he knows exactly what to do. 

— 

the quest to rediscover your love language begins with the first type: words of affirmation.

slowly, jeonghan saunters over to you, trailing his fingertips over the leather of the couch, then over the fabric of the blanket, gently and gradually, until they find their way to your shoulder, and jeonghan leans down so you're promptly face to face. the quiet chatter from the TV fills up empty space, but it's not enough to force jeonghan to speak loudly. so he doesn't. instead, he inches ever so closer, until he can make out every beauty mark on your face, and he breathes, hardly above a whisper, "you're so beautiful."

in an attempt to play the compliment off, you merely roll your eyes. you blame your illness, though, when you can't contain the slightest inklings of a smile forming, nor the red flush that threatens to overtake your cheeks. you pair a gentle slap against jeonghan's arm with the statement, "i look like shit," and the accusation, "you're just saying that to make me feel better."

if it was even possible, jeonghan moves in closer, propping one hand on the couch arm for support so he could lift his other hand to rest perfectly under your chin. jeonghan swipes his thumb over your skin, hot to the touch, but he can't tell if it's from a blush or from the fever. "you might be right," jeonghan concedes, humming as he takes in every detail of your current state—rosy nose, puffy eyes, dry skin, messy hair—and yet jeonghan can't seem to find any flaws. inspection complete, jeonghan searches for the one thing he knows he can find. ever so faintly, glimmers dance in your eyes, and when jeonghan catches them with his own, like he's done before a million times, he repeats himself. "you might be right. i could just be saying that to make you feel better." jeonghan tucks one of many stray hairs behind your ear before reaching down to cup your hands together, "but that doesn't make it any less true."

and jeonghan can see it, can physically see it, how all of your insecurities instantly crumble, like a house of cards collapsing upon itself, melting away to make room for new walls, sturdier this time, built from affirmations and confidence and care.

a verbal response isn't required. all you do is smile, subtly, so that your lips barely curve up, and you close your eyes. but even this speaks volumes, because it's your cue of absorbing all the good things around you, no matter how small. it's also jeonghan's cue to add one final speck of positivity to your realm with a sweet kiss to your forehead, before he takes his leave to give you your much-needed space. 

—

mindless chatter continues to emit from the TV, and when jeonghan peers into the living room, he spots you tucked away in your same spot on the couch, only this time your head rested lower and your mouth hung open, blissfully asleep and temporarily free from the virus that ailed you.

jeonghan is quick to shimmy on his coat. braving the bite of winter air, it was time to do some shopping for part two, giving gifts, in his mission to determine your love language.

months of taking extra shifts, saving up, determined observations, and heavy research all culminated into this one moment. he was battling not one, but two, life-or-death decisions. the first was to pick which gaming console to buy, and the second was to pick which game to correctly pair with said console. his dedication to this plan, despite being executed weeks before the planned date, does not fail him, and fifteen minutes later jeonghan is walking back into your home as if nothing even happened.

luckily, you are still asleep, which gives jeonghan enough time to wrap up (literally) this phase of the journey and get a head start on the next: acts of services.

— 

about a million things fly through jeonghan's head when he watches you ease out of your slumber, the most prominent thought being how adorable you look, but the most important thought being how sick you still must feel, and how it's engraved in jeonghan's soul to fend off your demons.

unable to contain his excitement, jeonghan approaches you with his arms tucked behind his back, very conspicuously hiding something. you don't even get the chance to sit up before jepnghan kneels beside you, looking up with the largest pair of star-filled eyes. 

jeonghan brings both hands forward, so the two presents display themselves proudly between you. "i was going to wait until christmas," he shuffles the gifts into your arms, "but i can't stand seeing you like this." jeonghan balls his fists into his lap to prevent himself from tearing away at the wrappings himself. "i hope you like it."

piece by piece, bits of red and green foil fall to the floor. no amount of congestion or itchiness in your throat could suppress the yelp that burst from your voice. "jeonghan," you begin, but the growing lump of emotion in your chest was making it damn near impossible to finish your sentence. "you really didn't have to."

jeonghan beams. "yes i did. i know how much you miss your old switch."

"you mean the one i threw out the window because i couldn't pass that one stupid level of super mario?" 

it's clear that you are very unfond of the memory, but jeonghan simply finds it all the more endearing. "that's the one."

the grin on jeonghan's face has yet to falter, and suddenly the swells of appreciation that lap at your heart transform into guilt. you imagine all the sacrifices jeonghan must have made in order to afford this, all the late shifts he had to seek out, just to buy you a replacement for something you broke in the first place. you swallow a lump of equal parts of exasperation and admiration down your throat, ready to air out further protest because you really don't deserve this, and you sure as hell don't deserve jeonghan.

and jeonghan can imagine all of your internal turmoil, of course he can, which gives him all the more reason to assure you that you do, in fact, deserve the entire world. it's also happily up to jeonghan to deliver it to you. one warm hand placed on your cold ones and a couple of soothing circles rubbed atop of them later, and jeonghan has effectively drawn you out of your own bubble.

"whatever you're worrying about," jeonghan exhales, "don't." when jeonghan senses the tension releasing from your body, he drives his point across with a home run. "plus," he nods at the game he bought to accompany the console, mario kart 8, "we can play together this time, too."

there's no reason to argue, you conclude, especially not against jeonghan. a deep breath resets your mentality, and you try your best to return to your usual self, biting back a smile. "you know I won't go easy on you, right?"

"oh please," jeonghan ruffles your already messy hair, "in your condition, you'll be begging me to go easy on you."

frowning, you take a moment to envision this unlikely scenario. unwilling to even entertain the possibility of losing to jeonghan, you dodge the challenge altogether. "how about we play another time," you mutter.

and at that, jeonghan jumps to his feet, grabbing the switch and the game in one fell swoop. "i knew you were gonna say that," he giggles, "which is why I prepared something else."

after quickly shooting a prayer to whatever gods were out there, you tentatively say, "please don't tell me you got another ridiculously expensive gift. this is more than enough." you're more than enough, you want to add, but don't.

jeonghan all but skips to the kitchen. "i wouldn't exactly call this a gift." a painfully slow thirty seconds pass until he returns to the couch in the living room, to you, carefully balancing a plate of various desserts in one hand, and cradling what appeared to be a lighter in the other.

you squint, double checking if you were actually seeing what you thought you were seeing. "what exactly would you call it, then?"

figuring that calling it an act of service would be much too blatant, jeonghan settles on "lunch."

"lunch?" you eye the plate, definitively making out two chocolate bars, a sleeve of graham crackers, and a bundle of marshmallows.

once his rendition of a charcuterie board is secure on the coffee table, jeonghan maneuvers his way onto the couch and under the blanket, shoulder to shoulder with you one and only. "you haven't eaten all day. and i know you probably don't want to eat a proper meal," jeonghan gestures at their awaiting food, "but I also know you crave sweets when you're sick."

it should be second nature by now, really, with how many times jeonghan so casually demonstrates just how well he knows you, maybe even more than you knows yourself. but jeonghan leaves you in awe every time, regardless. 

s'mores are your designated comfort food. the entire process is just so enjoyable, from prepping the ingredients and assembling the structure, to trying to eat the whole thing in one bite lest the remnants ooze out the sides. and so you both do just that.

lacking anything close to a fireplace or a firepit, you roast marshmallows skewered with chopsticks above the dim flame from the lighter. as per the laws of physics (or something like that), the first marshmallow never goes well, and you both end up with a big black burnt chunk of goo. you effectively hurl yours in the trash, but jeonghan dares to take a nibble off his own. he learns that curiosity does, in fact, kill the cat, and jeonghan scrambles to wash out that terrible ashy aftertaste on his tongue. then he hears the faint sound of you snorting, and he concludes that it was worth it.

you tackle the issue of melting the chocolate next, but it's jeonghan who requests to handle this part because he doesn't want to risk you getting burnt. 

and so you watch as jeonghan carefully heats the chocolate piece by piece over the fire. and you note all of jeonghan's habits you've picked up on over the years. how jeonghan's tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth when he's super concentrated, how he furrows his brows when he tries to see better, how he forgets to blink when there's one specific thing on his mind. and you feel yourself likewise melting like the chocolate, because even to this day, you still can't fathom how you were so lucky to have jeonghan to call yours.

"i hope you're hungry," jeonghan announces, grinning ear to ear. 

you reciprocate the expression. it's assembly time. 

you make a mess. it was inevitable, honestly. there was only so much precaution to be taken from your comfy position on the couch, legs and feet all tangled up in each other. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

laughter outshines any noise from the long-forgotten sitcom playing on the TV. each bounce of your shoulder from an accompanying chuckle is followed by the blanket sliding down, just a bit. jeonghan tries to be slick when he drapes his arm around you, a front to make sure he can pull the blanket back up every time it threatens to slip. but this is you. you, who notice everything that jeonghan does for you. you, who's grateful for all of it. you, who don't think you can love jeonghan any more than you already do.

—

an impromptu nap is essential for their post-s'more recovery. the last two love languages, physical touch and quality time, are much harder to gauge. considering jeonghan's affection is usually on full display 24/7 and the fact that he counts his entire lifespan with you as quality time, he can only hope you treasure your moments together as much as he does. and honestly, at this point, jeonghan is much too tired to care about his quest to uncover your love language. the only mission on his mind is to get you as close as possible, and so he seeks to accomplish just that.

pulling you into his arms, you both slump onto your sides, feet dangling off the edge of the couch, hands wrapped around shoulders and backs, and eyes locked unwavering onto the other's. jeonghan slips his bicep under your neck, fashioning a faux pillow, and rests your head against his chest, just above his beating heart.

you squirm in a weak attempt to create some distance between you. (you're not successful.) "i'm gonna get you sick."

jeonghan only snuggles closer. "i don't care," emphasizing his point with a chaste kiss upon your forehead, and then, oh so gently, on your nose, both cheeks, and finally, still ever so softly, on your lips. 

you've both long since outgrown the butterflies in your stomachs. what used to elicit sparks of electricity at every touch now resound in echoes of warmth. and lying here, in jeonghan's embrace, in jeonghan's comfort, in jeonghan's life, you feel so safe. you'd spend eternity with jeonghan if you could, but right now, when the passage of time has all but stopped as you continue to hold each other in your own beautiful world, what you have right now is all you want.

—

you both wake up as you were, still entangled in each other's body, each other's affection, each other's hearts.

you let yourself drown in the serenity that was jeonghan before you ask the question that's been tickling the back of your mind the whole day. "what was up with you today? you were oddly kind, even more so than you usually are."

an instant flush of red rises upon jeonghan's cheeks, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think jeonghan was the sick one, not you. "this is gonna sound stupid," jeonghan says.

and to that, your first instinct is to reach for jeonghan's hand and intertwine your fingers, still perfectly warm under the blanket. "nothing you say is ever stupid." it's true. on a scale of endearing to adorable, never once have you thought jeonghan resembled anything close to the word stupid.

jeonghan bites his lip, as he confesses, "i hated seeing how miserable you were, and i wanted to cheer you up, but i forgot what your love language is, so i thought i'd do one of each to see which one you like the most, but you were equally receptive to all of them, and i feel dumb for not knowing what means the most to you."

when you don't immediately respond, jeonghan sighs and chides himself. "i told you, it's stupid."

but you just laugh, sporting a grin so wide your eyes turn into mini crescent moons. "yoon jeonghan, you're ridiculous in the best way possible." you unlace your finger in favor of cupping your palm around jeonghan's cheek, still blazing from embarrassment. "did you know that?"

jeonghan flits his gaze downwards, uncharacteristically shy towards the one person he's bared his entire soul to. "could you still remind me what your love language is?" he sheepishly requests, adding on, "just for future reference."

you just smile, and you hope your words are enough to convey the intensity of the way your whole body swells with an undeniable warmth every time jeonghan does anything. "as long as it's with you," you use your thumb to tilt jeonghan's head back up, ensuring he can see just how sincere you are when you say, "i love it all just the same." and then you lean in, breaths already mingling, lips centimeters from meeting, hearts seconds from colliding, when you whisper, "i love you all just the same."

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[karamazovposting]

On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part four)

Since this is (finally) the last part of this essay and I've already previously mentioned what it will be about, I don't have an introduction to make, but I do think I need to give a couple disclaimers before getting right into this mess. First one: I have a lot of explaining to do because this gets medical again and I can't just assume you all know exactly what I'm talking about and/or to what extent; I hope I won't overexplain or sound condescending. On this same note, I forgot to open part one by explaining that bipolar disorder is a chronic mental illness that is treatable through lifelong medication and not necessarily lifelong therapy but not curable because to me that's a given, so sorry if you didn't have much knowledge on the topic and had to read my yapping with little or even no context. Second one: I will be using some words (such as "delusional") that are to be taken literally, in the medical sense. I'm not saying this because I think you are all stupid of course, but to highlight the seriousness of what I've been talking about these past months; it seems to me that lately medical terminology regarding mental health has been watered down a lot by Internet culture to the point of it losing its meaning, with memes about being "delulu 🤪" or reducing mania to dyeing your hair by yourself at 2 AM leading people to not take these things seriously. I don't mean to be a spoilsport or anything, I like and share those memes too but I've actually been (hypo)manic and delusional in the past so I guess I have the right to joke about it at least. Maybe it's not that serious but I want it to be serious at least here, which is also why I've never referred to episodes as "mood swings". I don't do that in real life either, even when talking to people who don't know much about bipolar disorder, because I've always found the term reductive and misleading: everyone has mood swings, it came free with being a human being. In my opinion it contributes to the misunderstanding of this disorder and the people who have it; no, we are not moody by default and no, we don't change our minds every five minutes or are happy one moment and then suddenly sad the next (seriously, who came up with these stereotypes and how?), but I digress.

This said, let's get down to business. I want to start with one detail that is either one of the most absurd coincidences in the entire history of literature or proof that Dostoevsky was somewhat somehow familiar with bipolar disorder and decided to integrate some things he witnessed in Ivan's character (I guess without knowing, as at the time there was very little understanding of it to the point it wasn't really considered an illness and was referred to as circular insanity and later as manic-depression, which are both cooler names than bipolar disorder but again I digress) because I swear I can't find any other explanation for it: the timeline of The Brothers Karamazov. It might seem like a very small detail, but as soon as I figured out the timeline I thought of fucking course. Now, we all know the timeline of this novel is a little confusing at first as there are almost no indicators of how much time has passed between Alyosha running from one house to another first and shit going down second, but in the first half of the novel we know it all starts in late August and honestly I didn't make anything of it, but then the timeline becomes clearer after Dmitri's arrest and we end up in early November for the trial and I mean, nothing particularly interesting or peculiar about a book covering the events of a (little over) two-month timespan, right? Technically yes, because it's not the amount of time that has passed that matters, but the time of the year: if it all had, for example, taken place from late June to early August or from late December to early February I wouldn't even be talking about it, because there's no seasonal change taking place in those months. August to November, however, is another story. I also find it interesting that it's the change from warm to cold weather, as it's the one that's the hardest for most people (for me personally it's the opposite, the shift from Winter to Spring is a nightmare, but I'm a rare case when it comes to that); I don't really know why, but the seasonal changes are always delicate periods for people with bipolar disorder as they can trigger episodes, I guess it's pretty much the same mechanism that occurs in seasonal depression. So, let me lay the timeline out for you: the Karamazovs reunite in late August, Ivan leaves a few days after, Fyodor is murdered shortly after, so probably in early September and Dmitri is arrested the same night, then Ivan comes back five days later, the trial takes place in early November the day after Pavel hangs himself, and Dmitri is sentenced five days before the story ends with Ilyusha's funeral. This timeline detail seriously drives me insane because all the other puzzle pieces I've been putting together for a while could be related to other disorders/conditions as well, such as schizophrenia (schizoaffective bipolar disorder is a thing too but I don't have it so I can't really say anything about it) and autism (autism and bipolar disorder have a lot in common), or even to just personality, but this? It's a little too oddly specific in my opinion, but I'll just keep assuming it's a coincidence for the sake of my own mental health.

Anyway, this means the story starts when a seasonal change is approaching, which is already a delicate time on its own, and Ivan has to put himself in an unpleasant situation that has a high chance of turning into a shitshow (and it does): going somewhere he wants to leave as soon as possible to discuss things he doesn't want to discuss surrounded by people he doesn't want to deal with. That's not a good start at all and it would be enough to put me, someone who has been medicated for seven years, on edge (and it has in the past); no wonder he's pissed off all the time. And it's only the start since, as we all know, the worst is yet to come. I love that the reader only gets bits and pieces of the build-up of Ivan's episode through the other characters' points of view and I particularly love how said build-up reaches its climax; it doesn't happen when Ivan hallucinates the devil (as it's mentioned he's seen him before and has also had other similar experiences in the past, I'll get into that later), but exactly a moment before that. But first, let's focus on the main build-up moments we see bits and pieces of before that. I was impressed by how realistically the whole thing was portrayed, especially considering that at the time almost everyting about this disorder was unknown; still to this day, in 2024, many people think bipolar disorder is a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, with the person being "normal" one day and waking up "crazy" the next like some sort of magic happening overnight, but that's straight up not true, it doesn't happen. Bipolar disorder is way more rational than one would think (very fitting for Ivan, isn't it?) and at times you do have an awful amount of self-awareness but can do nothing with it, it's kind of like being stuck in the passenger seat of a car with a broken steering wheel and broken breaks that's speeding straight against a wall; you know what's happening but can do nothing but watch and hope the crash won't be that painful. And that's how I felt reading too, every time I saw those bits and pieces of Ivan's story I thought oh no it's happening. And Ivan knows it's happening too, as we see in Book Eleven.

I've focused on The brothers get acquainted, Rebellion and The Grand Inquisitor already, but I have to mention them again because as I've already explained they're such a pivotal point; before that we don't really know what Ivan's deal is, but as soon as we get acquainted (sorry, I had to) with him we start to notice that something's definitely up, and there is one seemingly small detail that I just can't get out of my head: when Ivan gets up and starts walking after his talk with his brother, Aleksej points out to himself that he's swaying a little. Considering it's implied that Ivan has a problem with alcohol (it runs in the family after all) in other occasions too, that's probably an indicator that Ivan had been drinking during his stay. Not only is there a strong link between bipolar disorder and substance abuse (how could there not be? Shit's tough and sometimes you have to self medicate, especially in the 1800s), but alcohol and drugs can trigger episodes or make them worse; Ivan is also once again dealing with everything alone and trust me, that's recipe for disaster. And of course after that the aforementioned metaphorical car does nothing but gain speed and Ivan increasingly becomes angrier, restless and frantic: he has trouble sleeping, he starts isolating himself even more, he talks faster, his thoughts start racing, his speech pattern becomes more and more incoherent and he can't stay still as he's mentioned walking back and forth for seemingly no reason in different occasions; all textbook symptoms. He visibly looks sick too and bipolar episodes are known to take a toll on your physical appearance (I looked like a walking corpse for years) as well as having physical symptoms manifest along the psychological/psychiatric ones, such as headaches caused by stress, which Ivan frequently has, because stress is a major trigger for bipolar disorder (and Ivan is undeniably quite stressed). Sleep also plays a huge role when it comes to bipolar disorder as it can quite literally determine your faith: the the very first sign to watch out for if you feel something might be wrong is a change in sleeping habits; if they start changing significantly it means something's definitely up and you need to intervene as soon as possible (I have prevented episodes from either spiraling or happening at all like that but it takes years of practice). Ivan's sleep schedule, if we can even call it that, during his episode reminds me of my own during an insane (no pun intended?) mixed episode I've had and it makes sense since after every manic episode comes a "crash", and during mixed episodes you can crash back and forth for days; it happened to me. But what is a manic crash? It can be summed up with a simple phrase: what comes up must come down. It's like throwing a ball in the air, it reaches its peak up there and after that it's all downhill until it crashes down on the ground and the higher it goes, harder the crash: if you stay up all night while manic, you'll sleep all day while depressed, the more euphoric you are, the more dysphoric you'll be; so it makes sense for Ivan to sleep more and more as he "comes down". As for the fever, stress can do that. Brain fever is nothing but a 19th century literature thing because it's not a real diagnosis and at the time severe emotional and psychological upset was classified as either that or hysteria, which isn't a real diagnosis either.

Another puzzle piece that fits way too well is that little mention of him tidying his room himself despite having someone to do it for him; I know it's probably thrown in there to highlight his self-isolating independence, but cleaning and tidying are very common (to the point it's almost a cliché) activities to do when you're having a (hypo)manic or mixed episode because they help getting rid of all the extra energy and give you a sense of control over your life; for me it's almost compulsive (compulsions and obsessive thoughts are common in bipolar disorder because bipolar disorder is like three different conditions in a trenchcoat), I've found myself obsessively cleaning my bathroom every day for months and fighting the compulsion to do the dishes even when it wasn't necessary. It's mentioned that Ivan feels the increasing loss of control and is ashamed of it, which brings us to the very important topics, when it comes to him, of self-awareness and control.

I already mentioned it in part one but I want to say it again: control is crucial when it comes to bipolar disorder; something out of your control happening in your life or not having enough control over your symptoms and emotions is enough to send you down (or up) a dangerous path (sounds familiar?). It takes years of treatment to be able to deal with the unexpected and to let go of this control freak attitude, but Ivan is riding this rollercoaster with no seat belt so here we are. I think this reflects best in his attitude when visiting Pavel in the hospital after Dmitri's arrest, when Ivan says he came back from Moscow as soon as possible to fix the mess they all made in his absence. He's particularly keen on letting Pavel know he has no intention of playing games and it's clear he has a no bullshit allowed policy when it comes to his family, which checks out with what I went over in part three: Ivan's presence in the Karamazov household means quiet and order. Ivan definitely has a strong personality and to me it feels like that kind of strong personality one has to develop to stay afloat, and considering Ivan is not comfortable with showing "weakness"...well; I'll get to that later. I don't know if it's a middle child thing because I'm not a middle child but I'm the only diagnosed and medicated person in a family that feels more like an emotional minefield and let me tell you, I've been running that shit like it's the Navy for years and I'm pretty sure I'm the only case of a youngest son with eldest daughter syndrome in human history and yes, it's a bipolar thing. The need for control is so strong that it extends to your surroundings and therefore the people around you; I don't know how to explain it because it's not a manipulation thing, it's an I can't deal with my own emotions so having someone express theirs in an extreme way makes me uncomfortable and I also need a stable environment to not lose my mind so I need to de-escalate any situation that might trigger me thing; it's cleaning up after other people's mess for your own sake. And maybe a little savior complex, at least in my case. Anyway, if Ivan keeps his family stable he keeps himself stable as well, so he has to take matters into his own hands even when it's too late. Damage control is a very important skill if you have bipolar disorder.

I've already been over Ivan's visceral anger so I won't go over it again, but I want to spend a few words for that one part where he punches Pavel: been there done that, and normally I'm not even a violent person. It was a pretty similar situation too: someone had been tormenting me for months while I already wasn't doing good at all, took it too far one day and I just snapped; I didn't even mean to hit that person but it's not something you can gain control over when it gets to that point, so I get where Ivan was coming from and I'll defend him until the day I die.

Since I'm going in chronological order, as you might have already noticed, this means I've finally reached the fun part. Brace yourselves, this is going to be long. I don't have much to say about the whole devil ordeal that hasn't already been said, after all it's the most blatant manifestation of Ivan's mental health status, and I think it's more important to focus on what's around the hallucination rather than the hallucination itself. The first and most important thing I noticed is that Ivan is not scared, and it makes sense for him to not be because the narrator says that situation feels familiar to Ivan, making this the second time it's mentioned by the narrator that Ivan has a past history of both depressive and dysphoric manic (usually referred to as mixed) episodes, which alone qualifies for a formal bipolar disorder diagnosis; now that I think about it I could have just said this instead of making four posts about it, but where's the fun in that? Also I don't have enough information to armchair diagnose this 19th century fictional character with a specific type of bipolar disorder, so I laid out all the relevant information for you to interpet it however you want, if you're familiar with this stuff. I think he could be either bipolar I or bipolar II as there aren't many differences between those two types. For reference, I'm bipolar II (electric boogalo), which is usually mainly depressive and has less intense "ups" (mania when it's bipolar I and hypomania when it's bipolar II, but mania and manic are often used as umbrella terms and I've used them as such in this). Ivan's episode seems more mixed (having both manic and depressive symptoms at the same time, I should've explained it earlier, sorry) than purely manic and mixed episodes are more likely to happen in bipolar II and/or to those who start having symptoms in adolescence regardless of type and I think that checks out (go to part two for that). However, hallucinating a whole person and having conversations with them is a pretty big deal and my own hallucinations are nothing like that, usually hearing noises such as knocks on my door or seeing shadows or bugs at the corner of my eye and things looking slightly off and changing in shape and size; nothing big that I can interact with and I can easily ignore that the rare times it happens. Wikipedia says that any kind of hallucination classifies as mania, but my psychiatrists obviously know I've hallucinated in the past and still haven't changed my diagnosis so don't trust Wikipedia I guess, probably because my hypomanic episodes have never significantly impaired my ability to function (like they haven't significantly impaired Ivan's; trust me, he could be doing much worse). There is a lot of nuance that Internet articles lack in my opinion.

Anyway, let's go back to focusing on how Ivan feels: he's not scared, but he is exhausted and desperate. And it's heartbreaking. Not the hardest part of The Brothers Karamazov for me to read, not at all actually, but way too familiar. Ivan, who has a strong personality and a no bullshit allowed policy, who usually speaks in a firm voice and who refused to get help even if he knew his mental state was getting worse, breaks down (in private, of course) and begs and pleads; please leave me alone, shut up. He goes back and forth between desperation and rage (very mixed episode of him) and what struck me the most is how harsh his words are: almost every time the devil says something, Ivan replies with an insult or even more in a row. Yes, it's not that atypical of him considering how he talks and refers to Pavel or Dmitri, but it's, again, heartbreaking because he's never acted like that with them (or even with his father) and he knows the devil is actually himself. He's reserving his worst words, his worst attitude, his most burning and consuming rage and hatred, for himself. And he knows that. Worst thing of all to me is that at some point he covers his ears to not hear the devil, his own thoughts, and I've done that. Sometimes those thoughts are so loud that they seem to come from an outside source and covering your ears comes naturally. It obviously doesn't work. I have many other thoughts about Ivan's devil but they don't have much to do with bipolar disorder so maybe I'll write another post in the future if I feel like it. Also honorable mention to the thrown glass because apparently I've done something similar once even if I genuinely don't remember it at all (bipolar disorder also causes memory loss so you barely rememeber your episodes, it's kind of like trying to recall the events of a party you got drunk at, we're not getting into that though).

Maybe I see Ivan's story and character as less dark and tragic than the average reader does, because to most people constantly walking up and down restless with racing, out of control, incoherent thoughts and experiencing delusions and hallucinations is understandably a terrifying experience, but for me up until a couple years ago that was just a random Tuesday. I mean it is terrifying but you get used to it, after a while you understand the twisted logic bipolar disorder operates under and it becomes less scary (still is at times) and more annoying, you try to keep up with your meds and manage your symptoms as best as you can and just go on with your life while still trying to fight it when/if you can (it's less depressing than how I'm describing it I swear, I really don't know how to convey that feeling). I don't see myself as a walking tragedy or as doomed (anymore), mental illness is just mundane to me and so is to Ivan; I think Dostoevsky did a marvelous job at portraying just how uneventful it can feel from the inside and we see it the contrast between what's happening to Ivan and his reaction to it and also between the other characters' perception of him and his own perception of himself. There is nothing other than concern coming from his loved ones, no judgment, they acknowledge that he's unwell and they usually refer to him as such; Ivan on the other hand refuses to and therefore refuses to take care of himself or, God forbid, let others take care of him. He knew an episode was approaching, but as long as he was physically okay his mental state didn't matter to him. Ivan's biggest flaw is that he's independent and self-absorbed (for lack of a better word) in an unhealthy, negative, bipolar way and it only fuels his anger: the only valid judgment and opinion of himself is his own and he doesn't have a positive view of himself. The devil tells him the people at the trial will pity him and Ivan snaps; he doesn't want to be pitied, he doesn't want to be seen as "weak" because he has internalized refusal for "weakness" and "cowardice" (he asks himself if he's a coward in different occasions, sometimes straight up calling himself that). How could he not have internalized it? He was neglected growing up and as an adult he always seems to be held at an impossible standard due to the way his personality was forced to develop, from being expected to keep the peace between the Karamazovs to even after his father is brutally murdered; at the trial Ippolit Kirillovič says that if Ivan was so sure of his brother's innocence, why didn't go to the police after Smerdyakov's confession? To them that must mean said confession never happened and that Dmitri is the murderer, but in reality Ivan (poor thing) didn't go because he was delusional and thought the two of them were going to confess together the following day. People expect him to be able to think straight and fix his family's mess even when he can't. And still, he doesn't break down even at the trial: he's firm even in his delirium, he never falters, his voice never breaks, he's determined and strong like he's expected to be, even if the others can't see it. He does the right thing for himself, not caring about anyone else's opinion, and in a sense he's some sort of modern Cassandra, cursed to tell the truth without being believed by those who can save his family (and in some versions of Cassandra's myth she goes mad due to witnessing the fall of Troy). He never cries; there's only one mention of him crying in the whole novel and contrary to other characters crying, it's not something we are told by the narrator himself but it's thrown in a conversation between Katya and Alyosha by Katya. Ivan only cried in private, in front of the person who insisted to take care of him. This talk about his relationship with "weakness" and the (partial) act he puts up definitely makes more sense in relation to part three and I hope you get what I'm trying to say.

Speaking of the trial, I was struck by the attention brought to the Karamazovs', as a whole, ability to see and navigate through two opposite abysses. Dostoevsky, what the hell? Does it mean what I think it means? I don't know, but it sure is a familiar image to me and Dmitri does seem to walk the fine line between regular human behaviour and diagnostic criteria, but I don't have many thoughts about that, it could be anything really, mostly because none of them are actual real people. My own interpretation of those characters is more "literal" even if I know they're just tools to convey certain topics and messages and if you want to get more symbolic with them please do, I'd love to read it. Honestly I like the idea of a character with a heavily emotion-driven arc such as Ivan having a disorder that fucks with one's emotions so much; also seeing someone behaving like me being treated with tact and a particular kind of sensitivity by the other characters and the author himself is so special to me (at least considering the historical context, I mean they could've just thrown him in a madhouse and called it a day but nobody even thought about doing that) because uhm...I didn't receive such kindness growing up.

There are many characters from other books, movies, and shows that I love and relate to but have never seen as bipolar coded in any way, they were just relatable, but Ivan hits different as he's the first character I've seen that is so unapologetically bipolar. I've watched shows and movies with characters that canonically have bipolar disorder and even they can't hold a candle to him (let bipolar people or at least people who are familiar with them write bipolar characters I'm begging you). There isn't a single character from The Brothers Karamazov that I hate or even dislike (yes, not even Fyodor, he's not a good person but he's a good character) and all the brothers are special to me, but I just can't help having this soft spot for Ivan, I want to give him a hug and my meds.

I'm not really going to talk about Ivan's ending because while I do obviously have things to say, they don't belong here. I just want to say that him having an open and uncertain ending (I love open and uncertain endings) even more than the other characters do is very fitting.

And that's a wrap! Thanks for sticking with me and I hope this was an interesting and maybe even educational (there's a lot of ignorance regarding bipolar disorder and I try to raise awareness every time I can) read, but most of all I hope I managed to make sense. I like this part more than part three because I wrote it after surviving the seasonal change while during part three I was in the trenches but oh well, the past is past. No notes on part one and two, those are good I guess. Also I've said variations of been there done that a ridiculous amount of times in this whole thing but my Twitter display name is Ivan Karamazov kinnie for a reason. And I won't apologize for the shitty jokes by the way.

See you soon* with other literary analysis!

*= don't rely on my words too much, it could be tomorrow like it could be in ten years

#I hope it's clear I'm not trying to downplay or dismiss bipolar disorder as not a big deal or anything #I can't stress enough of much of a big deal it actually is #it's just that after a while you have to come to terms with the fact that it's your life and it'll be like this forever #there's not much you can do about it y'know #it's hard to accept but again it's not like you have other options #anyway it's very funny how I started this thing citing the specific chapters I was referring to and gradually went more and more “fuck it” #and only mentioned in which books the things I'm talking about happen or straight up mentioned absolutely nothing just vibes #this stuff is all in the book tho I swear #the brothers karamazov #ivan karamazov #bipolar ivan karamazov agenda #thoughts #mine

[ranvwoop]

∞

See the Day by Brian David Gilbert!

there is not a best lyric the entire thing is the best lyric please listen to it actually please watch the entire dances moving series on YouTube

#vwoop.answers #☆medusa☆ #^^ #bdg my Beloved #its actually the ending. somehow maybe now ill find the words to say. never thought id see the day #but. ;w;

[heyitsyn]

Manager!Inarizaki

a/n: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i would put in all the reqs but there were so many people who requested for our fox babies that it would literally take up every space :”) and im happy to comply so here it is

AAAA LOOK THEY’RE SO CUTE OMG LIKE BLS BUT IM A RIN SIMP :’)

alkdfjlsdfi

sunarin simp is typing😍🍃💞..........

ogeiogeiogei

hehehehehe

so im actually just going to include the starting lineup like i knowwwww theres subs but im only most familiar with the regulars :(

okay so anyways!!

now

you might be wondering

how in the hell did you become the manager of these crackheads

from calm papi kita to psycho tsumu,

why are you their manager

you, the cute and shy and innocent not wittle first year, somehow became the manager of the powerhouse volleyball team of inarizaki high

it all started with our dear lovely samu

hehe bet you didnt see that coming

now we all know baby samu literally is the biggest foodie in the team and he constantly thinks about food 24/7 therefore there isnt much room in there for anything else except for volleyball

basically, 

the dude loves to eat

it just so happens that you made food

your family owned a cafe down the street from the school and you worked there after school to help your parents

now how does this tie in with samu you ask

this chile was so hungry that he had to skip practice

sending kita a quick text about doing a quick errand, he walked down the street on the hunt for a quick place to grab a bite

he totally ignored kita’s warning of cramps if he ate a lot then practiced but whatever food is life

it just so happens he stumbles upon your family’s cafe

when he entered, the smell of bread and food entered his nostrils causing this baby to just float right in

you were manning the register while your brother was at school so you smiled at the incoming figure of this familiar boy

and because you recognized him, you couldnt help but grin and gasp a little

‘oh! miya-senpai!’

you exclaimed and osamu was confused because he’s never seen you before but he thought you were probably a kouhai in school

you looked young and definitely not a face he’s seen before so he concluded you were most likely a first year

and you were really cute

like really

really

cute

that thought caused this babe to blink awkwardly and nod at your direction

‘uh, hi’

he greeted and you smiled at his awkward nature

‘what can i get you today, miya-senpai?’

he must’ve been busy looking at you to actually look at the menu behind you and he fumbled, rushing to find a food to get

‘wh-what do ya recommend?’

he asked and you paused then thought deeply

‘hmm, we have onigiris freshly made! and we also have milk bread thats really good!’

did you just-

did you just say onigiri?

‘yea ill take some onigiri’

he decided and you lit up

‘perfect! the total is-’

he completely blanked out because wow your smile was really pretty

‘miya-senpai? miya-senpai?’

you called out and he snapped out of it

‘oh, sorry, here’

he gave you the cash and you gave him back his change before wandering to the glass case where the savory foods were placed

you seemed to glide over and osamu watched you with fond eyes, interest bubbling in him

there was something about you that made him curious

but he just didnt know what

it confused him because maybe you were just someone he hasnt seen before and not the same fans he sees all the time

‘you’re really lucky, miya-senpai. i just finished making them minutes before you walked in’

you commented

this took him aback

‘you cook?’

he suddenly asked and you chuckled, soft and airy laughs filling the air

‘of course, senpai! learning to cook is an essential for a business like this’

and thus created a beautiful friendship

he would come over to eat nearly every day of the week while you would happily serve him

sometimes, he would even buy extra so you could eat with him

while you were talking, he noticed you lacked the accent others from there had and he thought you were not originally from hyogo

he learned that you were actually from miyagi and you moved here just this year

‘so, how ya liking it ‘round here?’

he asked one day, after swallowing his food

you thought about it before shrugging

‘i mean, its still the countryside so i guess everything’s the same. maybe the dialect? my neighbors have strong accents, haha’

samu chuckled

‘its common over here. ya sound a lot more from tokyo. my best friend’s from there, ya see’

you raised an eyebrow

‘hm?’

‘rin. suna rin is in the team and hes from tokyo so he sounds like a standard city boy. ill take ya to meet him sometime’

nah he really wasnt

he wanted to keep you away from the others as much as possible, especially his brother, because he was a greasy mf

but that didnt really work out into plan because you approached him in school the other day

you saw him and you hurriedly ran to him where he stood with his twin and some guy

tsumu saw you coming from behind his brother and he smirked before nodding at you

‘samu, ya got a girlie running for ya’

samu turned, confused, until he saw your adorable face

‘y/n. whats up?’

you grinned

‘you left your team jacket, miya-senpai’

the red jacket was clutched in your hands and the two boys behind him shared a surprised look because osamu never mentioned a girlfriend

and with the way you were holding his jacket, the two boys immediately jumped into conclusions

well

more like atsumu started whining at osamu for not telling him he had a girl

‘i thought we were brothers! brothers for life!’

samu just awkwardly stands there and he has a sheepish look in his eyes that were looking at you apologetically

‘sorry about him, y/n. but thank you for returning it’

you handed him the fabric before smiling

‘it was a good thing you had a spare one for me, miya-senpai. who knew the rain would come so suddenly’

osamu sighed then playfully poked your forehead with his finger

‘how many times do i have to tell you to call me by my first name? i really dont want to hear anything that associates me with this bastard’

atsumu socked osamu at the shoulder causing the gray-haired boy to look away from you and start yelling at his brother

‘touch me again! see what happens then!’

‘yer just showing off for yer girlie! ya aint doin nothing!’

suna shook his head before turning to you with a sympathetic look

‘you really want to be with this guy? him and this idiot are practically a package’

you tilted your head

‘im,,, not with miya-senpai?’

suna blinked

‘but he gave you his jacket. he doesnt even give it to me. i guess its not part of best friend privileges’

at the mention of best friend, you lit up

‘oh! you must be sunarin! the tokyo boy!’

baby rin choked a little at the sight of your grin and he scrunched his eyebrows while awkwardly raising the corner of his lips to a smile

‘you,, uh,,, you know me?’

like it was the most obvious thing in the world, you nodded

‘at first, when miya-senpai told me, i didnt know who you were. but! youre actually very popular, suna-senpai! too bad i never saw you until today, though, because we’re in different floors. but! a lot of girls talk about you!’

poor rin didnt know how to react to that because he didnt want to look flustered but he didnt want to look cocky either

so he just opted to smile gently

‘oh. well, in that case. let me introduce myself to you. suna rintaro’

can we normalize suna being an actual nice guy instead of the cold stand-offish player bastard?

you shook his hand and said your name as well

like samu, he asked you to call him by his first name too since you were close to his friend therefore should try being close to you too

speaking of samu, him and atsumu reduced the violence to just bickering and they were still teasing each other even after you and suna talked

the coochi bangs boy rolled his eyes then slapped atsumu’s arm to gain their attention

‘yo. theres a girl here. try and be nice and civil’

atsumu seems like he forgot your existence because his eyes brightened at the sight of you

‘oh! heya!’

you nervously smiled at him because his hyperness and overall atsumu-ness was quite overwhelming

‘h-hello, miya-senpai’

atsumu pouted at how apprehensive you sounded

‘eyyy, why are you being nervous, girlie? im just samu, yanno! same face and everything!’

osamu knew you well enough that you were kinda awkward and you didnt know how to approach a hyper person like his brother so he naturally saved you

‘hey, y/n, the bell’s about to ring any moment now so try to not be late and ill be sure to see you later. do you want me to pick you up from your class and we can walk together?’

to you, it was just a simple offer from a friend but to the two, that was the confirmation of your relationship with the wing spiker

‘wahh, atsumu, your brother really is better than you. he knows how to treat girls good’

atsumu took offense to this

‘excuse you! i would be too if there were genuine girls in this school!’

osamu’s aggressive blinking was his signal for you to hurry along and you noticed causing you to chuckle before bidding goodbye

‘it was nice meeting you, rin-senpai. and,,, you too, miya-senpai. samu-senpai, later at 3?’

osamu softly smiled while nodding

‘later at 3’

the TEASING HE FACED from the two was unbearable and despite the amount of times he denied it, they were still teasing him

‘samu’s got a girlfriend~! samu’s got a girlfriend~!’

‘tsumu, i swear to god if you dont shut your trap’

‘imagine having a girlfriend’

true to his word, osamu was waiting for ya at the bottom of the stairwell from the one that led to the second floor, absentmindedly kicking some invisible thing in the floor

you were fixing your bag straps on your shoulders when you saw him at the end of the hallway and you couldnt contain your excitement seeing the grey haired boy

‘samu-senpai!!’

you shouted, getting his attention that made him whip his head up

the blank face contorted into a small smile and he raised a hand

‘yo’

when you made it next to him, you were grinning really big and samu felt flustered at your happy face

so he cupped your chin with his large hand that allowed him to squeeze both cheeks

‘cutie’

he mumbled but you didnt catch it, too busy trying to get him to stop squishing

you were originally supposed to go walk over to the cafe but you didnt know that osamu was actually trying to skip practice and he was trying to hide from the members

okay first off, i dont think samu would ever skip practice willingly bc he has the same drive as miya atsumu but he also just wants to spend time with you asklfjldfjdlk

but the loud mouth tsumu saw you guys as you turned a hallway

you were busy talking to osamu about some cooking chef guy gordon and he was nodding and talking but then he heard a loud shout

‘SAMU!’

osamu babie didnt know what was happening so he protectively placed an arm in front of you and hurriedly shoved you behind him in case something happened

duh you didnt know what was happening either so you were clutching his jacket and peeked from his arm to see atsumu stomping over with suna trailing behind him, seemingly texting on his phone

osamu lazily glared at his brother

‘what’

atsumu blanched and sped walk faster until he was right in front of him to yell 

‘IM TIRED OF YER EXCUSES! JUST CUS YA GOT YASELF A GIRLIE DUN MEAN YA GET TO SKIP PRACTICE!’

you furrowed your eyebrows

you tugged at his jacket and osamu turned to peer down at you and he gulped, preparing himself to hear your scolding

it wasnt the first time you scolded him as you just told him off the other day for not eating enough vegetables and fruits to balance out his unhealthy love for onigiri and sweets

‘samu-senpai,,, you told me you guys were taking an off week. why are you skipping practice today’

you were genuinely worried and you didnt seem to understand why he did that but the other two did and atsumu didnt hesitate

‘CUS HE WANTS TA SPEND TIME WITH YA, Y/N! BASTARD CANT EVEN BOTHER TO TELL ME THE REASON! YER SICK?! WHAT THE HELL EXCUSE IS THAT! YA NEVER GET SICK!’

poor suna is just watching this go down and he felt bad that you were caught in the middle

so he suggested a compromise

you watched sunarin push atsumu’s chest to make him back off and he gently smiled at you before looking at the two

‘how about we all go to practice and if y/n-chan wants, she can wait and osamu can spend time with her when hes done? besides, atsumu, you know osamu has been doing good on his spikes. maybe we can persuade coach and kita to let him off early since hes,,, quote unquote,, ‘sick’’

osamu debated but you emerged from behind him

‘sure! samu-senpai would love to go to practice! right, samu-senpai?’

you smiled at him but it was a stern smile

you just wanted him to go to practice because you knew now of how important volleyball was to the school and they needed to get all their time and energy to win the sport

atsumu agreed to this plan but osamu was forced to accept it

simp

just for extra measure, sunarin and tsumu walked behind you guys to the gym so you and samu had time to talk

you were chiding him of course because why would he waste time with spending time with you

‘just wanted to see ya, y/n-chan’

he winked but you pouted and wrinkled your nose

‘you cant weasel yourself out of this, samu-senpai’

osamu has never heard you scold him before so he was like o.o but inside he was like,,, hot

the gym was already on full practice and kita saw the second years from the door

aran LAKDJFLAKSFJLASDKF ARAN AAAAAAAAAAAAA nudged mimi with a smirk

as much as they loved the underclassmen, watching them get told off by kita was too funny to not watch

but what caused them to curiously peer behind the three was the appearance of a girl

a girl?

‘why’s a girl with them?’

aran mumbled and mimi shrugged, but also intrigued

you were behind osamu and he could tell you were nervous because youve heard of the reputation of the team

they were seen as practically as popular as the basketball team and everyone worshipped them

they were who put the school’s name in the map and you were about to meet the legends of inarizaki

thankfully, atsumu and rin walked to the front of you two so you and samu were at the back

samu didnt look at you but he reached behind him to open his palm as a signal for you to take it

you gratefully grabbed it and leaned closer in case something happens

‘KITA-SAN! WE GOT EM!’

atsumu shouted and suna chided him for being really loud

‘you’re late’

an even voice said in front of them and you leaned over to the side to see who it was from

your eyes bulged out of your head because one, wow he was handsome, and two, he looked like someone from miyagi

YALL KNOW WHO IM TALKING ABOUT BYE-

‘oh wow’

you mumbled absentmindedly and samu looked at you at the corner of his eye before scoffing

your face was totally bright red and your eyes were super wide

kita? really? of all guys? it was kita?

‘SORRY! was samu who took so long!’

atsumu lowered his voice down but he didnt tell the captain of his brother’s plans to skip

‘he has a stomachache and he was at the nurse’s office’

suna smoothly came up with a lie and he might look cool and calm, his hands were clasped behind him with it clenching his phone

your eyes left kita to notice that habit and you had a small smile because it was another reassurance that these boys werent as high and legendary as everyone made them to be

in the end they were still just students and boys

they were still human

‘oi, osamu, who’s the girl?’

aran finally bit the bullet and asked the question everyone has been wondering since the beginning

both you and samu stiffened at the direct question to you but he nodded

‘this is l/n y/n’

he introduced and you raised a shaky hand as a greeting but let go of samu to bow slightly to your seniors

‘hello, my name is l/n y/n, i’m a first year’

a few players also raised a hand but it was mimi who spoke at last

‘nice to meet you’

kita nodded at you but turned to the three

‘why is she with you? are you skipping again, osamu?’

again?

osamu inwardly cringed 

obviously, kita was sharper than they would think because he easily saw through suna’s lie

he also knew that samu never really got sick

he watched the younger shovel 5 bowls of ramen and still have enough room eat a plate of mochi and he was perfectly fine

it was silent between the four of you and atsumu and suna were looking at each other as they ran out of lies

dang they even planned the entire walk of what to say to kita

you looked between the twins and their friend before speaking up

‘samu-senpai really did have a stomachache. i was-uh-helping the nurse! um, i want to be a doctor or a nurse when i grow up! and-’

you started to ramble but because you were trying to lie and it was never your forte

ALKESDJFLKD Y/N I NEED TO TAKE YOU UNDER MY WING WE NEED TO TEACH YOU THIS IMPORTANT LIFE SKILL OMG

‘we were tryin to convince y/n to be a manager. thats why we took so long’

atsumu huffed

you froze

a what?

a manager?

you were genuinely truthful about wanting to go into a medical profession but not a manager

you were already a manager before and you didnt really want to do it again

kita was inspecting suna’s and atsumu’s and osamu’s faces to see a trace of dishonesty

you saw him raise a dark eyebrow and you knew then that these three cannot tell a lie to save their life

so you nodded frantically making kita look at you

‘mhm! they asked me! miya-san wanted someone they knew already so they asked me because i’m samu-senpai’s friend! so here i am!’

your awkward smile and stiff outstretched arms might’ve seem suspicious but kita moved his gaze from you to atsumu and the blonde nodded

‘yea! ya’ve been talkin bout bein worried of next year cus yall aint here no more so i got sum person responsible enough fer us!’

STOPP I HATE IT HERE I CANT SEEM TO WRITE OUT ATSUMU’S ACCENT LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

after the longest 3 seconds, kita finally nodded and closed his eyes warily

‘alright. l/n-san, come here’

you froze at the way he said your name but suna was kind enough to walk over to your place beside samu to gently push you forward to kita

‘its okay’

he mumbled and you were so thankful because that gave you enough motivation and strength to keep going

your height was staggering between these men and kita seemed to tower you

but you kept an even and calm face 

‘yes?’

you asked

kita looked at you and he stared at your face, pupils moving as a sign that he was inspecting your eyes and every feature 

oh my god you shouldve plucked your nose hairs this morning

before you could feel more self-conscious, he spoke

‘you said you want to be a doctor?’

‘well, more like a nurse but um same thing’

‘you know medical stuff? know how to treat injuries?’

‘yes. i was a manager back in my hometown so i have experience’

‘where are you from?’

‘miyagi’

‘ya familiar with shiratorizawa?’

you cringed but nodded

‘yes’

‘are you from there?’

‘yes’

the three stooges from behind you had wide eyes at this sudden revelation because that was a school theyve played before

even the last interhigh, they were familiar of how strong that school was

the eagle and the guess monster

and you were their manager before? 

must’ve been during middle school as you were just a first year

‘so you know how plays and stats work?’

‘yes. anything you want me to do, im familiar and capable to do it’

god why are you saying this

you didnt even want to be a manager in the first place

yet here you are again

you were getting flashbacks from the war ajkfdfd

kita looked at you silently once more before finally standing up straight and pointing you to their coach who was watching the whole thing with crossed arms and furrowed brows

‘there. talk to him and you can finalize everything. i think its too early to say this but nonetheless, welcome to the team, y/n’

AND THUS STARTED YOUR JOURNEY WITH THE BOYS

akldjklfjsdlakj

IT WAS ALL BUILT ON LIES BUT WHATEVER

AS LONG AS NO ONE DIED ISSOKAY

no but really dont tell lies in general yall, maybe white lies, but try not to do that

OKAY MOVING ON

MOMENTS WITH THE TEAM

duh you are much much closer to samu than the rest of the team so you tended to stick to him more

like you would go to him first if you needed something or if you wanted someone to help you with the crate, he would be your go-to

that would make atsumu whine because he felt that samu was better than him

‘oi, y/n! im really good with ma arms! i can bench 300 yanno?’

you politely smiled and nodded

‘thank you for telling me, miya-san’

then you would proceed to nudge samu’s arm yum to ask for help

butbutbutbut

dont worry!!!!

you do end up warming up to him

for my atsumu stans, yall tend to go to him when samu is either busy or you just need a good laugh

this mans will embarrass himself both on purpose or accidentally to make you laugh lmao

you also have extra bottles for his medicine because he has adhd and the guys are like,,,, yo chill

and duh atsumu would forget to take them so youre practically his reminder

we all know how tsumu was practically attacked that one time when he insulted those girls, right?

yall may have forgiven but i will never forget >:(

well, during matches, you as their manager, always have to tell the stands to be quiet when atsumu is serving 

but no one told you this

you kind of figured it out during your time like when his eye would twitch if samu was talking to suna too loudly or when he would close his eyes to shut off his hearing because of the loud spikes on the other side

you noticed it

so you would go to the stands and nicely tell them that if they see atsumu serving, to be quiet

‘i understand you are all excited when he does his serve but we would all benefit more you could release that excitement inside and silently’

*cue atsumu pretending to faint in sunas arms*

OH SPEAKING OF SUNA

YES I SAID THAT I DONT REALLY LIKE FANON SUNA BC,,,

WEED

AND DRUGS

AND RUDE 

JUST OVERALL

NOT RECOMMENDED

but canon suna :”)

as a player, suna is seen as really manipulative and snarky and witty

he loves to poke fun at the other team, even his own, and just all-around annoying

but off-court

suna is a very quiet and reserved person

totally different from the one who talks and yaps constantly to the other side of the net

and hes a really pure person in some topics

like he would turn red when you would compliment his new picture that he posted in inasgram 

PLEASE SUNA IS TOTALLY A PHOTOGRAPHER LIKE HE TAKES PICTURES OF SUNSETS AND STUFF

or when you would offer to bandage him up for him because it’s hard to do it himself and your hand would touch his

dont tell anyone this but suna is very relieved that you and samu weren’t dating

thats all

thats all for now

;)

OOOO kita!!!

okay so kita is the captain, right?

but he doesnt play

like he plays rarely and aran is usually the on-court captain

this causes you and him to be at the sidelines a lot

he would tell you what he thinks would happen next or what the next plan should be and you would provide your own input

in a way, he was the one who really taught you the mechanics of volleyball and he would tell you the different tricks that techniques that the twins came up with 

what makes you really soft and fall for him is when he starts to compliment his players

his pride in aran for being one of the top aces that has led them to nationals

his pride in mimi for being able to go on the longest on court and not be tired

his pride on akagi for being able to receive each ball and successfully give it to their setter

his pride on hitoshi for being the one who could handle the team personality wise and his plans for him to be his successor

his pride on ATSUmu for being the best setter he’s ever seen and his drive to get better no matter what

his pride on samu for being so strong and still getting stronger despite his dream career to be something not volleyball-related

his pride on sunA being motivated enough to help the team and make sure everyone knows that every ball can be stopped

like pls you almost cry all the time when you hear kita saying that because he seems to not say it to the others but only to you

it makes you happy that kita relies so much on these guys as much as they rely on him

OH MY GOSH OMIMI

okay

so omimi ren is a very quiet and calm character

hes kinda like suna where they dont really say much but when they do, its usually important and not irrelevant like atsumu

and he didnt say much when you got inducted in the team as a manager

like he just stared at you and you were just like o.o

ngl he did scare you a bit bc of his tall height looming over you and the way his dark eyes just pierces you through your soul

hes the type that you cannot willingly tell a lie to him bc you know he will find out one way or another

he can see right through you

maybe thats what makes him such a good middle blocker

but you started to warm up to him really quick and he would sometimes walk you home if the others cant mainly bc he knows his appearance will make anyone back off

its the simple things that make you appreciate him

two words: ginjima hitoshi

he is so two-faced

NO LISTEN BEFORE YALL BEAT ME UP JUST HEAR ME OUT

you know how like the 4 second years (PLEASE I KNOW THERES A GUY NAMED YUTO BUT LIKE I DONT KNOW MUCH ABOUT HIM AAAAAA TELL ME IF YOU WANT HIM IN HERE)

like suna, the twins, and hitoshi

the twins are the annoying ones who causes trouble, suna is the one taking pictures and evidence while cheering them on, and hitoshi is the one trying to break it up

BUT

i think that hitoshi is really the worst out of the 4 and he keeps in because who else would be the responsible one of the bunch

hello? they were about to be third years next year like are we really gonna go on with possibly a miya twin or suna being captain?

no

so he tries to force down his inner chaos to take on the role of the responsible one

BUTTTTT

you try to release that inner chaos

you sometimes hear him egging on atsumu under his breath like ‘do it’ but quietly so no one hears him

and youre like

?-?

please? we’re not? supposed? to allow? atsumu? to eat? and swallow? a whole? raw egg?

at first, duh he was also like that with you but you want him to be himself and be comfortable with you so you work hard to make him open up

now

you kinda regret it

because he now wants to go through the mcdonalds drive-thru, with no car, just to get mcflurries

you stared down at hitoshi from your bedroom window with a confused expression

‘but? you dont have a car?’

he grins up at you

‘but i got a CART! they said as long as it’s a car and car is in the word cart and the extra ‘t’ is just a bonus!’

‘hitoshi no-’

AAAAAA MICHIMICHI BABY

so akagi is the libero of the team and he is the one responsible for the make sure the ball doesnt touch the ground type of thing

you get really worried about him bc he does a lot of flying saves and his knees always get roughed up and such

so you try and stitch him up as much as you can like you even send him sites for good warm packs to buy

something that isnt known about akagi is that he, like atsumu, really likes to cook

but more like

he bakes

he bakes as a stress reliever and its like his meditation time

you go over to his house a lot to go bake something w him and share it to the guys later on

during ina get-togethers, him and samu are in charged of the food while youre the sous chef

SPEAKING OF SAMU

we forgot about him for a sec aldfjklkfdjlk 

it was all thanks to him

because of him, you became a manager despite your initial refusal to become one again

you made friends with more people and you were able to have a fun high school life because of it

because of him

osamu does get a little sad or irritated whenever the guys start to hog you up

like he has to push down the tantrum of ‘I SAW HER FIRST!’

he wants to be the better twin lmao

he gets really butthurt when you would go to someone else even during the middle of your conversation

like he would be talking to you on the side but suna calls you over for tape and youre going

he pouts and atsumu teases him about it causing him to bark at him

LOL HE BARKS

okay so training camp

i think therell be an imagine for this so ill try to not make it as detailed

lets just say its a mess

suna really wants to go hiking bc he wants to go the top of the mountain for pictures of the stars and stuff

but atsumu whines of the bugs and possible creatures in there

this causes osamu to tease him and call him a coward and a wimp

and leads to a fight which aran tries to break up but gets sucked in anyways

and omimi just stands by and watches but he intends to intervene if it gets too much

then akagi gets taken by suna to go the hike with him even though hes scared of bugs so hes whimpering and complaining

while kita and hitoshi are off in the kitchen talking about new grains of flour and stuff

where are you?

youre at the lodge, drinking your f/d (favorite drink) and watching all this go down bc at training camp, it’s every man for themselves

there is a lot of bonding times as a team bc these boys may seem like all they think about is volleyball but they like to do something else outside of that

what they love the most is going to the beach

not only do they get to have fun, they get to relax and see you in a swimsuit alkfdjkfj

especially when kita accidentally falls asleep? they bury him with sand and make him look like a mermaid

because they are players who work out so great bodies duh

and they get so much attention for that

but they all mainly pay attention to you and oh my

youve expressed not being comfortable in wearing a swim suit and watch these guys absolutely start throwing compliments at you

but the third years would softly tell you that it’s okay not to wear one bc all that matters is if youre comfortable or not

HELP I WANT AN ARAN AAAAAAAAAAA

OH SO

we know how kita’s family are rice farmers, right?

well

he farms to help his granny and sometimes, youre the only one who’s free enough to go and help him 

so you go over there all the time and granny really loves you bc one, you take care of her shin and thats beyond everything, and two, youre reliable and make shin laugh and such

like one time, you were carrying a basket to the back deck and granny saw you from the kitchen

she smiled before waddling over to the door so she could talk to you

‘y/n-chan!’

you whipped around quickly at the call of your name before grinning and hurrying up to her

‘yes, granny?’

she gave you a bottled water then gestured down to the field where shin was tirelessly tending to the rice

‘please give that to shinsuke. poor boy has been pushing himself too hard with the field and his sport and not taking care of himself’

she chided but there was a certain hint in her tone that made her sound so proud of her grandson

you looked down at the bottle and squeezed it

‘kita-san works hard not for himself, but for everyone else. it makes me sad when he neglects his health and tends to the team instead. so dont worry, baa-chan! i’ll take care of kita-san for him! for you!’

nah bc granny was already gossiping with her neighborhood ladies about this beautiful girl that shin got and how they should be jealous their grandsons don’t have someone like you

OOOOOOO 

since your family owns a cafe, the guys goes there all the time

its kinda like the ramen shop for the seijoh boys

they go there mainly to see you even outside of practice ANDDD

they wanna look good in front of your family

like tsumu suddenly knows cleanliness bc he cleans up the mess on the table or kita is no longer an introvert as hes now talking to your mom about the benefits of rice water and her not needing one bc her hair is already beautiful

PLEASE WHAT

and even during the summer, theyve helped out a lot when it was busy lunch times and you couldnt handle it yourself

GOSH IMAGINE SAMU BEING YOUR MOM’S APPRENTICE AND HANDSOME BOYS TAKING YOUR ORDERS WHILE SOME ARE CARRYING HEAVY TRAYS THAT MAKE THEIR ARMS POP

okay imma stop now

OH DONT GET ME STARTED DURING THE DEFEAT WITH KARASUNO

I DONT CARE YALL CAN HATE ME FOR SAYING THIS BUT KARASUNO SHOULDNT HAVE WON LIKE INARIZAKI WERE LITERALLY THE SECOND PLACE IN NATIONALS AND COMPETED AGAINST I T A C H I Y A M A

LIKE WHAT

OKAY ANYWAYS

everyone was already down and moody bc of the loss

and you wanted to be at the back bc you didnt know how to handle the situation

in your time as their manager, not once have you seen them lose

during those 10 months of being a manager, you have not once seen them be defeated during a game even with practice matches

then with those nobodies?

karasuno?

last time you checked, karasuno went down under when coach ukai retired

so having them lose was a real shock

and a really bad event

there was a certain air around you all during the bus ride to the hotel which made the entire time very uncomfortable

everyone finished their crying either in the locker rooms or the bathroom so all that was left was their red eyes

the coach sent everyone off to bed and although they were allowed more days to stay, they all collectively chose to just go home and keep those excused days as a rest day

‘we all would like to just stay at home and recharge’

kita’s request was everyone else’s, even yours, as you were both worried and tired for the boys

so that night, the coaches were able to book train tickets for everyone the next day back home

you stayed up, watching tv in your own room out of boredom because the group chat was quiet and you were too tired to do anything else

the next day, everyone 

osamu claimed your shoulder and he held your hand tight with his

his breathing was ragged and even with his closed eyes, the redness around them made it obvious he had been crying

the bus that was filled with excitement before, became quiet and the sound of the engine and wheels took over the silence

you thought samu had fallen asleep so you raised your free hand to stroke his hair

‘hey y/n?’

you flinched at the surprise but hummed 

‘imma tell him today. later, but today’

his voice was low and he was murmuring to hint that this was the extra sensitive topic you both discussed a few days ago at the cafe

you nodded but made sure he knew that no matter, he still got you

the coaches were upset and mad at the loss

but in the end, they all realized that this was the last game the boys would play as a team

sure, they could have practice matches and they could play again together in the future but nothing would change the atmosphere and feeling of playing the important matches 

this was the team that brought them closest to nationals with placing second out of the entire country

they were a good team that somehow got defeated

but the coaches were still proud

they didnt even yell at the boys to take laps and instead brought them into a team meeting

you stood beside the coaches, your own sniffles with everyone else, and listened to them talk

‘-year has been the most productive this school’s team has had in decades. i hope you all are proud of yourselves as we are proud of you. you lost so you are no longer in the competition and we talk about it tomorrow. but for now, go home and take a rest because tomorrow, we will be running laps and drills and miss y/n will be timing you until you pass out from exhaustion’

you blankly looked at the coaches bc you thought this would be a heartwarming talk but quickly turned into a threat

‘but thats for tomorrow. so go home and rest up. expect what is to come’

you were just wanting to leave lmao

like you wanted to hurry home and make something for the guys to eat tomorrow

just do something to make them at least smile

the guys were quietly packing up and you watched them with trembling eyes at their dismissal

you wanted them to stay longer

stay here and laugh and mess around

like tsumu poking kita and pretending he didnt

or mimi talking about something and aran staring blankly at him but he’s really sleeping with his eyes open and startling him awake

‘guys!’

you shouted

they all stopped and turned to look at you

‘hm?’

hitoshi asked

you hurriedly looked around to find something to stall them here and you noticed the cherry blossom tree that’s blooming 

must be the time of the year

‘l-lets! have a-take a picture! outside! by the tree!’

you pointed and they looked at each other

you were acting strangely

but they were simps for you so they just nodded and went outside

they didnt even complain and went to stand out in front of the tree

you had your phone and pulled it to the camera app to raise it to get the team in the frame

they looked sad and tired and worn out but they were still trying to joke around and have natural smiles

‘closer, you guys! bunch in closer!’

you motioned with one hand but they stopped

‘um? y/n? aren’t you gonna join us?’

ren asked but you shook your head

‘its? for you guys? besides, no one will take it for us, silly’

the boys insisted on you prop it up on a bench over there because they wanted you there with them

‘hey, come here! lets all be in it!’

aran shouted and you had no choice but to follow them

the boys had to stand closer to the camera as the bench was a ways ahead of the tree but dont worry, the tree is still there

they wanted you in the front bc they were all taller than you but they really wanted to showcase you

you were their manager and the person who took care of them

they treasure you so much

‘smile!!!’

someone shouted and the timer hit zero and the picture was taken

sure, their school’s motto was that they didnt need things like memories

to not have anything tying you down to the past and to challenge yourself with everyone focusing on the future ahead

in years from now, you could just be another thing from their past and nothing else

but they would be damned if that happened

any fragment of you to remind them of the best time of their youth and the person who loved them more than anyone else did

so yea, sure they wanted to represent their school’s motto

but this time

they can make an exception

a/n: HII!!!! IM BACK AND SUDDENLY IM ABLE TO WRITE AND FINISH THIS I SWEAR I CANT BELIEVE IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO PUBLISH THIS I CANT WITH THIS YALL IM LOWKEY DISAPPOINTED IN MYSELF AND IM ASHAMED IM SO SORRY

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki imagines #inarizaki scenarios #haikyuu manager #haikyuu!! manager #inarizaki manager #inarizaki fluff #manager inarizaki #manager!inarizaki

[dabilove27]

How Far We've Come

Paring: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Smut (female-receiving oral), A Cocky Dabi, Cussing, A lot of Pet Names

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! If you have the time check out some of the other amazing pieces! Everyone has worked so hard to make some beautiful fics!

Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading, encouraging, brainstorming, and helping me the whole way from start to finish. I have said it before but I will say it again. You are absolutely amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without you! 💜 Also thank you @/deathcab4daddy (not sure if you want to be tagged) for taking the time to read through and for your advice!

You've seen all those movies, the decaying zombie hoards, the massive explosions that wipe out nations, or an unexpected illness that mysteriously kills off the population. But you had never really expected for any of those apocalyptic things to become true in your own world.  They were just fiction, never something that could actually occur. Yet here you are faced with the reality of a hoard of rotting zombies. Like you have been thrown into one of the many movies or TV shows yourself.

People aren't even sure how it happened, especially in a world full of quirks where this should be somewhat controlled, right? Wrong, whatever caused this zombie apocalypse also seemed to nullify quirks over time. There was so much speculation whether it came into the water supply or passed through the air. But none of that really seems to matter anymore when you are fighting for your life every day.

And as the mass of decaying, walking corpses steps closer and closer to you, it seems like your end is near too. The smell of organs exposed to the air and sun stink up the room.  You can see the blank, milky white eyes of the undead that somehow can still find you even though they can't really see.  You've had a partner, at least—the man who has stood with you during this entire shit show.

He stands close to you, a single rusted knife covered in stagnant blood, not nearly enough even combined with whatever you could find for fighting off the seemingly endless mindless bodies coming your way. He's covered in burn scars and rusted staples that pull at his healthy skin. People used to jab at him for looking like the walking dead before all this went down.  His firepower from before would have solved this problem in an instant. This rotting mob wouldn't have stood a chance.

But instead, it looks like it's the conclusion for the two of you. Memories flash through your mind. A memory of escaping the daily struggle of your mundane life by sharing take-out on your old couch.  Or how his kisses always felt like burning flames against your lips.  Your regular life consisted of trying to numb the pain of the past with alcohol or working endless hours.  Even though you didn’t have a traditional relationship where you could go on public dates, being in a relationship with a well-known villain was worlds better than this. But if you were going to die, at least it was together. Solidarity in times like this seems to help the never-ending dread that the Reaper looming around every corner ready to take you.  Every moment in this new hell had you wished you had more time to develop your romance with him instead of the tragedy that was about to befall you. You wished you had more time with this romance and that it wouldn't end in tragedy. It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when you couldn't stand this man, but even now, that's a fond memory for you.  You would give anything to return to that old bar where the two of you met and relive all of these memories.

It really isn't a surprise that you met Dabi in a dark, run-down bar near Kamino.  No, not the "bar" run by Kurogiri; everyone who lived in this area knew that it was just a setup. This bar is a tiny little hole in the wall with paint chipping off the walls and where the seats were hardly held together anymore, but that didn't really matter to people who lived in this area. You didn't come to this bar for a luxury experience.

The main reason people came to this bar was its location.  It sat deep in a seedy area which meant no police patrolling nearby so you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder constantly.  Plus, the cheap liquor was enticing enough.

Every Friday night, you were perched on one of the worn-out bar stools as you nursed your gin and tonic.  This was your place to unwind after another hellish week of your mundane job.  It was still early enough in the evening that the bar wasn't thoroughly packed with bodies trying to get their drink.  The music was still soft,  later it would blare whatever song was currently sitting at the top of the Billboard charts. You were able to turn your brain off and listen to other patrons' mindless chatter in the background.  You could just sip your drink, maybe take a shot or two if you felt like, and then head home to pass out.

You relished this little getaway, an oasis in the slums that made up your small world.  The bartender and regular patrons didn't bother you, so you could have your own peace.  But your Eden got interrupted by a cocky, fire-wielding asshole who had set his sights on you.

You didn't stir when said asshole plopped himself down in the barstool next to you with a thump.  It wasn't until the jerk actually spoke to you that you were brought out of your mindless daydreaming.

"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing in a place like this?"  He said with a smooth tone.  You didn't even have to look at him to know he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? The irritated thought instantly pops into your head.  Anyone who frequented this bar knew you were from around here.  You weren't some soft, delicate flower that wasn't supposed to be "on this side of town."  Preparing yourself by putting on your best "I'm not interested face," you maneuvered your body to face him, ready to tell him off.

Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his two endless pools of cerulean.  Your gaze shifted to take in the burnt skin clinging onto the shining staples that were rooted in his healthy skin. A familiar black coat spread across his frame that was even more recognizable than those eyes, and the patronizing smile that you wanted to slap off his face. As much as you wanted to throw up your middle finger at him and tell him off, you knew who this was. Hell, everyone knew who this was.

The League of Villains didn't necessarily keep quiet around here. They didn't have to. This is the area where they recruited people to join them. You didn't just flick off and ignore a LOV member. Especially the infamous Dabi, who wasn't really known for his kindness or compassion. More for his ability to burn anyone who defied The League to a crumbling crisp.

But still, who did this asshole think he is? Waltzing in here like he owned it and saddling down into your escape from the world only to tell you that you don't look like you should be here?  Fuck that nonsense, League member or not.

You swallow down a bit of the initial anger as your eyes narrow into a glare at the cocky asshole.  "Thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested in being involved with the League. So if you don't mind going somewhere else to scout, that would be great." You try to say without a tremble in your voice as you wave your hand in a "shoo" motion.

You aren't sure what you expect Dabi to do next., burn down the whole bar you included? Tell you that you have no choice but to join, and you're coming with him? Rip you out of your seat and reprimand you for disrespecting The League? But instead, none of those things happen.  Instead, he does something you don't expect, and his grin grows a little wider as the staples begin to pull more at his healthy flesh.

You can feel your anxiety rising. Get out, get out, get out, this asshole will kill you, leave NOW, your mind is practically sending off every warning signal it can.

Your chest tightens when Dabi lets out a low chuckle. "Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong."  He says with a dark tone. "I'm not recruiting you for work. My interest in you is personal."  Dabi points at you and then at himself and finishes with an infuriating smirk that seems to be mocking you.  He's moved his hand and placed it on your forearm that was resting on the smooth bar top.

A shiver runs through you as the mismatched textures of his skin and the cool metal of the staples.  You feel your anger bubbling up again.  How dare this jerk think that you will just fall for him like a desperate fangirl.  You are livid at this point, frustration coursing through your veins, fuck the niceties and preservation. He needed to be put in his place.

"I know you think you are some big shot because The League is doing so well right now but fuck off asshole.  I'm not a League groupie that will just kneel down and suck your dick just because you want it." You spit out at him while shrugging off his hand and moving your body to face the way you were initially sitting. Grasping your drink and lifting it to your lips, you try and down what was left so you could leave immediately, any extra moment around Dabi was a moment you didn't want to have.

You were sure Dabi would have given up or at least killed you by now. You can't imagine that he is used to being rejected by women.  He's handsome in a way that doesn't fit with the norm.  He fills in that bad boy check-list like it's his job, which it practically is given his profession.  Again though, Dabi surprises you with his response. He doesn't yell, he doesn't use his quirk, and he doesn't kill you. He lets out another dark chuckle like he's enjoying this and continues the conversation you had tried to cut off.

"I didn't say anything about sucking dick, but if you're offering, who am I to turn down a gift?"  That smooth tone is back as he moves his hand to your hair and runs it through his fingers.

Bewilderment overcomes you, and you can't even stop yourself before you are turned towards him again, glass in your hand, ready to throw what's left of your drink on him.

As if he anticipated the response, Dabi moves quickly and grabs your wrist in a tight grip.  "Now, why would you want to waste what you have left, doll? That's not a very smart choice." His grip tightens a little more around your wrist, and you can feel the staples begin to dig into your skin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He moves your hand back down to the bar but doesn't let go even after your glass has left your hand.  "There we go, good girl.  Now let's talk just a bit." He says sweetly, loosening his grip just a bit, but not enough for you to move your hand.

If looks could kill, Dabi would have died a cruel death by now. You are seething at this point.  But instead, you're stuck there as he continues to do whatever it is that he’s trying to accomplish.  "What were you drinking?  I'll buy you another one and then leave, okay doll?"  He says playfully and with a cunning grin on his face as you mumble out your drink order.  You just want him to leave, and you really hope he plans on keeping his word.

Dabi motions for the bartender's attention, gives your drink order and plops a few bills on the bartop. He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and each and every moment he is even touching you, you can feel your annoyance continuing to build.  You want to ask him if he's done yet and will kindly get the fuck out, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes the cat and mouse game, which would just lengthen the amount of time he sticks around.

The bartender finally delivers your drink, and it takes everything in you not to rip your wrist out of his grasp and grab the new glass to pour over Dabi's head.  "Okay, one last question, and then I'll leave."  He drawls out as you put all your focus into the condensation forming on your glass.  You stay silent, waiting for his stupid question so you can move on and never see him again.  Dabi continues with that condesending tone that is starting to cause your head to ache, "How often do you come here? I'd love to see you again."

Your heartbeat picks up, and little shots of adrenaline start to flow through you as you contemplate how to respond. Of course, you don't want this asshole to know when you come here. This is your escape from the world. You never want to even see Dabi again,  but something from this interaction tells you Dabi isn't going to give up easily. So you tell him your regular time that you show up at the bar every Friday.

Dabi squeezes your wrist a little bit before letting out another "Good girl, sounds like a date.  I'll see you then." You never want him to know how those few words send a shiver down your spine. He saunters out of the bar without having a single drink himself. Patrons stare dumbfounded between you and the doorway that Dabi just exited, trying to comprehend what just happened.

You let out an exasperated sigh before leaning your head down into your folded arms.  The bar top isn't necessarily the cleanest of places to lay your head, but it’s pounding and racing with thoughts, and you can't really bring yourself to care right now.  You try to formulate a plan so you won't ever see him. You'll just move your regular day to Saturday instead of Fridays.  But then that stubborn anger flares inside of you again, and you sit up straight, glancing at your newly unwanted drink as the ice slowly melts, lifting the remaining liquid in the cup.  No, I'm not going to let that asshole ruin my spot for me.  He can come around here every Friday, but I'll turn that jerk down a million times. You think a little smugly to yourself.  We will see how the big bad Dabi feels being turned down over and over.  Maybe that will sting his ego.

And so you and Dabi play this game of cat and mouse. He comes every Friday when you are there without fail, buying you a drink, chatting to you with sentences filled with pet names, and planning another "date" each time.  And every time you tell him you aren't interested or to go away, or really anything to try and get that stupid fucking smirk off his face.  But it always remains cemented there as he watches you get fired up.  And what you don't realize is the two of you are getting to know each other.  Dabi adds in little questions, "what's your favorite food, least favorite, what do you do for work?"  And the questions go on and on.  You don't realize your walls coming down as the two of you find similarities in each other.  And if there is one thing anyone who sees these frequent interactions between the two of you can say, it is that Dabi is determined.

You are so used to Dabi's Friday visits that they don't bring headaches anymore, and you realize something more has developed when he doesn't show up one week.  A mixture of feelings rests in you, anxiety, confusion, anger.  You wonder if he's okay, or has he finally given up.  And then anger if he has.  You don't want to admit it, but you miss his company, and you don't even have a number to reach out to him.  You feel a sense of loss in your chest.  How could he just give up?  He's been trying for months!  You think as tears begin to sting for a moment in your eyes.

You leave the bar that night not feeling uplifted or relaxed but sad and angry.  And you aren't necessarily looking forward to returning the week after, but you do come back to your regular spot and hope Dabi will show.  Your heart almost stops in your chest when you see him walk through the entrance of the bar, and before you can contain the words, they tumble out in a frantic sound, "where were you last week?"  You are standing in front of him now, looking up at that little grin he always has on his face whenever you get annoyed with him.  You cross your arms over your chest and exclaim, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Aw, did you miss me, baby girl?"  His poker face never falls, but his grin grows a tiny bit wider as he stares into your fiery eyes.  And without warning, he wraps one of his long arms around you, pulling you into a tight side hug.

A small eep escapes you at the movement, and you move to push him off.  "What the hell are you doing? Answer my question, you jerk!" You practically yell as you push away from him.  He doesn't let go and just pulls you tighter to him, and you find yourself not struggling anymore as you take in the weathered texture of his coat pressed against your arm and the smell of cigarettes on him.  You feel your walls starting to fall entirely, "I was really concerned about you." You let out in a whisper, not really wanting to admit it to him, but you weren't sure how you would feel if something like this happened again.

"Aw, babe, you did miss me."  The delight in his voice makes you shiver a little.  He gestures you over to your regular spot at the bar, and the two of you sit down in the weathered chairs.  He puts a calloused finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his.  You stare into his cerulean depths that you used to hate and find yourself softening a bit.  "I had to do something for The League, but I don't have your number, love.  So I couldn't call and let you know I wouldn't make our date."  His face relaxes a bit as he watches your frown turn into a bit of pout.

"Okay, well fine, I'll give you my number.  But don't just text me randomly, okay?"  You huff as you lay your palm flat and motion for his phone.  Dabi chuckles and shakes his head before handing you the phone without another word.  Lifting the phone, you type your number into the cracked screen and hand it back to him.  "Okay, now text me, so I have yours. " You say, moving to grab your phone to wait for his upcoming text.

"Hmmm, I don't think so, doll,"  Dabi says, taking in your furrowed brow and then relishing in the way you roll your eyes at his taunting.

"Fine, whatever, Dabi.  Just text me next time you can't make it."  You say sourly while searching for the bartender to order your drink.  You don't want Dabi to see the slight sting of hurt in your eyes because he won't give you his.  The rest of the night goes as expected, drinking and talking, and you find yourself laughing more, not realizing how much you truly enjoyed this time with him.

The two of you depart with another hug, this one much shorter than the first, but you find yourself leaning into the warmth that radiates from him instead of wanting to push him off.  As you begin walking down the street home, you feel a buzz in your pocket.  Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to the message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hey babe, see you same time next week - D

A small smile comes to your face as you type a response back.

The following year you grow in your relationship with Dabi.  There are never really any titles between the two of you.  Just that the two of you are together.  You never meet The League. Dabi is insistent you aren't involved with them in case things go awry.  But you spend a lot of time together when work or villain work doesn't take up the time.

Your relationship together comes to a head at the very start of the apocalypse.  The two of you sit snuggled together on your worn-out couch watching the news as a young reporter stands in front of a local research building in town and goes through the facts of citizens becoming "mindless and violent in a matter of hours."  And how they have people under lockdown who are experiencing symptoms of this "mysterious illness."

A slight shiver goes through you as the reporter goes on.  "That's really scary. No one knows what's causing it,"  you reflect aloud while you lean in closer into Dabi's outstretched arm that is resting around your shoulders.

"Aw, babe, don't be scared.  Those mindless fools wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to lay a hand on you while I'm there,"  Dabi says with a glint of amusement in his voice.  He always sounds so condescending, but you know it's the truth.  Remembering a time at the bar when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer-not that Dabi really followed that either- but Dabi didn't hesitate to let the guy know you were already taken.  He flirts and likes to jab a lot, but there’s a complete shift in the atmosphere when he's serious.

"Ugh, Dabi, you know I don't mean them attacking us. It's whatever is causing it that worries me. What happens if one of us gets it?  There's no cure right now,"  You say and worry your lower lip between your teeth.

Dabi picks up on your anxious state, and his cocky facade fades.  He pulls you on his lap so that you are fully facing him with legs pressed on either side of his.  Dabi holds one large hand on your waist, and the other he presses to your cheek.  Leaning your cheek further into his hand, Dabi moves his thumb to trace over the slight marks in your lip where your teeth were just placed.  "Hey, listen to me, nothing is going to happen, okay?  I won't let any of these maniacs hurt you, and we won't catch whatever they have,"  Dabi says tenderly as he gives you a small smile.

It's nice to see him like this- when his mask of superiority disappears, and he's focused on encouraging you.  It doesn't happen often because you like to keep walls.  Comfort from Dabi doesn’t need to happen often but you can’t say you don’t like it when he does.  You enjoy these softer moments with him that only you get to see.

You pull Dabi into a light kiss.  The gentle pressure of his mismatched lips fit seamlessly against yours.  You pull away after a moment to look into his deep blue eyes that now captivate you.  Dabi has that coy smile still on his face, and as his eyes meet your in that moment, it's like the horrible events of the world aren't happening anymore.  All that seems to exist is the two of you, not the TV still prattling in the background or even the noises outside your city window.

Dabi lightly caresses your cheek down to the length of your neck and finally ending near where your collarbones sit.  Everywhere he touches leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin.  Even with these simple touches, you can feel yourself starting moving against him, trying to create a bit of friction.  Dabi knew how easily he could rile you up with simple touches.  It was frustrating at times, and you wished you could have the same effect on him.

"I love you, babe.  And no matter what, I won't let anything hurt you,"  Dabi tells you, and you swear his voice seems to be cracking, but the moment is gone before you can think about it.  Dabi lives on being mysterious most of the time, and you rarely get to see this vulnerable side of him.  Even if he doesn't say it behind that mask of cockiness, you can feel that there is fear of what's happening right now.  Or at least that's what you think the fear is from, but Dabi will never admit the fear is from losing you to whatever this is.  He isn't sure he could survive this hell of a life he's been given without you.

Your heart aches at his sincere words from earlier, and you whisper back, "I love you too, Dabi."  Drawing him into a more intense kiss.  Dabi begins to run his fingers along the hem of your t-shirt and delicately brushes the skin right under with his fingertips.  You feel a moan bubble up inside of you, but his mouth moving against yours swallows the sound.

"I want you so bad, doll.  Let's just forget what's going on right now, let the world fall away,"  he says in a husky voice after breaking away from the kiss.

You nod to him before letting out a content sigh and letting your eyes fall shut while Dabi continues to trace his hands over your body.  Dabi trails his massive heated hands under the thin shirt you are wearing and down to your hips.  You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans as it begins to press against your clothed core.

Opening your eyes, you meet Dabi's half-lidded lustful eyes and bite your bottom lip and allow yourself to give into Dabi taking over you.

You can feel your heart beating a little faster, watching Dabi drink in every ounce of you.  Dabi is one of the only men you have ever trusted like this.  To have you so totally vulnerable.  It's strange how someone you didn't want anything to do with for months has become someone you rely on for everything- love, comfort, pleasure.

Dabi places open-mouthed kisses along your neck that leave you breathless.  "Fuck, I'm obsessed with every inch of you,"  Dabi growls out before returning to kissing and sucking your neck and exposed collar bone.

You grip Dabi's shoulder to ground you back from floating away into complete bliss and tip your head out to give him more access to your neck.  Dabi's mouth is like a flame that licks at your sensitive skin as he continues to trail his mouth all over.  You could be trapped in this pleasure forever.

Dabi grasps the back of your head and roughly brings your lips back to his.  With your mouths slotted against each other, you moan as Dabi finesses you to where you are lying on your back on the old couch, and he is hovering over you.

You break the kiss to quickly pull off his jacket and expose Dabi's scarred arms.  And just as you have only trusted Dabi fully with yourself, he has done the same.  Of course, the two of you have had sex with other people, mostly with lights off clothing still left on to hide the imperfections.  But with each other, there is no more hiding.

Heat begins to pool in your belly as you watch Dabi pull off your shorts and slide his warm hands all the way back up your leg and massage the plush skin of your thighs.  Once your shorts are removed, Dabi brings himself back to your face and, with a lustful sigh, traces kisses on your jaw and neck.

"Just relax and let me take you away from all of this, love.  I want to hear every sound you make." He growls as he moves down towards your pussy and lays himself between your spread legs.  Dabi lifts your thighs to rest on his shoulder as you let out a little gasp.  You can feel the excitement and heat rising in you.

Dabi kisses down the inside of your soft thighs and stops to suck at certain spots, leaving minor marks in their place.  He stops for a moment until you are looking directly into his captivating gaze, and then he licks a stripe up your pussy over the cotton of your underwear.  You let out a breathy moan at the sensation.   That jerk knows precisely what he's doing.

Dabi then grabs the thin material of your underwear and rips them away from your body with a tear. Groaning, you are about to curse at him for ruining another pair but are cut short when he sleekly licks up your folds. A delicate, playful moan leaves your separated lips.  Your eyes close, and you cling onto his white shirt to ground yourself.

"Baby girl, you're soaking wet," Dabi teases as if you weren't aware but cuts off any retort again with a quick suck to your aching clit. You can't hold back the loud moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Dabi smiles against your lower lips and continues his ministrations.   His mouth is open wide, so he can move back and forth from quickly licking up and down your sensitive pussy as well as suck softly on your clit.   You feel light-headed at the extended sensations, little whimpers and moans falling through your lips.  Dabi has always been able to leave you speechless with just his mouth.

"Dabi please," Your breathing hitches, and you moan out as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your small bud. You can feel that hot pressure building in your stomach as Dabi continues. He laps at you like you are holding the only source of liquid left in this world, his tongue working wonders on your dripping hole.

Dabi pulls back and looks up at you as you eagerly meet his blue eyes, begging him to continue.  He smirks before lowering his mouth back down and laps at your sopping core teasingly.  Fucking bastard.  Always a tease from day one.

Dabi licks his lips before returning to eating you out even faster as a series of cries and obscenities continue to fall out of your mouth.  You can't hold them back.  His mouth is so hot and wet against your core.

With another curse, you tell him you are close. A sigh escapes your lips, and your head tosses back onto the cushy arm of the couch.  Dabi pulls away but inserts two fingers inside of you in place of his mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart, as much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me,  I want to taste you right now."  Dabi lets out with a rough voice filled with desire.  You whimper as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.  He smirks at your blissed-out face and then returns his mouth to your pussy.  His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly as whines and cries continue to be let out of your mouth.  Back arching, you bite at your lip, barely able to even process the words that came out of Dabi just a moment ago.

"Oh, fuck, Dabi, please. Please, I'm gonna cum soon." The words fall from your lips, and your mind feels numb to everything except the feeling of Dabi's tongue on your pussy.

Dabi grunts and gives another hard suck to your clit before pulling away just a bit.  "Hell yeah, babe, come all over my face."

Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens with another cry as your legs begin to tremble as the tension starts to rise in your stomach. One more lick, and you know you'd come. Dabi's continued suckling of your clit sends you careening over the edge. Your cries fill the room, and your back arches as your legs try to squeeze around his head.  Dabi continues to suck and lick as you orgasm.  Panting and with your eyes twisted shut, you cling to his shirt as you start to come down.  A final curse gently leaves your mouth as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.  Dabi takes one last long slow lick before sitting back and wiping his face with the back of his hand.  You can't bring yourself to move from the couch, still panting and weak.

Your mind starts slowly coming back to you as the bliss begins to leave.  The realization of everything happening in the world washes over you.  But you were thankful Dabi took the time to distract you from the horrors of what's going on.  You move over so Dabi can cuddle with you on the couch.  It isn't much room, but it feels good to be this close with him, wrapped in each other's arms.  You both slowly start to drift off to sleep, but you don't miss Dabi's final words mumbled into your hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you."

Shortly after that, the world seems to descend into madness.  The illness grows more and more rampant.  People are getting infected every day.  Whether it's through the original source of contamination or by those contaminated biting or scratching someone.  Panic spreads throughout the country.  But through all of it, you and Dabi stick together.

From the moment it was declared an emergency Dabi was banging at your door, insisting the two of you find somewhere safer than your run-down apartment.  Because while the two of you needed sleep, whatever these things are could go non-stop, and your apartment was not fortified.

You and Dabi lost your quirks a month after the emergency declaration, along with the rest of the population. People couldn't fight these zombie-like creatures off anymore.  Like all the movies and TV shows, the bodies became more zombies than actual living people.

After a while of jumping around from a destroyed place to another, the two of you found yourself in an apartment building that had a sturdy enough entrance that the zombies couldn't break through.  The daily struggles were still hard, though. Finding food and water to survive became a daily task for the two of you.  Through all of this, he never left your side. He always insisted the two of you stay together.  And so you did.  Fighting the living dead, but sometimes the living too when things got even more terrible, and scavenging was your everyday routine now.

You lost track of time and could only follow when the seasons changed.  But Dabi was really the only thing getting you through this.  Seeing people destroy one another for food or shelter destroyed you inside.  Never knowing if these zombies you were killing were someone you had known at one point, or just another faceless dead person tore at every corner of your brain.  Dabi stayed strong for the two of you.  Holding you every night on the ripped blankets, you could gather for the strange bed the two of you slept in.  You would sob into his muscled chest about how you couldn't live in this world anymore, how you couldn't kill another person, alive or dead.

But Dabi would never let go.  He would hold you close and let your never-ending tears stain the only shirt he had now.  He would rub your back with his warm hands; even though his rusting staples would catch on your shirt and rip from his skin, he still did it.  He would hold you until you fell asleep, whispering how strong you were and how he could never do this without you.  And after all the tears, you were thankful too.  Because without him, you'd be dead or alone.  You knew that without Dabi, you would have never survived this long.

But you could see Dabi was hurting too.  You couldn't find supplies to treat his decaying skin.  He hid his daily pain from you, but when Dabi thought you weren't looking or listening, he would hiss at the pain of another staple pulling at his burnt skin or let out a huge sigh when he would try to put it back together, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The only hope the two of you held onto was each other and that possibly a cure would come soon.  Not that either you could really access that information with no electricity; there wasn't any way to get information other than hearsay.  You survived the best you could in this world.

And as much as this wasn't what you would have picked for either of you, at least you had each other.  You tried not to think of a time when you wouldn't be together, even though the chances of that happening were high- it hurt too much. To survive in this world without Dabi would be too fucking much.

It's almost as if fate chose to play a cruel game with the two of you.  It seemed like a "normal" trip out to scavenge for food and water.  The two of you had to expand your search area since places closer were mainly empty.

This time you found yourself outside of a convenience store, a reasonable distance away from your home.  It hadn't been completely destroyed by some miracle and was not overrun by the zombified people.  Still, in a state of decay, though, Dabi was quickly able to kick his heavy boots through the door and get the two of you in.

Sauntering through the gas station, you quickly begin to pick up canned food and stale bags of chips and shove them in your worn backpack.  Dabi is doing the same on other aisles until he lets out a chuckle.  "Hey babe, look what I found."  He says with a cocky voice holding up a few boxes of wrapped condoms above the aisle for you to see.

You roll your eyes.  "Thanks, Dabi. Is sex really what we want to be thinking about right now? Let's just get this shit and get out."  You let out with an annoyed huff and continue to push the limits of how much your bag can hold.

Dabi comes over to your aisle and snakes his arms around your waist with your back pressed to his chest.  He places his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.  "Yes, all I can think about is getting your beautiful body back home and finally being able to finish in you, and with these, I can."  He lets out a dark chuckle as he pulls you closer against him and bucks  his hips playfully.

"Okay, horn dog, let's get this shit done, and then we can do whatever you want back home."  You let out with an eye roll.  It's hard to stay mad at him. You know he's trying to keep things light for you, to keep you happy because he can see how hard this is.  And his regular teasing is one way he knows will bring a smile to your face.

As you are finishing up trying to take inventory of anything else in the store that you can take back, you spot the clear plastic that holds the cartons of cigarettes behind the cashier counter.  While you didn't necessarily want Dabi smoking, you knew he missed the vice. Cigarettes were just as hard to find as medicine in this new world.  Smiling to yourself, you move behind the counter and reach for the plastic flap to lift it up.

As you try to lift the latch, it doesn't budge. You look around for what might be blocking it before seeing the tiny silver keyhole to one side of the compartment.  Crap, of course, it's locked.    You really wanted to surprise Dabi with this.  Maybe you still could. The key had to be here somewhere, right? You think while scanning around the counter.  You try searching through the counters for a hidden key but no luck.  Letting out a heavy sigh, you call Dabi over.

Dabi wanders over to your annoyed face and can't help but smile at your slight pout.  "I wanted to surprise you! But I can't open it. Can you get it, please?"  It comes out almost like a whine as you gesture to the cigarettes.

Dabi's smirk turns into a genuine smile, and he pats the top of your head before saying, "My sweet doll.  Thank you for thinking of me. Let me help you out."  You could smack him, but instead, you watch as he hastily rips the plastic covering away and slips his hand below it to grab one of the wrapped cartons.

At that moment, everything changes.  The fun times the two of you were having shatters as a loud alarm rings through the store.  Panic floods your system as you stare at Dabi wide-eyed.  "There is no electricity. What's happening? There shouldn't be an alarm."  Horror is laced in your voice as words spill out of you.  Every walking corpse within miles will be here soon with the sound.

"Fuck, must have had a battery attachment. Come on, let's go."  Dabi's usual playfulness is gone as he abandons the cigarettes and grabs your hand.  He's grave now.  Getting the two of you out of here safely is his only goal.

You follow Dabi quickly, a hand grasped tightly in his as he runs towards the broken-down front door.   And that's when even more terror settles into you.  Zombies are pushing their way through the open door.  Their rotting bodies and white eyes focused on the area where the alarm is coming from.  There weren't many around when you broke in, but now it seems like they are multiplying by the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Dabi curses under his breath, quickly turning around and pulling you towards the building's back exit.  You follow behind adrenaline surging through your veins fueled by your flight response.  Dabi grasps at the metal handle to the back door and shakes it only to find it locked.  "Damnit!"  he shouts before kicking the door violently.

Your heart is pounding, and you feel helpless as you stare at Dabi while he continues to slam himself at the door.  While the front door was glass and flimsier, this door was only budging slightly.  With all your focus on the door, you don't notice the continuously growing herd filtering into the gas station.  Not until you feel one brush against your shoulder.

Your eyes widen as you feel a scream bubbling in your throat.  This is it.   This is where the two of you die and either become fodder for a herd of living dead or turn into one yourself.   Your brain is pure panic as thoughts fly through faster than you can catch them.  You don't even realize you have screamed out Dabi's name until you see his face turn towards yours.

His typically blue eyes are almost entirely covered by his dark pupils as he takes in the monstrosities behind you.  But unlike you, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a knife he keeps in one of his pockets and slams it into the decaying skull of the zombie that is right behind you.  Splurts of dark blood hit your cheek as he pulls out the knife, and the creature behind you crumples to the floor.

"Keep trying the door! I'll keep them off you."  Dabi shouts, pulling you into the spot he previously stood.  Your heartbeat is so loud you can feel it in your head, and you can't even make a coherent response as you begin to slam your body against the solid surface.  You can feel it give a little more with each push of your body, and everything in you is screaming not to give up.  Doing your best not to glance at Dabi's grunting and movements as he continues to try and put down zombie after zombie.

You can't give up; this can't be the end . Desperately your brain is screaming as you continue to feel the door give more and more.  Your shoulder hurts from the continued impact, but you aren't letting it slow you down.  You can feel it; it's almost there.

Suddenly the door gives, and you can see the sun shining through on the other side.  You cry out in  relief and turn back to tell Dabi to come with you.  But as your eyes meet, fear fills every ounce of you.

He's still fighting them off, but there is a gaping bite wound on his right arm— rows of teeth marks embedded in his skin.  You feel like you're going to be sick. There is no coming back from this; there's no known cure.  At any point within the next twenty-four hours, he would be another one of the walking dead, no sense, no logic, and looking to consume others. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.  Your heart is sinking with every second that ticks by.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get out! Get out!"  Dabi screams at you as he embeds his knife in another zombie.

"No, no, I can't leave without you!  I-we can find something.  I'll find something, please! Come on, Dabi, I can't do this without you!"  You are sobbing now, hot tears streaming through the dirt and blood mixed on your face.  An ache in your heart starts to form.  You know you don't know how to help him, but you'll do anything to not leave him behind.

Dabi lets out a grin despite the feral dead people closing in on him.  And gives you a wink before saying in a voice that seems too calm for the situation, "Come on, doll, you are the most intelligent person I know.  You have to go.  Live for us, babe.  Look at how far we've come.  Go show this world that it won't ever break you down. I love you, and I'll come to find you wherever you are in the afterlife and annoy the shit out of you.  Now go!"

It's like your heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces. Your breath comes out in short huffs, moving towards hyperventilating.  You want to go back to Dabi and cling on for dear life, but you won't let him die in vain.  Not after that speech.  That would be an insult to everything the two of you have overcome.  So with all your strength, you give your lover, the man who has come so far with you, the last look before letting out a final "I love you too" and burst out the door.

You don't look back, aching feet propelling you forward as tears continue to stream and fall off your face.  When you first met Dabi, you would have never thought you'd miss him.  But you will , you'll miss every snarky comment, every flirty glance, and the tender way only he has loved you.  The man that you were sure was just some asshole trying to get laid became the love of your life and sacrificed himself so you could live.  And you could never let that go to waste.

#smut pile collab #Dabi x reader #Dabi smut #tw: character death #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #Dabi fanfiction #my fic #how far we've come

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 7

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something Notes: This is incredibly dialogue heavy, and I actually don't feel as confident about this chapter as some of the past ones? Hopefully y'all like it, I mean at least the ending is cute (or cheesy, depending on who you ask). PS: Not sure how many chapters there will be in total, other than at least 3 more (one of which ill, in fact, get a little h*rny again. actually, h*rnier). Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy

Chapter 7: Harmony

“We need to talk, yeah?” Daniela asked, nearly stuttering, a sort of nervous that you had never seen her exhibit before. The first thing you think is that she’s really, really cute when she doesn’t know what to do. After that you actually process what she said. Relief floods your chest, followed by warmth, and you make a mental note to thank Bela the next time you see her. In the meantime, you were unable to contain your happiness. Out of instinct you move closer to Daniela, smiling softly, quietly reaching one of your hands towards hers. There’s no hesitance in her response. Instead of taking your hand she pulls you in for a hug, opting to rest her chin against your shoulder. Admittedly you’re a little surprised, but you return the motion nonetheless. “Oh, little songbird…”

Heart racing, you softly press against Daniela, turning your head so that you could place a single, brief kiss against her exposed collarbone. For a moment the two of you just stay like that, holding each other close. When you pull away, remembering that you still hadn’t said anything, you find that Daniela is blushing from the neck up. In turn, the sight makes you blush. You can’t help but reach out and run your fingers through her hair. Though you can’t see yourself, you know your eyes are filled with affection.

“I love when you look at me like this,” Daniela whispered, not entirely meaning to voice her thoughts. Then you’re blushing harder, smile small but sweet. “Mmm, you’re just darling, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly as much as yourself, my Lady. To be in your company is to be the luckiest soul in the world. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings of which you inspire in me,” you replied, trying not to stumble over your words, barely able to process any thoughts other than ‘pretty lady likes me ahh’. Thankfully, you still remembered a few tricks from language arts class. Who knew studying the classics could make you more romantic? At least one English teacher, probably. “I’ll have plenty of time to try, though… after we talk about things, that is. Is there somewhere private we can talk? I’m not terribly eager for your mother to overhear.”

“Are you sure we can’t talk about how much you like me for a while longer?” Daniela asked, faking a pout. When you perk a brow at her antics, she shifts a little, forcing herself to be a little more serious (at least for the time being). “If you insist, my sweet thing. I’d suggest my room-” she winks at you- “but I doubt we’d stay talking for long, would we? Maybe the library? Neither of my sisters tend to go there around this time of day, and I can hardly remember the last time mother went there.”

“Well, no one from the day shift is scheduled to organize things until later this week, so… sounds like a date to me,” you chimed, enjoying the way that Daniela’s face lit up in response. “There’s just one thing I have to take care of first. Wouldn’t want my roommates to think something has happened to me, now would we?” With that said you linked your arm with your partner’s, setting off towards the servants quarters.

—————————————–

“Oh thank goodness, we were starting to get worried!” Daphne exclaimed as you quietly ducked into your room. For a second you freeze in place, hoping to whatever higher powers may be that she hadn’t seen Daniela behind you. Certainly the vampire would have moved out of sight?... Despite your assumption, you do see Daphne hesitate for a moment, gazing at the now closed door. Thinking quickly, you give a little wave to draw her attention elsewhere. Seemingly it works like a charm, with her attention returning to you, and so you release an internal sigh of relief. Now you just had to think of an excuse for why you’d be staying up late.

“It’s fine- I’m fine, really. Just had to carry something for one of the Ladies,” you lied, trying not to be specific enough to possibly contradict facts you weren’t aware of. “I, uh, kinda have to go back out, though? There are some piano books I need to find before tomorrow morning. I’ve already found a few, but apparently there’s at least one that goes over some technical practice songs, and I think D-” you almost wince, but lean into it, stuttering instead- “th-think that Lady Daniela would enjoy the variety. Not sure how long it’ll take me to find the books, so don’t stay up waiting for me. I promise I’ll still get enough sleep to function tomorrow.”

“So the lessons haven’t been canceled? That’s good to hear,” Daphne said, nodding slowly. The words catch you off guard, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion. Noticing your expression, your roommate is quick to explain. “After whatever happened yesterday… we weren’t sure if we’d ever hear you play again. Not that we know what happened, just that Lady Daniela was, well, upset, and you stopped playing sooner than usual. But I suppose if the lessons were canceled completely… I doubt Lady Dimitrescu would let you go that easily, huh?”

Again, you shift awkwardly, wondering how Daniela must feel hearing all of this. But just like that Daphne shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and gives a little shrug.

“Don’t stay up too late, okay? I know you already promised, but we both know you’ll lose track of time if you aren’t careful. If you aren’t in bed by the time the sun reaches its peak, I swear we are gonna have words!” Both of you laugh before Daphne waves you off with a smile. Still, you wait to open the door until she (and the other maidens) has her back to you. Better safe than sorry, right?

—————————————–

Somehow the room felt different in a million ways, now that you were here with Daniela. There was something about the way she moved, freely, eyes and fingers running down the spines of familiar books. Even if you had not seen it before, it felt like the library was overflowing with magic. What I would give, you think, to see the whole world tinted in shades of her. Again you find yourself blushing as you followed Daniela towards a small sitting area. One of the chairs is practically a recliner, with plenty of space, and you realize what she has planned mere moments before she acts.

Next thing you know, you’re being pulled closer to her, practically lifted into the air. Then you’re falling back, right on top of a giggling Daniela. By the time you’ve regained your senses, you’re in her lap, held just tight enough to keep you from getting up. She’s watching your face closely, smirking with pure satisfaction.

“Are we going to be able to talk like this?” You asked, a little unsure yourself, already distracted by the soft curve of her jawline. Even as you speak you’re eying her, imagining what it would feel like to trail kisses along her skin until she was restless… Thankfully she responds before your mind gets too carried away.

“Of course we are, little songbird. Probably. If you behave,” Daniela teased, gently playing with your hair as she did. You can’t help but laugh when she suggests that you are the one who needs to control yourself. “Alright, alright, I get your point. I just… I think that it’s easier for me to, fuck, I don’t know. Relax? It’s easier for me to relax like this, holding you, getting to kiss that lovely neck of yours-” she pauses to demonstrate- “and that means I won’t freak out like last time. Or so goes my thought process, anyway.”

“In that case…” You’re sitting perpendicular to her now, still holding on tight. One hand cups her cheek, gently caressing the skin, before you lean in for a kiss. The two of you enjoy yourselves for a minute, glad to have this time together, more glad to be reassured of each other’s affection. To think that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her gaze if not for Bela’s intervention… Eventually you pull back, knowing that you did need to talk. “I care about you, firefly, and I want things between us to be real, and healthy, but I…”

The words died in your throat, a lump you couldn’t quite swallow, when memories sprung up like weeds in your brain. Communication mattered to you for a thousand reasons, and you weren’t blind to the irony of one of those reasons making you freeze up.

“I haven’t… done this before, not for real,” Daniela replied, mistaking your paues for uncertainty. “Apparently being an immortal, blood-drinking princess is only attractive in the realm of fiction. Maidens only ever seemed interested in a fleeting rush, or a fraction of a chance at an escape. They didn’t care for romance.” Now her tone gets bitter, and her eyebrows furrow. You can see her shoulders tense up, raising a little, making you try to snap out of your own thoughts for a few moments. By the time she speaks again, you’ve started to gently rub her back. “Maybe I should have paid more attention to my novels. How often does the monster actually get a happy ending?” She says the words with a hollow laugh. Still, she’s relaxed a little under your touch, even leaning into it.

“You’ve… done some bad things. Hurt a lot of people, and I can’t pretend that doesn’t scare me,” you started to say, ignoring the heartache you feel when you see Daniela’s hurt expression. “But you’re more than that. You’re soft, cute, and mischievous. More than that… I can tell that you want something beautiful. We can have that, we can make that, for ourselves, with our own hands and our own desires. But we can’t use stories as a blueprint. We can’t rely on what we’ve read, not when everything the two of us do is brand new. Not when-” you close your eyes, fighting back tears, glimpsing fragments of your last relationship- “not when I’ve already been hurt by my own misconceptions. The things we read aren’t always real, or right, or anything like what we need. What we deserve.”

“Something tells me you’re holding back a little,” Daniela murmured, barely able to get the words out. It almost looks like she’s close to crying, but her cheeks are dry, and her voice is steady. “But you’re right. What we have is better than anyone could write, anyway. You’re my little songbird, and I’m not letting you go anytime soon. Even if I have to figure out this whole ‘communication’ thing. I suppose that means I should… come clean. About a few things.” There’s a clear hesitance to her voice, like she’s embarrassed, and she’s speaking slower than usual. A blush rises to her cheeks before she takes a deep breath.

“We don’t have to talk about everything right now, if you aren’t ready. We’ve already made good progress, I think, even if half of it might be because of your sisters. Well, sister, singular. Cassandra throwing me into that wall really didn’t help anyone. Except maybe the chiropractor I will inevitably need to see,” you joked, remembering your earlier conversation with Bela.

“Hold up for a fucking second, Cassandra did what? I’m going to replace all her paint brushes with stained carpet strips, and that’s if she apologizes. Nobody fucks with my baby,” Daniela snapped, expression as serious as can be. Normally you found her anger to be terrifying. Now that she was directing it at someone else? And on your behalf?... Maybe it was a tiny bit cute. Which you tried to show, by gently bringing her in for another kiss. Of course, Daniela isn’t quite as gentle, instead kissing you hard, holding you as closely as she can. There’s a bit of possessiveness in her grip, and it makes you tense up. But as soon as you do she’s pulling back, breathing hard, eyes weighed down with concern.

“Y’know, I think she was just mad that I made you cry. And if I found out someone made you cry, I would be pretty angry. Not that I’d throw someone, partially because I don’t think I could, but still. It’s… almost cute how much your sisters care about you. Almost, just not quite,” you said, eager to draw the attention away from your reaction. Like you had told Daniela, it was okay if you weren’t ready to talk about everything. “Speaking of that, I can’t believe I haven’t apologized yet. I panicked so much, I didn’t even realize I was yelling until you picked me up. No matter how frustrated I was, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t, please,” Daniela interrupted, eyes closing for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re apologizing. I pinned you to the wall, and not for the usual reason!” There’s a bit of panic in her expression, and you get the feeling that she’s beating herself up inside about it. Which, based on what you had thought about what you had done, was understandable.

“Consider this: We both fucked up, and we’ve both acknowledged it now, so we could just… not talk about our regrets? At least for now,” you countered, glad to see Daniela relax and nod in response. Leaning in, you shift to rest your head against her shoulder, wanting to enjoy her proximity more. “Hey… if I’m your songbird, and you’re my firefly… are we, I don’t know… officially a couple now?”

“I was under the impression that we already were,” Daniela said, clearly a little confused. While you technically agreed with her… there was another part of you that wanted to have a little fun.

“You never asked, and I know I never did either, so…” Now you’re looking up at her, smile wide, heart beating faster than normal. “Lady Daniela, firefly of house Dimitrescu, lover of romance novels, player of pianos, keeper of my heart… Will you do me the honor of allowing me to court you? To be yours, officially, in the pursuit of affection and happiness like the village- nay, the world- has never before seen? Will you be my girlfriend?”

“How’s this for an answer, songbird?” Daniela cooed. Then she was lifting your chin from her shoulder, turning her head and bringing you closer. Your lips touch, as gentle as can be. It’s a short kiss, but one radiating with love, that ends with your foreheads pressed against each other. In this moment, you feel like you could stay in her arms for the rest of eternity. “Yes. Absolutely yes, obviously, a thousand times. I could never say no to you, especially not now, with your eyes so desperate for the sight of me, and your lips so begging to be kissed. Now, how about we celebrate, hmm?”

Just as Daphne had predicted, you end up staying awake far too late, but you were all the happier for it.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #is this any good #today was a bit weird #kinda tired sorry

[raziroo]

Cotton Candy

Pairing: Lotor x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Saying "Shit" twice

Word count: 2,076 (yay) (also, I edited this, I still need to update the word count)

Author’s Note: I'm crap at writing dialogues, and this is my first time writing for a gay couple. I'm so sorry if it seems forced or unnatural or shitty. Don't be afraid to call me out.

Story Moodboard!

It’s with a grunt of effort that I manage to lift the carton containing the cotton-candy-maker.

‘Here, dad,’ I say as my dad takes the box from my hands. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yep, that’s all of it. We’ll conquer this carnival with our delicious cotton candy,’ I nod, doing jazz hands while saying the last part. Dad chuckles. I grin.

‘Hey, Honey!’ I turn back, squinting to spot where my other dad is in the crowd of bustling people. Where, where…? Yep, there he is – in his embarrassingly brilliant sunshine yellow and bottle green striped shirt and hot pink trousers, a sharp contrast to his natural bright red hair. Don’t say that it can’t look that bright; you’ll never know just how blindingly bright bottle green can really be until you see the shirt my dad’s wearing. And trust me, he usually dresses in simpler tones; such bland tones that you’d be surprised to know he was capable of wearing colourful hues as well. It’s only that he’s very passionate about his job, and so whenever we set up a booth in fetes such as the current one, he never misses to match the shop logo.

‘Hul-lo, father dearest, how seems to go your day?’

‘Oh, quite lovely, if I do say so.’

‘Well, that’s simply charming –’

‘Alright, enough,’ my other, not redhead dad snaps with an exasperated sort of smile on his visage. You see, my not redhead, a.k.a. brown-haired dad happens to be British. And that means that me and dad would rather paint our teeth blue than to not tease him. ‘You both need to shut it and start helping me with the decorations, now. You know I’m trash at all that.’

‘Aw, now don’t get discouraged,’ I say, patting dad on the back. ‘After all, not everyone can be as blessed as me, can they?’

‘Hey, why don’t you go look around for a bit? You’ve been helping out since before I have.’

‘Yeah, he’s right, pet. You should.’

I huff, rubbing my palms on the fabric of my jeans. ‘You guys sure? I’m not tired, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘We’re not worried, we’re just saying you should also get a look, you know? There’s a lot of surprising booths this time around. I mean, there are aliens participating too, so…’

‘Hmm,’ I play with my bottom lip a little, then, ‘yeah, okay. I’ll be back in like, an hour? Forty five minutes? Sound okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Bye, then.’ And with that, I turn on the heels of my Converse, wandering about the pretty stalls and eager children and kissy couples and aliens with curious features.

It really feels bizarre, just how astonishingly fast mankind has accepted the existence of aliens. It seems simultaneously ages and just a day before when conspiracy theorists raged all around the world, presenting baseless theories and concepts as to why and how the three-man squad on the Kerberos mission disappeared. Then came the Galra, bringing along with them global terror – because alien life, intelligent alien life existed and humanity remained oblivious all these millennia, and now they were actually attacking us. It could’ve been, perhaps even was, in some other dimension, the end of Earth. But then a defender appeared; Voltron appeared in all its glory, bringing along with it proof that however much these purple aliens claim that humans are scum of the universe, humans were, in the grand scheme of things, the ones that saved the universe too.

It feels even more puzzling to actually be on a first-name basis with the leader of Voltron; that’s right, I’m personally acquainted with Keith Kogane. It was around six months after him leaving the Garrison did I come across him. He’d been loitering around the neighbourhood, had ended up in a fistfight with some other kids, and along with that a split lip and bruised cheek. I’d been watching. When the fight ended, I (somehow) persuaded him to come along so that I could at the very least provide him with a band-aid.

Long story short, we’d bonded over how our moms were no-shows and how dads were the best and we became surprisingly close friends; the only difference was that after the death of his old man, he lived alone. I’d been adopted by my two current fathers. I told him about how when they’d initially adopted me, I was excruciatingly shy. I wouldn’t even come out of my room except meals. It was only when I came to know that they knew how to make candy floss had I timidly approached them if I could have some, because previously I’d always been grossed out at the thought of having to eat that. I’d overheard this group of kids saying that cotton candy was actually just dyed granny hair, so that’s where that came from.

I love cotton candy now. So much so, that even at the age of twenty-six, I will pout if someone takes some of mine without my permission. As if I’d ever allow them to.

Speaking of Keith, I haven’t seen him in years. We lost all contact when he turned eighteen, and then he went off into space, and even when he came back, I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I bear no ill will, though. He must have formed some close relationships. Our past friendship is comparatively much more trivial.

I spot a booth selling grilled corn. I instantly head there.

As I’m about join the crowd of humans and aliens who also want corn, a familiar call of my name leads me to pull a three sixty.

Lo and behold. Keith Kogane.

Despite him having obviously grown a lot, the face was still the same. I’m sure that, if he gets a split lip and bruise on his cheek right now, he won’t look all that different.

There’s a questioning hesitance on his features; he’s probably wondering if he’s got the right person. My pleasantly surprised smile and raised eyebrows assure him. As I step away from the grilled corn stall, I notice a motley crowd behind him; some are purple, some are holding Voltron plushies, and some look way too curious to be in a carnival. The introduction is going to be fun.

‘Keith! You're gonna live a hundred years - I was just thinking about you. But anyways, it’s – it’s great to see you,’ I say with a little giggle. ‘Though I am kind of surprised you actually approached me. The sixteen-year-old you would never.’

He smiles awkwardly in return. ‘Y – yeah… I, just… oh God, this is – I’m sorry,’ he says, his inner turmoil evident.

‘It’s all good. I know you’re shit at small talk, so… like, introduce me? Maybe?’

He nods rapidly, brows furrowed. ‘Yeah, um,’ he turns to the people behind him, telling them my name, how we met, the whole affair. I give them a wave. Most of them greet me back.

‘And, this is Shiro and Curtis,’ he points to the tall, white-haired yet young man, holding hands with a tanner guy, ‘Lance, Pidge and Hunk,’ he points to a lanky, bright-smiled guy, a buffer, kind-seeming person, and a short chestnut-haired woman who, despite wearing baggy jeans and a baggier tee, looks somehow better dressed than me. ‘Then that’s Allura, Coran, and Romelle, they’re Alteans,’ a woman with enchanting beauty and a regal aura surrounding her, a redhead who’s significantly older than the rest with an impressive moustache, and a youthful appearing girl with a big grin, ‘and Lotor, he’s Galran. The Galran Emperor, in fact.’ Lotor is a tall, lilac-skinned man with aristocratic features who shares the same cheek markings as the Alteans. Oh, and he’s unfairly gorgeous, his hair a luscious mane of white which I just know will be soft. It’s hard not to stare. You remember how I said Allura looked like royalty? Yeah, the way this man carries himself, he has the aura and visage of a God. Even in a white tee-shirt and jeans he looks way better than should be legal.

I rip my eyes away.

‘So…are Noah and Oliver here too? I’d love to see them. I mean, I never did get to thank them to permit a possible criminal to sleep in their house.’

I laugh. ‘Never mind that, but we actually sit up a stall here. I could, you know, maybe even get you guys something to eat.’

‘Free? Please don’t.’

‘It’s nothing, really, just… I don’t know, accept it as a small thank you present for not letting the planet go to shit.’

A bit of thinking. Even after a nod from Shiro, it was Lance who said yes. Good ol’ Keith.

When we reach the stall, my British dad is the only one we find there. He looks up, about to say something to me, when he notices Keith.

‘Dad. You remember Keith?’

‘Your possible criminal friend who turned out to be the saviour of the universe Keith?’

‘That Keith. He wanted to see you.’

‘Oh? Well then,’ he dusts his hands, stands up, and greets Keith. Both of them engage in a conversation.

‘You guys wanna try something?’

‘What do you got?’ asks Pidge.

‘What do we got? Um, we got chocolates, candy, marshmallows, jellybeans, tortilla chips, ice cream, popcorn – butter, cheese, caramel, peri peri – Lays, like, a lot of Lays, and the good old cotton candy. What d’you want?’

So, after providing the humans with two Cream n’ Onion Lays, a pack of tortilla chips, a double scoop of butterscotch and chocolate, a small tub of popcorn, and three cotton candy sticks, I turned to the aliens.

‘I’m assuming you guys aren’t familiar with a lot of this stuff, so you could either pick whatever looks to be good, ask your friends, or I could recommend something. What’ll it be?’

Romelle was the one who asked, ‘What’s ice cream like?’

‘It’s sweet. It’s cold. And it’s like… heaven in mouth.’

‘Ooh. I want an ice cream. The… pink one?’

‘That’s strawberry. You can eat it in a cone, or in a cup.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well, the cup you can’t eat. The cone is like a crispy biscuit,’ judging by her face, she didn’t know what biscuit was. ‘I’ll just give you a cone. It’s all on the house, so no worries if you don’t like it.’

I watched eagerly as she licked the ice cream. An unreadable look crossed her face. Then – ‘This is almost as good as Hunk’s cookies!’

‘Really?’ Coran asked, twirling his moustache. ‘Well, then…’ he squinted to read the names of the various flavours. ‘I would like “cookies and cream”. Yes.’ A cone of cookies n’ cream was served.

‘Allura?’

‘Do you have something that isn’t sweet?’ That was a plot twist. I’d have taken her as someone who appreciated sweeter foods.

‘We do. You want spicy?’

‘…Sure.’ Peri Peri popcorn was given and enjoyed.

And last… ‘Lotor. What would you like to have?’

It takes me a lot of will to not laugh at Lotor’s way too analytical expression. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Out of all this stuff, candy floss is my favourite.’

‘Candy floss… the item that looks simultaneously like a cloud and an old woman’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I would like a helping of candy floss, then.’

As I hand Lotor a stick of cotton candy, I wait with anticipation for his reaction.

‘How am I supposed to eat this?’

It takes me a moment to process that. ‘Uh, you just… pinch a little of the stuff in between your fingers, then eat it. Or you could just, um, go in directly, which I’m thinking isn’t really your style.’

He narrows his eyes, but follows my instructions nonetheless. Only a second after putting the stuff in his mouth, Lotor purrs.

Everyone around him, being me, Coran and Romelle (Allura’s off telling Lance how great Earth food is), looks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Lotor appears as if he’s just died inside. The berry-shaded blush on his face is adorable, though.

'I didn't, like, poison you or something, right?'

'No. It's that... I would never in my lifetimes have expected something so tooth-rottingly sweet to be this delicious.'

'So you're okay?'

‘Yes. In fact, I quite like… this cotton candy.’

I grin.

#lotor x reader #prince lotor #vld #voltron legendary defender #raziroo #cotton candy #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #shiro #pidge gunderson #katie holt #lance mcclain #hunk garrett #galra #altea #romelle #coran #honerva #zarkon #haggar #lotor in a t shirt tho #huff puff

[no-droids]

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions.  Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic.  There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic.  As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC.  Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction.  The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years.  “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think.  The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing.  Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars.  The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers.  Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber.  The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi.  Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics.  That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order.  The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers.  You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that.  At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility.  Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green.  Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?”  You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction.  “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums.  “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him.  Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage.  Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order.  Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones.  “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment.  “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it.  An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again.  The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does.  Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it.  A mild trepidation.

“I am…”  You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words.  “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him.  “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor.  “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify.  “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle.  “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return.  He always did have that effect on you.  “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach.  “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees.  “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition?  Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod.  “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same.  “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment.  In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature.  Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud.  Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please.  Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease.  Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order.  While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?”  You ask, the throne room doors now in sight.  You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council.  Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors.  “Now.  Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours.  “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar.  He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly.  Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature.  More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth.  You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks.  “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order.  No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright.  “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing.  The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns.  Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi.  You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class.  You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling.  Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do.  A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature.  You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location.  Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor.  Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy.  He went through the subsequent stages with you.  A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters.  Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went.  He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet.  Serenity.  Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean.  Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough?  Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing?  Were you simply just strong in the Force?  Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door.  He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking.  He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?”  A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been.  Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?”  You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…”  He eventually cleared his throat.  “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator.  “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long.  So long since he’s had to correct you in any way.  As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest.  It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way.  You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said.  He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes.  They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention.  It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room.  Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance.  The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around— 

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh.  The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events.  Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place.  The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it.  In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet.  “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you.  “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title.  She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods.  “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking.  “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time.  However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you.  “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words.  The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi.  There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move.  However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns.  “However.  As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence.  Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…”  She tilts her chin at you, considering.  “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war.  What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong.  This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars.  Full stop.  Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature.  “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically.  “My terms are simple, really.  All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you.  “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours.  “Thought I saw you back there.  Shall I elaborate?  I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.  

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out.  You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter.  Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you.  “Please.”

What?

You?  He wants you to leave?  But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation.  Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it?  Openly?  In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you.  “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned.  Your Master has never spoken to you this way.  You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud.  But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through.  Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course.  Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth.  He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult.  He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification.  He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts.  “Do you really still view her as a Padawan?  But she’s such a pretty girl.  And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts.  “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?”  Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Maker, he’s getting a headache.  “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne.  “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago.  There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges.  “And now we are grown.  Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs.  “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi.  The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people.  I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen.  But I fear that will not be enough.  The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities.  The Council will never agree to such measures.  There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience.  “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!”  The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration.  “I cannot make them fight!  They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake!  These traditions have lasted for millennia!  Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges.  “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs.  “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never…  It’s forbidden.  And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?”  He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature.  The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh.  “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually.  I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing.  However.  You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement.  This is the best I can do.  Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze.  “I… I don’t know.  I must confer with the Council first.  But… but with their permission…”  He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods.  “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise.  Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort.  He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before.  He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on.  “No matter.  What of the girl, then?  A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows.  “The girl?  What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly.  “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward.  “No, that wasn’t the deal.  The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual.  She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?”  She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room.  “Is that how you Jedi treat your women?  Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’?  Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way.  He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out.  Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order.  By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions.  You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully.  “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?”  She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment.  “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation?  There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her.  When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her.  “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding.  “Clever.  Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords.  But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage.  My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you.  I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now.  “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet.  But.  At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face.  Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?”  He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare.  “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?”  She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him.  “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand.  It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once.  He’s getting whiplash.  “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan.  Come now, don’t be daft.”  She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being.  “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs.  “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times.  We still send them, of course, as is tradition.  We have for a few centuries at least.  A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind.  She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies.  “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her.  “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?”  She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes.  “I see.  Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure.  Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice.  He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach.  “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this.  “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor.  “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.”  She almost sounds… impressed.  “Think, Obi-Wan.  Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight?  The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset?  The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her?  The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her.  To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another.  Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core.  Stars.  I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor.  “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan.  Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed.  If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?”  He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide.  “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance.  This was the only way.  And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay.  My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor.  You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories.  “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…”  He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?”  She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation.  “We are of similar age, correct?  Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps.  “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her.  “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully.  “She’s loyal.  She thinks much higher of me than I deserve.  She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare.  “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her.  After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course.  I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did.  And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.”  She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together.  “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it.  This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her?  My, the scandal it would cause!”  The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne.  “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master?  In my good temple?  Shame!  Shame!  Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?”  Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation.  “The youngling I raised?  The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.”  s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics.  “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan.  I did.  And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature.  Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth.  Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi.  Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury.  But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?”  You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred.  “Padawan?  Is that what he thinks of me?  That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child.  And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General.  You are a Consular.  You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs.  Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response.  You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity.  But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate.  Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still.  You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself.  Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life.  Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this?  This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion?  It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them.  It’s not fury, not anymore.  It isn’t sadness, either.  You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize.  That’s what this must be.  You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you.  You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi.  This is hurt.  Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches.  You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible.  So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.  

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice.  A peacekeeper.  A dove.  When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying.  “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why.  You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you.  For an eternity, he looks at you.  Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it.  “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room.  I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council.  Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters?  And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds.  “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year.  Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order.  “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon.  None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation.  Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?”  He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate.  Yes.  Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea.  “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly.  “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion.  “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi.  This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order.  May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.  

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good.  This is, in fact, very much a disaster.  This is a mess.  This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.  

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker.  First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation.  Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier.  Stars—he handled this terribly.  He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed?  Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone.  He should meditate.  He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts.  It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this.  He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there.  Sitting there, empty.  This is good, really.  Truly, this is a good thing.  A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really.  No, this just feels… grey.  Desaturated.  Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers.  This time you don’t look at him, though.  You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence.  You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state.  Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands.  You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before.  So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other.  His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you.  A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you.  You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak.  Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft.  “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you.  This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf.  Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself.  “Well, no—I don’t.  I don’t understand, but.  Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale.  “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused.  “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…”  You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible.  “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly.  Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far.  “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…”  Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud.  He still hasn’t looked at you.  “I find myself… wishing you were.  That we could go back to those days, the days before the war.  Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them.  The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one.  I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now.  In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign.  I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology.  “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him.  It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it.  Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee.  “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you.  Finally.  For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful.  “Ask.  Please.  That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more.  “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake.  Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor.  “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate.  The Uncharted Regions are… different.  They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic.  It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year.  The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask.  It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity.  “…What is…”  Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet.  “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap.  “Ah.  Yes.  That.  Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh.  Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more.  “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other.  Openly.  Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act.  In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform.  It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler.  He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you.  Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this.  And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission.  You understand now, you get it.

“Ah.  Okay.  And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?”  Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers.  “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once.  Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest.  Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial?  Are you hallucinating?  Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever.  How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage?  And yet never has one been so incredibly creative.  Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh.  Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time.  It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity.  This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter.  To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions.  Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really.  Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?”  You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you.  And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there.  He sees it.  Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say?  What did he say?  He tries quickly to remember.  That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to… 

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake.  He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours.  He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion.  You.  The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be.  The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right.  Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.”  Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you.  “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one.  And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically.  “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads.  “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through.  So he doesn’t try to hide it.  He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully.  You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years.  You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in.  You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter.  And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair?  The one with the fingernails?”  You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot.  “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?”  Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—?  People don’t—??”  You wave your hands around uselessly.  “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?”  He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise?  I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,”  you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much.  “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance.  He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often.  It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student.  Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody.  Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why.  Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them.  She gets bored, see.  Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions.  She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him.  “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly.  “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be.  It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?”  You eventually ask.  “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed?  That’s it?  No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod.  “No other options.  I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could.  It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same.  Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes.  Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay.  Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being.  “Well, what are—what are your… concerns?  Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet.  He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory.  He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why?  Why are you able to be so… calm about this?  Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is?  When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical.  Are virgins typically so considerate?  Is he just being over-dramatic about this?  Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself?  Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why?  Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?”  You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes.  Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to.  It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing.  You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead.  “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small.  “I don’t know.  Not make any sounds?  Or hide my face?  Or… something?”

“You’re…”  Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them.  “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal.  I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think?  That this isn’t a ‘big deal’?  He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him.  Terrible.  On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side.  On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong.  Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly.  “I… No.  No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway.  A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour.  It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic.  “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence.  The translator turns back to you both.  “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet.  “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation.  He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables.  “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi.  If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what?  Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters.  “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly.  “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer.  You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him.  “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past  few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly.  “Either way.  Not a big deal.”

It’s strange.  He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected.  Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet… 

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic.  He’s certainly not being fair to you.  He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat.  “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time.  Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars.  Initiate the what?  Is this a self-destruct sequence?  It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly.  “Uh.  I guess.  Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally.  Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave.  “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars.  He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

#obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #fanfic #self insert #no-droids

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

AO3 mirror

So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot. 

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs. 

Just imagine: 

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly. 

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #tomura shigaraki imagines #gender nuetral reader #slight manga spoilers #bee.writes

[robininthelabyrinth]

what if Jiang Cheng is the one in the arranged marriage with Jin Zixuan (maybe an au where birth order matters more than gender?)

ao3

“Well, no one cares what you think!” Jin Zixun shouted, and Jin Zixuan flinched, already knowing that this was going to end in disaster. His older cousin – his father’s favorite of the lot – was mean at the best of times, and when he was angry, he was especially cruel. A kid like Jiang Cheng, barely nine, wouldn’t be able to deal with him. “You’ll never made anything of yourself, anyway; the best thing you’ll ever be is A-Xuan’s wife!”

That was worse, somehow, than Jin Zixuan had thought it would be. Maybe because his name was invoked – maybe because Jiang Cheng looked as though he’d been slapped in the face, his eyes filling with unshed tears, and when his fist found its way to Jin Zixun’s face a moment later, Jin Zixuan thought that it was completely deserved.

Afterwards, when they’d all split off their own ways, he went to find Jiang Cheng.

He didn’t need to, he knew, but – he’d liked Jiang Cheng, at least a little.

He was the same age as Jin Zixuan, a little boy like him, even if he was the second child and not the heir the way Jin Zixuan was. He’d been laughing about something when Jin Zixuan first saw him, something whispered to him by his older sister, a plain girl recognizable only by her Jiang sect colors, but he’d straightened up the second he’d seen them walking into the room, putting on a serious expression, and Jin Zixuan had suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of oh you have to deal with this too that he’d never felt before in his life.

All of his so-called friends thought it was great to be the son of the sect leader, but they didn’t have to go to the terrible parties and stand there being shown off to people all night; they actually complained that they didn’t get to go.

He didn’t think Jiang Cheng would complain like that.

Maybe they could be friends, he thought, hopefully. Real friends, not pretend; friends that stayed together because they liked each other and not because their parents needed a political connection –

And then, less than a shichen after they’d been ushered off to go play together by adults who had better things to be doing, Jin Zixun’d managed to ruin everything. Again.

It didn’t take long to find Jiang Cheng.

They’re in Jinlin Tower, which meant that there weren’t many places Jiang Cheng could go that Jin Zixuan couldn’t find him – not like the Lotus Pier, which was an impassable maze even in the guest quarters that they’d taken special care to try to make nice and orderly for the one time they’d tried unsuccessfully to visit – and it turned out he hadn’t gone all that far, just ducked into a nearby guest room that was tidied up even though no one used it.

Jiang Cheng was curled up next to a window, his whole body looking especially small. He wasn’t even looking out of it, but he still gave off the impression of being on the verge of jumping out, or even just that he’d be blown away by the wind.

He wasn’t actually all that small – maybe a bit short for a nine-year-old, maybe a bit more slender, but his father and mother were both tall and that meant he probably would be, too, given time.

“You shouldn’t listen to Zixun,” Jin Zixuan said, and Jiang Cheng looked at him, red-eyed. “He’s dumb. All he ever does is say mean things, and they’re never true.”

“S’true, though, isn’t it?” Jiang Cheng said. “I’m the one that has to marry in, ‘cause I’m second, not first. I’ve got to leave Lotus Pier, go to Jinlin Tower…”

Marry you. Be the official wife. Smile and bear it and host your parties while you’re off fucking someone else – multiple someones – to get kids for the inheritance. Never have children of my own, but instead be stuck raising your bastards for you…

Jiang Cheng didn’t say any of that, of course, but Jin Zixuan knew.

After all, he’d overheard his mother and her friend – former friend – fighting over it. Madame Yu wanted to break the engagement when it turned out that the girl had come first and the boy second, since her husband was refusing to flip the order and marry Jiang Yanli out instead, and his mother had refused, the lure of the Yunmeng Jiang’s power more potent than their old friendship. 

Caustic words had been said. Words he probably should have been too young to understand, words that maybe Jiang Cheng didn’t get yet, but…well.

His mother had always been very clear about all the things she hated about her life.

And now she was going to force the same life onto someone else.

“I don’t think my parents would agree to let me be the one to marry in,” he said, almost wishing he could. Sure, then he’d have to be the one living his mother’s horrible life, but at least there was something familiar about that type of suffering – he’d spent his whole life hearing about it, after all, hearing about it over and over and over again until it almost felt like he’d lived it himself. 

He thought he could bear up with living that terrible life.

He wasn’t so sure he could bear up with being the one to cause it.

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Why would you want to?” He squinted up at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me that Jinlin Tower is great and I shouldn’t worry because being your wife will be great, too, or something like that?”

“I have no idea if being my wife is great,” Jin Zixuan said blankly, out of lack of anything better to say. He probably should have said something like that. “I’ve never had one before.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then for some reason they both started sniggering uncontrollably.

“Of course you don’t have a wife, you’re nine,” Jiang Cheng said, giggling. “Even I know that nine year olds don’t have wives! And anyway, if you did, it’d be me, wouldn’t it? It’s not like they’re just, I dunno, handing out practice wives.”

“I wish they’d hand out practice wives,” Jin Zixuan confessed, covering his eyes. “That way I could be sure I wouldn’t…you know…”

“Screw up?”

“Yeah.”

Was Jiang Cheng going to judge him? Should Jin Zixuan have kept that to himself, pretended that everything was under control…?

But Jiang Cheng was nodding. “I wish they made practice everything,” he said emphatically, and Jin Zixuan drooped in relief, coming to sit on the floor next to Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t actually allowed to sit on floors, not even clean ones, but he was also supposed to be hosting Jiang Cheng, so if anyone asked that was going to be his excuse. “It’s so hard to get things right on the first try.”

“No one gets things right on the first try,” Jin Zixuan said.

“Wei Wuxian does,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Who’s he?”

“He’s my shixiong,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s – kind of complicated. His parents were friends with my dad, before they died.”

- well at least I managed to keep my husband from bringing home a bastard!

Right. That kind of complicated.

His mother always told him he had to be the most careful around bastards – that they would be smart and pretend to be nice, try to get him to like them, while in reality they’d be scheming against him in the dark, maybe even try to kill him, so they could get what he had and they didn’t. Jin Zixuan figured the same had to be true for Jiang Cheng, and he felt sorry for him.

“Well, you seem good enough to me,” he said firmly. “When you’re my wife, I’ll treat you right.”

He would, too. He wouldn’t go around with other women, wouldn’t come home smelling of them, wouldn’t rub what he was doing in Jiang Cheng’s face and laugh until Jiang Cheng lost his cool and started throwing things – of course, there was always the question of the inheritance, but maybe when he had to find himself a woman, he could try to find Jiang Cheng a woman of his own, too, someone he liked, and those children could be surnamed Jiang. 

Maybe they could find one they both liked and share.  

“I don’t know what’s so bad about being ‘just’ someone’s wife, anyway,” Jin Zixuan added. “I mean, my mom’s the scariest person I know, except maybe for your mom, and they’re both wives.”

Jiang Cheng grinned. “Yeah, that’s right. Next time that big old bully says anything, I’ll tell him to repeat that where my mom can hear it, see what he does then…uh, no offense about the bully thing. I know he’s your cousin.”

“I don’t like him either,” Jin Zixuan admitted.

“Then you’ve got good taste,” Jiang Cheng said, and Jin Zixuan preened. His first ever compliment from his wife!

“I know we’re only hanging out together because our parents said we had to,” Jin Zixuan said, suddenly feeling brave. “But maybe we could…maybe…”

“Be friends?”

He nodded.

Jiang Cheng thought about it, crinkling his nose as he did. Jin Zixuan waited patiently.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng finally decided. “But only if you help me prank Jin Zixun to get back at him.”

“Deal!” Jin Zixuan exclaimed, then hesitated. “I’ve never pranked anyone before, though…”

“I’ll teach you!” Jiang Cheng scrambled to his feet, then stopped as if struck by a sudden thought. “Do you like dogs?”

“Dogs?” Jin Zixuan repeated blankly. “They’re well enough, I guess…you have three, right?”

He’d seen glimpses of them when he’d visited the Lotus Pier last year, when they were supposed to have first met except Jiang Cheng got sick with a stomach illness right before their visit, throwing up and everything, and Jin Zixuan’s mom had refused to let him anywhere near him.

Jiang Cheng scowled, and suddenly his eyes were welling up with tears again, causing Jin Zixuan to panic again even though he was pretty sure it wasn’t his fault this time. 

“I used to,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “But Wei Wuxian’s scared of dogs, so my father had them sent away. I was just thinking…never mind. It was stupid.”

Jin Zixuan bit his lip. It wasn’t a good sign that Jiang Cheng’s father was already favoring his bastard over his son, not at all, not when fathers had all the power in the cultivation world. Not when even his mother, proud and fierce and famous for cowing his father with thrown pottery and fits of temper, was in the end helpless to stop him – she couldn’t make him stop humiliating her, couldn’t make him stop going out and having all those bastards. She stopped him from bringing them home, but she couldn’t stop him where it mattered, because all he had to do was threaten to make one of them the heir instead of Jin Zixuan.

He wouldn’t, because he needed her maternal family’s support, but he could.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to his mother, it wasn’t fair to Jin Zixuan, and it wasn’t fair to Jiang Cheng, either. And it especially wasn’t fair that he was already being replaced – and just when Jin Zixuan was starting to feel better about the marriage, too!

The whole arranged marriage deal didn’t seem so bad if it was going to be with Jiang Cheng, who seemed pretty nice. Jin Zixuan didn’t want to have to start all over again with another boy, especially not a bastard.

“If you know where they are, you could send your dogs here to live with me,” Jin Zixuan suggested, feeling suddenly spontaneous in a way he almost never did, and Jiang Cheng turned to him with wide eyes. “That way you’d have a reason to come visit a lot, and your father could see that we were getting along.”

It would remind Sect Leader Jiang that their marriage could be broken by either side at any time, if they were unhappy – show him that they were committed, that they wouldn’t accept inferior goods in Lanling. Maybe it could help convince him to keep Jiang Cheng and his mother instead of swapping them out.

“I was just thinking I could introduce you, but that’s even better!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, looking excited. “You’re serious?”

“Sure,” Jin Zixuan said. He had an entire palace of his own back in Jinlin Tower, full of rooms he never used meant to host as guests all the friends he didn’t have. They could put the dogs in some of those, hire someone to take care of them – feed them, walk them, brush them, whatever needed to be done for dogs. If there was one thing Jinlin Tower didn’t lack, it was servants to do things. “But you have to come visit them. Without bringing Wei Wuxian.”

That way, even if this Wei Wuxian person used his bastard tricks to pull the wool over Jiang Cheng’s eyes to make him think that they were friends even as he stole away Jiang Cheng’s birthright in secret - Jin Zixuan’s mother had warned him - there’d still be a way to show how important it was to keep Jiang Cheng as the legitimate son. They might have just met, but it was pretty clear to Jin Zixuan already that Jiang Cheng was way too friendly and nice to know how to properly guard himself – someone would have to do the work for him.

And who else, if not his husband?

“Don’t worry about Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said. “He won’t go anywhere if he thinks there’ll be dogs. You’ll really do it?”

“I’ll talk to my parents,” Jin Zixuan promised – he was only nine, there were limits to what he could actually do – but Jiang Cheng seemed to think that was enough. He smiled at him, and Jin Zixuan smiled back.

Maybe this could work out.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #okay it's not JZX and his two brides #but it was in the queue so I moved it up #Anonymous

[kaitycole]

Love Two: the hard love

Summary: Miya Atsumu is an adventure and a half which is exciting for you after a mundane high school relationship. But what price has to be paid in order for you to be in his world?

Parings: Atsumu x Reader

Word Count: 7187 (my apologies)

Warnings: Angst. Toxic relationship tropes. Toxic behaviors. Slight physical violence (towards the end - it’s a wrist grab and a slap). Adult language.

Rating: 16+

A/N: This series is based on an article that talks about how in live, most of us experience three types of love. I’ll link the article in the series master post for anyone who wants to read it!

Golden yellow hair.

Chocolate brown eyes.

Burnt cinnamon cologne.

These images burn into your mind as tears sting your dry eyes. You swallow hard, trying to get the lump in your throat to dislodge but it only reminds you of how dry your throat is, how sore it is from screaming. Your head lays heavy on your pillow, a dull ache wraps around your head and you aren’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or the crying you’ve done over the last three days.

You two had a fight, another fight, the same old fight. You screamed, he brushed it off, leaving in a rush and slamming the door while you slid down the doorframe, sobbing. You thought that you’d be used to this, the constant up and downs that came with loving Miya Atsumu, the rollercoaster of emotions that came with the cycle of being together, breaking up and then getting back together. You’d been doing it for three years now, on and off again, but never being off for long before he dragged you back into his arms, not that you ever refused.

Your head hangs to the side as you slowly push yourself off the floor, your body too tired after fighting to climb into your bed the night before. For a moment you consider crawling down the hall before your pride takes over as you stand up, legs stiff but wobbly at the same time as your feet drag you to the couch in the living room. You aren’t sure what time it is, your eyes slowly adjusting to the large amount of sunlight coming into the apartment, the apartment he surprised you with and you had loved, now it felt like a prison.

Your phone starts buzzing and when you look, there’s several notifications from your two best friends Kaneko Yua and Higashi Naoki. You shuffle to the kitchen, grabbing a cup as you perch your phone between your shoulder and cheek, filling you cup with tap water.

“Y/N! Where are you?” Yua’s voice is too loud for the linger ache in your head, you jerk the phone from your ear to turn the volume down.

You chug down the ice-cold water that does nothing to remove the dryness from your mouth or throat, it’s as if it’s been coated in a thick layer of cotton. “Apartment.”

She’s silent for a minute, you can hear her mumbling to someone next to her. There’s a muffled sound coming from her end before a new voice comes through the line, fresh tears prick your eyes when you recognize it’s Naoki.

“We’re coming over, don’t leave.”

*                      * Three years ago

Your high school days had been filled with volleyball matches, practices, tournaments and while you have no ill feelings towards the sport or the boy who brought it into your life, you just hoped university would broaden your horizons.

Yet here you stood at a MSBY Fan Greet, your younger brother all but vibrating with excitement as he waited to get his overprice photograph signed by his favorite team. You previously made plans to hang-out with Yua over the spring break, but since your parents both couldn’t take him, your brother guilted you with the  “but I miss hanging out with you” card and puppy dog eyes.

“For you.” His accent coats his words, passing you small folded piece of paper before your brother makes his way down the line to the next player for an autograph, tugging at your pants for you to follow his lead.

** “Wanna get something from the vending machine before the next class?” Yua asks. Kaneko Yua became your friend when you both started university last year, the two of you quickly became the best of friends even though the only interests you share is in your shared Art History major.

“I’m done for the day.” You tilt your head, smiling right before you stick your tongue out at her.

She throws her head back, groaning as you continue to walk, “how’d you get such a good schedule.”

“Told you to take those early morning classes.” You wink before running into her as she suddenly stops. “Yua-ch—”

Golden yellow hair and a cocky smile catch your attention as he leans against a flash sports car in the library parking lot. Yua looks at you, her eyes wide, you had mentioned that you got his number a few weeks ago to her, but that nothing but short conversation came from the exchange which only lasted a few days.

“Y/N!” He calls out to you, obnoxiously waving one arm up in the air to catch your attention, it does, along with the rest of the student body that’s outside.

He starts walking over to you and Yua, pulling off his sunglasses you see that dark chocolate eyes that captured your (e/c) ones just weeks ago. Your heart is thumping against your chest as he quickly closes that gap that has been between you, a short arm’s distance away from him. You can smell his cologne, it’s a strong smell, something similar to burnt cinnamon being carried by the wind the circles around you.

Yua looks at you for answers but you couldn’t give her any if you even tried. You find yourself swallowed whole by his dark eyes, feeling like you’re about to sink. “M-Miya-san?”

“Atsumu.” He smirks, “sorry for just showing up. I was in the neighborhood and thought we could go get something to eat. You aren’t busy, are you?”

“No, she’s not.” Yua nudges your arm, bringing you back to reality, “she’s actually all finished for the day.”

“What do you say? Will you come with me?” He reaches out his hand and you almost immediately take it and maybe you should’ve been more cautious, after all this wasn’t like it was in high school.

** The first few months with Atsumu are blissful, perfect and you start to wonder if this is what you were missing back with Ushijima. Every day with Atsumu is an adventure, you never know what to expect which is a sharp contrast to that same day everyday feeling you had back in high school. He keeps you on your toes and you love it, you eat it up, spending all your free time with him and it shows when you get back a test with a failing mark.

“Budding romances aren’t the most important thing in life, Y/N.” Your professor speaks low when he places the paper on the desk, he doesn’t have to tell you how he feels about it, disappointment drips from his words.

Atsumu didn’t offer much help on the subject either, simply shrugging at it and telling you that there’s always the next test. “Let’s go out.” “I really should study, ‘Tsumu.” You tilt your head back to look up at him, he’s sitting on the couch behind you.

He says your name, dragging out each syllable, “it’s the last night I can. I have an away game that I leave for on Friday.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” “Must have forgot.” He looks down at his phone, “coming or not?”

You know that you shouldn’t have gone, that studying is more important, but him leaving meant that you’d be apart for the first time and he had that lopsided pout on his face, so you agree. Grabbing your jacket and following him out the door as he drapes an arm around you, “I can always count on you.”

*                      * Two years and four months ago

“I’m gonna kill him!” Yua shouts as she walks into your dorm room. She practically ran from her part-time job in the library to your dorm when you called her, unable to talk from crying so loudly. While she took the elevator up to your room, she managed to see the text explaining the cause of your distress and is fuming.

“You’ll…go…to jail.” You finally manage to spit out, the sobs and hiccups breaking up your words as you wipe your running nose on your sweatshirt sleeve. Usually Yua would scold you, telling you just how disgusting that it, but tonight she just sits next to you, letting you lean on her shoulder.

She gently rubs your arm as she wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to her side, “maybe I’ll key that fancy car of his.”

“I think it’s his brother’s.”

“Deflate his balls!”

“Yua!”

“Volleyballs, get your head out of the gutter.” She smiles when you let out a small laugh. She leans her head down on yours and you are thankful that you’re close enough for the silence to be comfortable, for certain things to be left unsaid.

*                      * Two years and two months ago

The next few weeks seem to drag by, each day seemingly longer than the last. Yua has all but moved into your dorm, refusing to leave your side for more than the duration of classes. With her there, you realize even more that your phone hasn’t gone off, there’s no surge of messages coming through from a certain setter. Things take a bit of a turn when you hear a nearby conversation, two girls gushing about some famous model getting into a relationship to a volleyball player.

But it’s that said volleyball player’s name that anchors your feet to the ground, that name that echoes in your ears while your lungs struggle to take in the air you want to force into them.

Miya Atsumu

Yua essentially banned the use of his name or anything related to him into your life and for better or worse you’ve both manage to uphold it, especially seeing how with his newest brand deal, his face is everywhere just like Michael Jordan’s was in the U.S. during the 90’s. Somehow, you manage to avoid it, until now when your body seems to act on its own and you’re sudden reading several headlines confirming the match.

*                      * Two years ago

“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Yua looks at you, worry etched on her expression, “I don’t have to go to this guest speaking event.”

“Yua, you’ve been talking about this for weeks, you’re going.”

“Promise to call if you need me to come back? I’m only going to Tokyo, so I can get back within three hours.”

“Yes, yes, I promise.” You make a “shoo” gesture with your hand, walking towards her as she picks up her back to leave. You pull her into a quick hug, reassuring her that everything will be fine for one weekend.

** You let out a dramatic sigh, towel drying your hair as you walk out of the bathroom and towards your bed.

8PM on a Friday and I’m getting ready for bed, lame.

You’re slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks when the music you’ve been playing gets interrupted by a phone call. Within much thought, assuming it’s Yua, you answer, only to stop in your tracks when a familiar and husky voice calls your name.

“Y/N!” Each syllable of your name is drawn out with a slight lag, a telltale sign that he’s intoxicated.

If Yua was there, she would tell you to just hang up and block the number, that you had been doing better lately and should just let someone else deal with it, but Yua isn’t there and you feel that it must mean something if you had been the one he called.  Drunken words are sober thoughts, right?

His drunken voice and repeated plea of your name is enough to melt you, enough to make you throw all rational thought out the window, quickly throwing on a hoodie, rushing to the address he barely slurred out.

Fortunately, the restaurant he is at isn’t too far from your dorm, however it is embarrassing when you walk in and could hear him across the room, shouting for you.

“Atsumu.”

He quickly turns to you, that sloppy grin of his piercing you in the heart as he stumbles over to throw his arms around you. The scent of alcohol hits you before he does, leaving you to wonder just how much he’s had as you stagger backwards a bit before steadying the both of you. You just barely get the both of you to a cab, his constant swaying challenging you until you’re able to shove him in the vehicle, hesitating when asked where they were taking you. You didn’t know where he was staying these days, you still weren’t sure what he was doing in Kyoko, so you settle for the only address you know to go.

** “Are you serious?” Yua shouts, all but pulling out her hair.

Three weeks. That’s how long Atsumu had been back in your life and how long your best friend had been in the dark about it. You wanted to tell her about the night Atsumu called drunk, but felt it was best to do it in person since it was such a touchy subject, but when she got back, she was still so excited about the speaker and to tell you about it, you lost your nerve.

Then as the days continued to go by, you kept coming up with a reason not to tell her. What you weren’t expecting was her for to just show up out of the blue or for a fresh out of the shower Atsumu to answer the door. You felt confrontation coming and that was something you weren’t a huge fan of.

“I know it looks bad, but I can explain.”

Yua shakes her head, her lips in a straight line, foot tapping on the tile flooring. “This is why you’ve been cutting classes and missing assignments.”

“I don’t see how this is your business at all.” Atsumu glances over at Yua, an amused smirk on his lips, “jealousy doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

Yua turns abruptly on her heel, storming out of the dorm room and when you grab her arm, there’s tears in her eyes when she turns to face you.

“He’s changed, Yua.” There’s such a hopeful look on your face, an expression that screams that you actually believe him.

She drags her arm across her eyes, wiping away the tears, “why can’t you see he’s not good for you!”

*                      * 1 year and 10 months ago

The shuffling of your peers is lost on you, motionlessly staying in your seat as all of those around you practically bolt out after the 55 minutes long public speaking class. Your eyes are trained on the board in front of you but the notebook on your desk is unopened, your pen still capped.

It takes a few moments for you to notice the weight of the hand on your shoulder and the back and forth motion it's pushing you in. Shaking your head, you snap out of whatever daze you’ve been in and look over to see Naoki with a concerned expression on his face.

“Do you need to see the nurse?”

You shake your head, “oh, no. I was just thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow at the quick smile you throw his way before he sighs, giving into your excuse, even after only knowing each other a few months, Naoki knew when to just let things go.

“Good morn—You aren’t Yua.” You stopped your greeting when you noticed the shuffling at the chair next to you wasn’t Yua but someone you’d never seen before.

“Oh no, sorry. I’m Higashi Naoki, I just transferred here.” He gave you a big bright smile, extending his hand out.

“Uh, oh, hello.” You felt embarrassment creep up the back of your neck as you awkwardly shook his hand. Luckily your phone vibrated, allowing you to focus your attention to something else other than the rather attractive brunette sitting next to you.

You read the words on the screen, somewhat understood the meaning of them but your mind kept going back to the warm orange brown eyes that looked at you with such kindness. They reminded you of the way you felt back in high school, the way that Ushijima made sure you always felt: safe.

To your surprise, Yua had already met Naoki, they shared the glass before this one and Yua was actually excited that you two had ended up meeting. After that, the three of you were fast friends, almost as if you had all been friends for years rather than just several weeks. But not everyone was excited for your new friendship and he had no problem being very vocal about it.

Atsumu wasn’t keen on the friendship when he randomly showed up to the campus one day, seeing the two of you sitting outside, laughing. You had to run after him, he took off without letting you even introduce Naoki, trying to tell him that he was just a friend, but Atsumu seemed to already have his mind made up on what was what.

A week later, after not hearing from Atsumu you got a message from him telling you that he needed to dedicate himself more to his team, his career and being in a relationship with you just wasn’t it.

“You can copy my notes during lunch, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Nao-chan!” You smile up at him while shoving your things into your backpack. He clears his throat, blush spreading across his cheeks as he turns away from you.

** Professor A: Missing Assignments

Professor B: Make-up Test Notice

Professor C: Mandatory Advisor Meeting

XMail: Unread Messages (12)

You feel a pit in your stomach, not wanting to read the emails, already knowing the disappointed messages they held. You hadn’t been your best self lately especially when it came to your studies and had several unfinished assignments and 0’s in the gradebook. It wasn’t like this was the first time you and Atsumu had been broken up but for some reason, each time felt worse than the previous time.

Leaning back, you let out a deep sigh as you glance around at the boxes that liter the room. After you and Atsumu broke up the most recent time, Yua managed to convince you to move into her off-campus apartment. At first you didn’t like the idea, not wanting to be a burden to her or cause anyone to think anything of her with you living with her, but she wouldn’t heard anything but yes. She told you that she had the space (her parents insisted on getting her a two bedroom even though it was just her) and it was easier for her to keep an eye on you.

There are still some things that are in boxes, mostly things from Atsumu that you didn’t want to toss out, but didn’t think should be on display either. Plus, with all the catching up you had to do, there wasn’t much time for anything else especially with the schedule that Yua had made for you. The two of you shared most classes, so she had all the notes and study guides you needed and to be honest, it helped keep your mind off a certain MSBY setter.

BZZT!

Nao-chan: I’m heading up, let me in! (1:42PM)

A smile spreads across your face, pushing yourself from the desk and quickly slipping out of your room and towards the door. By the time you open it, you see him walking up the hallway and he flashes you his signature smile when his eyes meet yours.

“Nao-chan!” You crash into him, wrapping him into a hug, one that he returns effortlessly.

“What have I done to get such a warm welcome?”

“I can’t just miss you?” You tilt your head when you look up at him, stepping away from him to look him in the eye. You hold back a laugh when you see his face turn red, turning his face away from you before mumbling something along the lines of “yeah, no, that’s fine.”

You bring back two cups of juice (Yua refused to let soda into the apartment) and notice that Naoki seems to be nervous, wringing his hands together and looking down at the ground which is different that he usually acts.

“Nao-chan, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, uhm, well I wanted to ask you something.” He makes eye contact with you and you nod for him to continue, “I bought these and thought we could go together.”

He pulls something out of the inside pocket of his jacket, passing it to you and for a second your blood runs cold, eyes scanning over the item picking up the word ‘volleyball’. By the warmth suddenly on your arm, you could tell that Naoki sensed your discomfort.

“Forget it, it was a dumb idea.”

“No! It’s not, it’s just…uhm…”

“I just thought that it might be a good way to get out of the apartment and it’s an Adlers’ game so maybe you’d seen your friend.”

You scrunch your brows together before looking back at the tickets. It was for a game between the Schweiden Adlers and Tachibana Red Falcons, a smile spread across your face, a mix of excitement to see Ushijima play again (his play style is still one of your favorites) but also that Naoki remembered these little facts about you.

“I’d love to go. I’ll call Ushijima and tell him we’ll be there!” You give him a quick hug, rushing to your room to get your phone, leaving a smiling Naoki behind.

** Naoki smiles watching you all but vibrate as you wait in line to go into the gym. The game had been all you talked about for the last two weeks, eager to get out of the apartment for anything other than classes or your on-campus job. You spent most of your free time telling Naoki just how amazing Ushijima is on the court and how he had already asked to meet Naoki, who seemed a bit nervous when you mentioned that.

“I didn’t know you liked watching volleyball, Nao-chan. Did you play in school?”

“Oh, uh no. The person I’m interested in likes it, so I thought I’d learn more about it.” He hands over the tickets, the two of you being ushered into to the building. His shoulder brushes yours due to the large amount of people all in the crowed hallway.

“I didn’t know you had your eye on someone! I’ll teach you all I know about volleyball so you can impress them!” You beam a huge smile at Naoki before your attention is pulled to the other side of the hallway. “Nao-chan! Let’s get t-shirts!”

He follows you as you drag him towards a table set up with shirts to memorialize the game. You intended to get matching ones, but due to size differences, you had a settle with a white shirt for you and a black on for Naoki. After you reluctantly let him pay, the two of you make your way to the gym, Ushijima had seats held for the two of you.

Once the whistle blew, you were back in your element, a huge smile on your face watching Ushijima command the court just like he had been for as long as you could remember. For the first time in years, you feel light and free, happier than you can remember being. Ushijima catches your eye at some point during the second set and you eagerly wave to him, giving him that same toothy grin you did as kids.

** “Toshi!” You barely give him time to turn around, running straight into him as you throw your arms around him, both Toshi and Naoki chuckle at the fact you managed to knock Toshi off balance for a few seconds.

“Y/N.” He pulls you into his broad chest and if you hadn’t known him for years, you wouldn’t believe that this tall and muscular man was the same boy who ran around with a watering can that was almost as big as him. “I’m glad you came today, it’s been a while.”

“Since high school.” You bite your lower lip and notice that Toshi squeezes your arm, a gesture he’d do to comfort you. He gives you a reassuring wink, letting you know that there’s no hard feelings about the past before he looks over at Naoki, “are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

“Oh no! No, no, no.” You stumble over your words, frantically waving your hands around.

“I’m Higashi Naoki, nice to meet you.”

“Nao-chan is just a friend.”

Linking your arm with his, you look back at him and see his smile drop for a split second before it reappears while shaking hands with Ushijima but that quickly leaves your mind when you see a familiar poof of orange hair. But before you can take the time to figure out who he is, you hear an accent that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget.

“Just friends, huh?”

Your eyes widen in horror, immediately turning and seeing the familiar sight of golden yellow hair walking away from you.

“Y/N—” Naoki reaches out to grab your arm, but you’ve already started running after Atsumu, calling out his name as you rushed to catch up to him, weaving through the crowded hallways.

“Tsumu!” You finally grab ahold of his wrist, trying to pull him back but instead he just yanks you forward as he tries to get his arm away from you.

“Don’t call me that.” His tone is icy with an expression that matches, “why are you even here?”

“I came to see Tos—Ushijima.”

“I mean why are you here talking to me, you are clearly on a date with what’s his face.”

“Nao-chan? We’re just friends, it was just to get out of the apartment and have fun.” Your voice is trembling, bottom lip quivering listening to the harsh tone of his voice.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you were all over him, just stop lying.”

“No! I wasn’t.” The tears you’ve been trying to hold back now slip down your cheeks, you couldn’t figure out why he was acting like this especially when you were broken up.

“I never thought you’d end up like all those other girls, just another pig wanting to date me for status.”

Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears that you don’t hear whatever else he mumbled before turning and walking away, your arm weakly reaches out to him before your knees hit the vinyl flooring. After several moments pass, you feel someone pull you up and wrap their arms around you, the familiar scent of men’s body wash washes over you.

“Thank you.” You choke out, the comforting embrace causing more tears to fall.

“Best friends forever, right?”

*                      * 1 year and 3 months ago

“Are people looking at me?”

“Huh?” Yua raises an eyebrow as she looks over at you.

“There’s a psychology term for that feeling, it’s called spotlight effect.” Naoki says, trying to reassure you that no one’s looking.

“No, I think she’s right.” Yua stretches an arm out in front of him, causing him to stop walking before you drop your backpack on the ground, shocked.

Atsumu is standing on campus, wearing a suit, carrying a stupidly large bouquet of flowers, going around asking where you are, all but shouting your name to the sky. Part of you wants to disappear, of course he’d choose to stand in the middle of campus, catching everyone’s attention.

You trip slightly over your bag, marching towards him, barely hearing Naoki calling after you before Atsumu’s attention snaps to you, his eyes locking in on yours.

“Y/N!” Gleefully, he scurries towards you, handing the bouquet to you, it’s heavier than you thought it’d be.

“Atsumu, what are you doing?”

“I want, no, I need to talk to you.” He drops down to his knees and you can hear the increase of hushed tones, you glance back to see a very confused Yua and Naoki wears a horrified expression. “I’d like to try again, please.”

“Atsumu…”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Okay, okay, just…please get up. People are staring.” You try to hide your face behind the flowers, the pure embarrassment causing your face to burn.

He pushes himself off the ground, grabbing your hand as he pulls you towards the faculty parking lot. It doesn’t feel like you are in your own body, your legs moving to keep up with him before he stops.

Once again, he drops down to his knees, grabbing your hands with his, pleading with you to listen to him, to believe that he really means it when he tells you that he’s changed, asking you for just one more shot. For most of his speech, you look at the top of his head, seeing that the golden yellow is being overtaken by his natural dark brown roots, your fingers twitch, wanting to run through his hair. It’s when you finally lock eyes with him that you see the tears that line them, a single one slipping down his cheek from the corner of his right eye.

“I shouldn’t have come.” He wipes his eyes, sniffling a bit. He squeezes your hands before he stands up, letting you go. “I’m sorry for doing this you.”

There’s no way to explain it, but he seems different and suddenly you want to see this new him, to be the one that gets to be part of this new and mature Atsumu. Throwing all your sense out the window, pushing the rational and logical voices of Yua and Naoki to the back of your head, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Don’t go.”

*                      * 9 months ago

“Y/N! Door!”

Still in the process of buttoning your shirt, you poke your head out of your room, “I’m almost done, can you get it, please?”

Yua and Naoki share a look, when you had told them you decided to get back with Atsumu they weren’t shy about telling you how they were against it, that as your friend they hated seeing you so hurt, but they also told you that they weren’t just going to leave you either. It had been an unspoken rule that when it came to all things Atsumu (including opening the door) that they didn’t want to be part of it, for you to keep that part of your life away, unless he did something to hurt you.

Naoki reluctantly gets up, you can tell by the way he sluggishly walks his way towards the door. Dipping back into your room, you finish getting ready, grabbing your phone and sweater before pulling the door shut behind you.

You hear the door slam shut and look to see an irritated Naoki, “where’s Tsumu?” Naoki goes to speak, but you don’t give him a chance, instead just rush out of the apartment.

“Tsumu! Tsumu!” You shout out to him, barely catching his attention as he presses the button for the elevator. “Where are you going?”

He clenches his fist; the gesture catches your eye. “Home. I didn’t sign up to be humiliated tonight.” He looks at you, a type of rage in his eyes that you’ve never seen before and you aren’t sure what could’ve happened to make him so upset. Since he showed up on campus, begging for another chance eh always made sure to be open about his feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have to tell me, Tsumu.”

“I just don’t like him being in your apartment.”

The elevator dings, doors opening and just as he goes to step into it, you pull back on his arm, pleading with him to stay, tears filling your eyes. He jerks his arm from your grip, not that you were holding on that tightly, and he steps into the elevator.

You aren’t sure why your relationship is like this, why it has so many ups and downs, why it hurts this much. You aren’t sure why being with Atsumu is so hard, why it feels like all you see is his back while he walks away from you, leaving you broken each time. In high school, you hated the almost boring way each day with Ushijima felt, but in this moment, you’d give anything for that because at least back then you felt safe and knew where you stood.

*                      * 5 months ago

For the last four months, Atsumu spoiled you rotten with daily gifts and elaborate dates. You received a flower a day, it was the flower of your birth month, boxes of your favorite candies, along with cards that had some romantic quote in them.

For dates, he takes you to the best restaurants, buys out move theatres, flies you to various parts of Japan to not only watch his games, but to show you around. When you’re together, he actually listens to you, takes his time to finally get to ask you about your upbringing, family, and where you see yourself in five years. He shows you how he’s remembered things you don’t like and even the things that you do and for the first time in the two plus years you’ve known him, it feels like things are starting to even out, that all the turmoil might just be over.

** “Do you like it?” His accent drips from his words, you’ve noticed the accent gets thicker when he’s either nervous or excited.

You glance around the empty apartment, a bit confused as why you’re standing in the middle of it. You thought that Yua apartment was big, considering it had two bedrooms, but this seems to be even bigger than hers. The large windows allow an abundance of natural light and you really do like that.

“It’s a really nice apartment.” You smile as he walks over to you, pulling you into his toned chest, his chin on your forehead.

“I’m glad, it’s yours.”

You pull back, shock written all over your expression, too many thoughts racing through your mind for you to form a sentence. Atsumu did a lot of crazy things, did a lot of spur of the moment things, but this, this really did top them all. “What?”

He shrugs, digging in his pocket before placing a key in your hand, he looks a bit scared to you. “It’s just…my lease was up and I know it’s a bit further from campus than Yua’s, but I was thinking you’d like to live here…with me.”

Without any hesitation, you throw your arms around Atsumu, repeatedly saying “yes” as you awkwardly bounced up and down. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands, bringing you closer for a kiss.

You can’t stop smiling, eagerly nodding your head as Atsumu talks about furniture and getting your things boxed to be moved, not really hearing anything because all you can think of is that things are finally going to work out between the two of you and that’s why your heart is thumping against your chest.

*                      * 3 months ago

Two months.

8 weeks.

60.8 days.

That’s how long your relationship of bliss lasted, how long you saw the caring and loving version of Atsumu, the side of him that stole your heart even after months and years of back and forth, ups and down, on and off.

You hate it because things were going so well, everything was perfect, even better than how great things had been with Ushijima back in high school. What you hate even more is the fact that while you had been packing up your things, you said some not so nice things to Yua, telling her that she was wrong about him, that this time things were going to work out. You had all but bragged and even hit below the belt with saying she was just jealous that she didn’t have someone that loved her the way Atsumu loves you.

Nine times out of ten you’re alone in this apartment, your music on the highest volume isn’t loud enough to fill the silence that creeps through the rooms and wraps around you and when the silence gets to you, you’re forced to think about things you’d rather not. Like how right Yua had been, how Naoki was only looking out for you, how every time you got back together with Atsumu, it just seemed to hurt worse than the time before.

During that one time of ten that Atsumu is home, the two of you just fight, you fight about everything really; your classes, his games, your friends, his friends and now that you’re all but isolated from your friends, it just makes things worse. You’ve always hated comparing the two, Ushijima to Atsumu, knowing both relationships are/were different, but recently, you’ve wondered if repeating the same day over and over, if that almost suffocating comfort, you wonder if that would be easier to live with now when looked at next to the way your current relationship has been.

*                      * Atsumu flips his phone face down, muting it after it had begun to ring, turning his attention back to the movie the two of you were watching.

You scoff, pushing yourself off his side to lean against the other side of the sofa.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what? I was just getting more comfortable.”

“Cut the shit. You always do this.”

You roll your eyes, already irritated. “Did you want me to leave the room so you could call her back?”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He pushes himself off the couch, shaking his head as he storms into the kitchen.

You reach across the couch, swiping his phone from the armrest, trying to get into it, but no surprise he’s once against changed the passcode. You’re fuming at this point, shoving yourself off the couch before you start to walk to your room. You were done, have been done with all of this.

His hand tightly wraps around your wrist and jerks you backwards towards him. He starts yelling, demanding that you give him back his phone and the anger in you takes over and you throw it across the room. You start to scream about how you’re done, you’re tired and don’t deserve to feel this miserable. He yells back telling you that he’s giving you things anyone would be thankful to have and you smack him with your free hand.

He freezes, dropping your wrist as he runs his fingers through his hair, the expression on his face is something you’ve never seen and without another word, he storms out of the apartment.

You didn’t see him for three weeks, if it hadn’t been for his teammates Hinata and Bokuto stopping by, you wouldn’t have known that he’s okay and has been staying with them. When he does come back, he has a long-winded apology and a large bouquet of flowers. He falls to his knees in the door way, telling you that he’s sorry, that he can’t believe his actions and that he swears that he’ll do better.

*                      * Present Day

When you open the door, Yua throws her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace and you feel yourself start to sob again. She holds you up as your knees get weak, letting the exhaustion take over you as you inhale her familiar perfume.

Naoki slightly pushes by the two of you, angrily making his way through the apartment, brows scrunched into a scowl. You watch as he flings open every door, stomping through each room before he walks back to you, rage radiating off of him. “Where the fuck is he?”

You’re startled, panicking you look up at Yua who wraps her arm around your neck and pulls you back into her, your face pressing just below the top of her shoulder.

“Obviously not here, so chill out.”

She ushers you over to the couch, Naoki handing you the throw blanket to wrap around yourself as you finally catch your breath. You lean your head on the back of the couch, it just adds pressure to your headache, but you’re having a hard time opening up to your friends.

“How’d you know something was wrong?” You slowly lift your head up, looking between the two of them, your face turning red when you hear that you called Naoki repeatedly around 2AM, leaving incoherent voicemails where they only picked up on the words: fight, Atsumu and leave.

“I really think you should move back in with me.” Yua speaks with caution, knowing how sensitive the topic is.

You just nod, defeatedly. You’re more upset about failing to maintain the relationship than you are that the relationship is over. Part of you wants to know why you put yourself through so much to prove you could stay with him, was it because you didn’t want your previous break-up to mean nothing? That if you could make this one work then you weren’t an awful person for ending things with Ushijima for an almost comical reason?

“Just pack what you have to have and we’ll replace whatever you don’t bring and need, okay?” Naoki gives you a small smile before Yua stands up telling you that she’ll grab your things from the bathroom and Naoki can get the things throughout the living room.

Roughly half an hour later, you have most of the things you brought, minus any gifts that Atsumu gave you, but you can’t seem to step through the threshold. Yua and Naoki are standing in the hallway waiting, but you’re afraid to make the step because all of a sudden it symbolizing a bigger commitment that you intended. Once you step out of the apartment, once you shut the door and drop the key in the box, you’re officially shutting the Miya Atsumu chapter of your life and that shakes you to the core.

“Y/N, you’re going to be okay. We’re right here. I’m right here.” Naoki reaches out his hand and you decide to take that leap, grabbing on to his hand like a lifeline. Your knees are wobbly as you place one foot into the hallway, straddling the threshold. “C’mon, just one more step. I got you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, frantically taking that last step before throwing your arms around Naoki, repeatedly saying “I did it!” He puts his hand on the back of your head, pressing you into him, telling you that he’s proud of you.

You take one last look into the apartment that for some reason now fills small, it feels different, like you no longer belong there and while you’re still terrified of letting go of the rope that ties you and Atsumu together, there’s something exhilarating about starting over. Your eyes are closed as you pull the door shut and when you turn and open them, you see proud smiles on both Yua and Naoki’s faces and you couldn’t help but be excited for this next chapter.

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Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh. 

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again… 

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole? 

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone. 

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…” 

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart. 

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t. 

“I wish you were here, noona…” 

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum. 

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?” 

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.” 

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven. 

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh. 

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.” 

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?” 

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.” 

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.” 

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting. 

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips. 

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze. 

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom. 

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place: 

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?” 

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything. 

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.” 

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?” 

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain. 

This subject, however, has been a brick wall. 

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—” 

“(Y/N)?” 

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face. 

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch. 

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger: 

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.” 

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop. 

“Did you need something?” 

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—” 

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.” 

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue: 

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…” 

“Then you met Jackson.” 

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.” 

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring. 

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” 

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?” 

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…” 

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…” 

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—” 

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care. 

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?” 

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You smile at his apology. 

“I’m sorry too… for everything.” 

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.” 

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders. 

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?” 

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.” 

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.” 

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.” 

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.” 

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly… 

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.” 

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way. 

“(Y/N)—” 

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…” 

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey. 

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill? 

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips. 

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.” 

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—” 

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.” 

“Help is on the way—” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows. 

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.” 

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison. 

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment. 

He needs to have hope, if nothing else. 

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?” 

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.” 

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?” 

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head. 

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?” 

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.” 

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see: 

Im Jaebeom. 

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk. 

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.” 

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?” 

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?” 

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.” 

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.” 

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff: 

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.” 

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” 

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?” 

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.” 

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.” 

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest. 

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return. 

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?” 

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet. 

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?” 

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.” 

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—” 

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities. 

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...” 

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing. 

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.” 

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!” 

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!” 

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!” 

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.” 

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!” 

“Every war has its casualties.” 

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?” 

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!” 

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.   

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?” 

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!” 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer… 

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward. 

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.” 

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder: 

“Not yet, hyung.” 

“But Jinyoung—” 

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.” 

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party: 

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.” 

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.” 

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?” 

Jaebeom’s face darkens. 

“...So there is a cure?” 

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.” 

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.” 

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.” 

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world. 

“You know she doesn’t have much time—” 

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”  

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead. 

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.” 

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far. 

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!” 

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn. 

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch. 

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph: 

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.” 

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.   

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something… 

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.” 

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?” 

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave. 

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why. 

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?” 

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.” 

“He never told me that.” 

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.” 

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—” 

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.” 

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further. 

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway. 

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight. 

“Everything okay…?” 

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.” 

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—” 

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress. 

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh: 

Die. 

“Shit—we need to go. Now.” 

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.” 

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation. 

“What is it?” 

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…  

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?” 

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”  

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal. 

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!” 

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight. 

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.” 

“Watch your ears.”  You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire. 

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise. 

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand. 

“Mark—” 

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand. 

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat.  You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!” 

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—” 

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!” 

“I understand you—” 

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!” 

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.” 

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality: 

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two. 

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable. 

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…” 

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears. 

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.” 

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips. 

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!” 

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.” 

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?” 

You nod.   

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.” 

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…” 

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!” 

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…” 

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing. 

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile. 

“Thank you, Changbin…” 

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…” 

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.” 

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head. 

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.” 

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.” 

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer. 

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…” 

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.” 

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?” 

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question. 

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?” 

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…” 

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.” 

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.” 

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—” 

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!” 

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…” 

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.” 

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—” 

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...” 

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips: 

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else. 

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse: 

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand. 

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—” 

“Tzuyu…?” 

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?” 

“It seems so.” 

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one. 

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?” 

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.” 

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…” 

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart. 

“Everything is taken care of, right?” 

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear. 

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”  

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…” 

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.” 

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.” 

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?” 

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.” 

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.” 

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation: 

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues. 

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!” 

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears. 

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!” 

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out. 

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?” 

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!” 

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...” 

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts: 

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!” 

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground. 

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground. 

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!” 

“(Y/N)! Don’t!” 

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white. 

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms. 

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!” 

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips: 

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out. 

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion��s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so. 

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?” 

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.” 

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.” 

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent. 

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?” 

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest. 

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.” 

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that… 

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human. 

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.” 

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.” 

“Then let me be selfish with you.” 

Tzuyu smiles. 

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.” 

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.” 

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 imagines #got7 x reader #got7 angst #got7 smut #got7 au #im jaebeom #im jaebeom x reader #im jaebeom fanfic #mark tuan #mark tuan x reader #mark tuan fanfic #jackson wang #jackson wang x reader #jackson wang fanfic #park jinyoung #park jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop au

[amajikilvr]

HEY BBY 🥰🥰 I WAS WONDERING IF I COULD MAKE A QUICK REQUEST W A FEM READER WHO HAS A CAT QUIRK 😳 I think itd be so cute... kitten ears and tail </3 feline quirk :) comes w strength/goodhearing/sensitivity to smells n things like that! Really agile, cats always land on their feet lmao.. ANYWAYS JUST GENERAL HCS/CRUSH HCS WHERE FEM!READER HAS CAT EARS AND A TAIL with tamaki bc hes my main boy 😳 and Shoto if ur interested at all.. love u bye I just thought of this

headcanon corner - tamaki has a crush on cat! reader

word count 930

reader type female (she/her used)

Tamaki tends to be an observational person and you don’t exactly blend in even at a school like yours so it was only a matter of time before he took notice of you and eventually fell hard.

It’s a god-awful kind of crush that he can’t ignore no matter how hard he tries. Don’t get it twisted, you’re most certainly not the problem, you could never be a problem. Tamaki just becomes a sweaty, clammy, and nervous mess whenever he’s in your general vicinity. The way he sees it, that’s one-hundred-percent on him. You’re not scary or even that intimidating. You’re friendly, charming, and so soft-looking...

He’s gotten pretty good at coping with his anxious nature, but the presence of you tends to send him a good way backward in terms of progress. You’re actually gotten worried that Tamaki might be ill before when you caught sight of his flushed face and trembling hands. Your gentle concern made his heart swell and shake. Guilt also struck him knowing that he made you uneasy.

Being someone who can manifest similar appendages himself, Tamaki’s developed a bit of a fixation of sorts on your physical catlike features.

He sits behind you and more than often finds himself staring at your silky and always well-groomed Y/H/C ears that poke out cutely from your head. It’d be so easy to reach out and stroke them and that single thought is enough to send him into shambles while he’s just trying to do math at 9 am…

And oh god, your tail. He’s completely fascinated by it and the way it sticks out of your skirt and how its movements coordinate with your emotions like every other feline’s; it’s almost always in a hook shape, indicating your bubbly mood.

Once, you caught him staring right at it before class so you slowly let your tail snake out and playfully wrap around his leg while mischievously grinning the entire time. A good portion of Tamaki might have melted away at his desk that day. That’s when he realized that you probably will be the death of him-

At some point, Tamaki begins to think maybe you two weren’t as insanely different as he had originally thought… The cafeteria is particularly loud; endless chatter, obnoxious laughter, and even the occasional yelling. He’s wincing uncomfortably as he struggles to listen to Mirio’s story when he notices you sitting nearby. You look perturbed, a rare sight, and your tail is subtlety thrashing back and forth.

Does he want nothing more than to go and rescue you from the ugly noise? Of course. But coming up to your table? Talking to you? No way. He couldn’t do that even if you were to start the conversation. The chance goes to waste, but Tamaki is left with the knowledge that maybe you aren’t inhumanly perfect and that comforts him. It really does.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Mirio inevitably figures it out and says something to him. It’s certainly embarrassing considering Tamaki hasn’t even liked anyone like this before. He’s not used to this kind of teasing being directed at him.

His friend is unsurprisingly encouraging about the whole thing and tells Tamaki to simply “go for it!”. If only it were that easy. Tamaki doesn’t believe what Mirio says is true; you definitely like him well enough and there was plenty of potential for something more to blossom sooner than later.

And according to Mirio? That whole tail incident? That was definitely you “flirting” with him. Apparently.

His intense crush does prove to be a bit of a problem during training. Tamaki is still as committed as ever to his own dream and the strength-building that comes along with it, but there are times when he finds himself wanting to watch you and nothing else.

You’re so agile… every stride, flip, jump, and movement is effortless and calculated. You could make something as minuscule as walking or taking a sip of water look incredibly attractive. Ugh. Even admitting that as a mere thought is enough to make Tamaki feel as if he’s been set on fire, every sense he has is extremely reactive to everything you do.

You end up approaching him after one of these classes. Both of you had just finished testing your quirks to their limits and Tamaki is not expecting to be facing you and the healthy skin and twinkling eyes that make up your pretty face. He has no choice but to stand passively and hear what you have to say. And try not to die in the process, of course.

Tamaki chokes a little and sweats profusely while listening to you talk, your smooth voice close to putting him into a trace. He can’t bring himself to make eye contact with you so he settles for keeping his stare on your tail; it’s standing straight and confident while the tip is twitching slightly.

He looks up once and sees you wet your lips with a single swipe of your tongue. Between the sight of that and the words you’re saying, he thinks he might pass out. You think he’s cool? You’ve seen him watching you? You want to get to know him better?

You sweetly ask for his phone. Somehow, Tamaki hands it to you with a shaking hand and can’t believe himself. He only nods knowing babbling and stammering would come out if he tried to speak. You rapidly type something, the only sound being the repeated click of your nail against the screen. His device is returned to him with the screen still on and you give him a huge, breathtaking smile before skipping off. Gone. Just like that.

Leaned against the wall, Tamaki is stunned in every sense of the word as he stares at the unfamiliar number, aptly named “Y/N 🐱💞” now living on his contact’s page.

#bnha imagines #bnha x y/n #bnha requests #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #tamaki amakiji #tamaki fluff #tamaki headcanons #tamaki amajiki x you #tamaki x you #amajiki x you #tamaki amajiki x y/n #tamaki x y/n #amajiki x y/n

[narrators-journal]

Months of tolerance

So, I was looking back at my ranpoe valentines story and I got an idea. Why not write a little collection? A little trio or so of Valentines-themed sort of ship stories?

And so, I wrote a second one for Shin-soukoku! Though, please be forgiving, I’m not a super big fan of Atsushi, so I don’t have a lot of ideas and experience on how he works and behaves, so I kinda took inspiration from the rp me and my friend did for BSD and their sort of rendition of Atsushi mixed with canon.

Atsushi had never really experienced Valentines day or White day, so when Dazai offered to take him out on one of his days off and introduce him to the basics of the event he accepted it. He was quick to find it to be a bit depressing.            “Dazai, I don't think I have any real...reason to be here," The tiger sighed, putting down one of the little Valentines bears he'd been looking at in the shop and looking over at the bandage-clad brunette that was to be his mentor in the ADA. The rail of a man just pouted at him,            "Nonsense, Atsushi! You're learning about romance," he assured, giving the white-haired man a sweet smile, which made Atsushi grimace,            "Yeah, but this holiday is obviously for couples, and I don't have any romantic partner of any sort," He pointed out, a stone of loneliness settling in the bottom of his stomach as he spoke, but his mentor simply snorted as if that point was moot.            "Sushi, you don't need a romantic partner to celebrate Valentines day, you can just as easily get gifts for friends. After all, I don't have a partner but I'm gonna get a gift for someone." He assured, and while the tiger was still a bit unsure, he just nodded.

After that, he just went back to milling around up and down the aisle as he poked at the little toys, knick knacks, or sweets scattered about until Dazai clapped his hands together in an idea,          "Atsushi! I have an idea for what you can do on Valentines day!" he chirped, bouncing on his feet in some childish, giddy high, "Why not get a gift for Ryuunosuke!" The tiger blinked and scowled at the idea,          "Why the hell would I do that? I don't have any sort of feelings for him," he about spat, almost feeling his lip curl in a snarl at the mere mention of the wheezing, gothic, Dazai fanboy. However, the brunette simply rolled his eyes at his venom,          "There is a very common phrase, 'kill your enemies with kindness', you ever hear it?" before the weretiger could answer, he continued, "Akutagawa doesn't like you. At all. Hates your guts. But! If you get him a gift, maybe be as friendly as you can be, you can get him to warm up to you!" the weretiger's scowl only deepened, which made his mentor huff and drop the excited, bubbly tone, "If you get him to like you, you won't have to spend quite as much on shirts every week." Atsushi ended up buying a cheap little gift for the goth. However, that now left him with a question. How was he to get the cheap plush cat to Akutagawa? He'd been pondering the question all through out the three days that led up to Valentines day, going back and forth on whether or not he should even bother with Dazai's stupid idea. Is it really worth risking getting stabbed again? Just to give this cheap little thing to a bastard like Akutagawa? He thought bitterly, though his cheeks burned a slight pink while he glared down at the floppy little beanie baby cat that was sprawled out on his meager little coffee table, staring up at the tiger with glassy amber eyes while he sat on his couch the evening before Valentines day. I'd sooner drink my own piss then give Akutagawa a Valentines gift. He told himself firmly, getting up from his couch and plucking the toy from the cheap table to get rid of it. To do this, he threw it out of his livingroom window into the darkness of the cold night and listened to it land in the dumpster across the street with a soft thud thanks to how hard he'd thrown it. And, with that, he shut his window with a decisive 'humph' and went to bed. Dazai was a smart man, but Atsushi was not going to have conflicting and confusing feelings plague him just to placate a violent asshole with a hateboner for him. An hour later, the tiger went out to the dumpster he'd heard the cat slam against and dug the poor thing out to be washed. Not that the weretiger had changed his mind or anything, he'd just spent money on the derpy little toy, he didn't want to waste it. Or, so he told himself. So, he instead returned it to his bedside table after washing it a few times, trying to see if he could somehow rub the new crack out of his amber eye while doing his best to get the dumpster stench out of its fur. If he really was going to 'kill Akutagawa with kindness' like Dazai said, the least he could do was make sure the gift didn't reek of three day old take out and dog vomit. When the next day came, he took the toy to work, then walked home with it draped over his arm after a day of dealing with petty couple squabbles that had turned nasty, or helping Ranpo to and from the smattering of robberies he'd been requested on. Y'know, this just proves why I should've kept this thing in the garbage, he fumed to himself, staring at the sidewalk ahead of him so he didn't see even more lovey-dovey couples for the day, If I gave this to Akutagawa somehow, all that would happen is I'd be a statistic. Nothing more. He hates me too much, it'd probably off- Atsushi's ill-tempered thoughts were cut short when he ran into someone else on the sidewalk, sending them both sprawling to the pavement.           "O-oh my god! I'm so sorry, are you hurt miss?!" The weretiger squeaked, hopping up to his feet at record speeds to offer a hand to the pretty lady in white. She had long black hair, and a familiar style of dress on, but it was her light, steel-colored eyes that finally got her face to click in the frazzled tiger's irrational mind.          "Oh!...Gin, right?" he asked as she took his hand and let him help her up while she nodded,          "Sorry, I didn't mean to run you over," she said, her voice as quiet as the first time he'd met her with Katai and Kunikida, but her words shot a nebulous sort of anxiety into his veins,         "Oh, no no no, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I-I was going," he stammered, trying desperately to comfort her as he reached to dust her off, but then changed his mind half way, doing that would be super weird, so he instead tried to think up another way to make up for running into her. He felt awful for knocking her over, but had no clue what to do, so he just ended up putting a hand over his anxious heart and staying quiet. Gin, meanwhile, had spotted the saggy stuffed toy on the sidewalk,           "Um, is that yours?" She asked, picking it up and dusting the little thing off gently, snapping Atsushi out of his thoughts,          "What? Oh! Yeah, that's...actually, I bought it for...Akutagawa." he admitted, not knowing what else to say to explain why he had a stuffed cat. Gin blinked at him, raising an eyebrow,           "No offense, but why did you buy my brother a toy? Is it for Valentines day?" Atsushi gaped for a moment, for some reason his brain struggling to give even the simplest answer for a moment,          "I...D-Dazai suggested getting him a gift..." he muttered, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he spoke, which Gin seemed to notice, but she said nothing,          "Well, how about I deliver it to him? He likes cats, I'm sure he'd enjoy this one," she offered sweetly instead, and for a moment Atsushi could only stare at her while his cheeks undoubtedly glowed a healthy pink until he cleared his throat, get yourself together Atsushi! This is a fine way to get the damned gift to Akutagawa, then Dazai can get off your ass, he told himself, pushing down the weird flustered feeling in his chest,         "Um, t-that would be helpful," She nodded, smiling a bit at the toy cat. With that, she wished him well as the sky darkened from the yellow-purple gradient of Atsushi's eyes, to a dark, star-speckled blue, leaving the tiger to walk home and contemplate his day. For the next few days, the weretiger was on edge, just waiting for the wheezing goth to pop out from behind every corner ready to stab him. However, it never happened. Atsushi was expecting it, always at the ready to defend himself, but for the entire month he didn't even see his nemesis on jobs, let alone when he was walking home or too work. So, he began to relax. Maybe he really did enjoy the stuffed toy, he thought a month or so later on his walk home from the ADA. The thought brought an odd warm feeling to his chest, but he was swift to stomp the detested feeling back down into that part of himself he refused to acknowledge. He could accept his tiger, but he was not ready to face anything like that emotion. Then, something slammed into the side of his head. In an instant, Atsushi was knocked onto the sidewalk with his world swimming for a moment or two. In those moments, he laid there in a daze, forced to wait for his senses to return and the throbbing ache in his skull to die before he could finally stumble to his feet. When the pain stopped and he could bare to stand once again, the white-haired man looked around for what might've hit him in the head, but the only thing he found was a can of soda. A soda that, upon closer inspection, he found to be one of his favorites, which was weird enough, since usually his favorite soft drink doesn't fly at people's heads, but, no one was currently around to explain why an unopened, very dented can of his preferred soda was rolling around at his feet after knocking him on his ass like it had. He'd tried to look around, taking advantage of his improved night vision to try and spot anyone trying to hide from the blame for throwing it at him, but the street was currently sparse in other people in the area. However, after a moment of thinking, and examining the near-bursting can, it slowly dawned on the tiger who might've thrown it. Then, the date set in, bringing a stronger wave of hot embarrassment to his cheeks.           "Um?? T-thanks I guess?" he called out into the swiftly growing darkness, and then swiftly continued home, before the hiding goth caught sight of the way his cheeks tinged a small shade of pink or decided to come out to maul him for acknowledging him.

#Shin soukoku #bsd #Bungo stray dogs #Atsushi Nakajima #Akutagawa Ryunosuke #scenario #fluff #valentines day

[kageyuji]

MHA Headcanons...

An anon and one of my friends asked for Bakugou, Shinsou, Shigaraki, Amajiki, Deku, and Kirishima finding out their S/O self harms.

Trigger warning for self harm!

Bakugou -

Bakugou was used to you skipping a day or so of school because you didn’t feel good

He just didn’t know what kind of “I don’t feel like it” that you meant

But you’d been missing a lot of school recently, so you pulled yourself together and struggled through the day.

So when he saw you disappear into your room after being unusually quiet all day, he didn’t think too much if it.

Still, he walked up to your room just to check on you and make sure that you were okay.

You weren’t

His hand was hovering over the door handle — he hardly ever bothered knocking — when he heard your muffled sobs coming from inside your room.

He didn’t hesitate to open the door, but he faltered a little when he saw you crouched in the corner, clutching your wrist and a bloody knife on the floor beside you.

Once it clicked in his head, he was at your side in a moment.

He didn’t bother to fold the knife, he just tossed it across the room

He’s muttering a lot of things under his breath, but honestly neither of you know what he’s going on about.

He can’t think straight...or about anything, really.

He grabs the closest thing to a cloth he can find and wraps it around your wrist.

And he just holds you.

He sits there, arms wrapped around you and pulling you right into his chest.

The things he’s mumbling under his breath are a little more coherent now, he’s telling you how much of a dumbass you are for doing this to yourself.

He means it in the most caring way, of course.

He’s not that great at telling you how much he cares about you, and wants you to stop, but he tries to

And when he starts stumbling on his words, he excercises the idea that actions speak louder than words.

He won’t talk unless you talk to him first, but it’s only because he’s trying not to cry.

He’s helping you stand up and setting you on the bed, cleaning your arm and wrapping it.

Once he’s done, he’d hug you again and ask if you wanted to talk about it.

If you do, he’d listen intently, probably getting mad if it was because of something someone did or said.

If you don’t, he’d nod, and say that’s fine. But for the next few days, he would be asking you how you felt or asking you if you were ready to talk about it.

Shinsou -

Shinsou was no fool, he knew that you had been acted a little differently lately.

However, he hadn’t know exactly how bad your depression was getting a hold of you.

He was in your dorm room, sitting down on your bed when you walked in.

You had just gotten up to use the bathroom, when had be come in here?

“Y/N? I noticed you hadn’t been acting like you usually do so I thought you might want to just stay here and cuddle?”

You smiled a bit, nodding and cuddling up beside him.

As the movie played before you, you became more and more relaxed. So relaxed that you failed to realize how your sleeve was falling down your arm.

Eventually, the end credits started rolling and you looked up to Shinsou with a tired smile.

His gaze caught your wrist when you brought you knuckle up to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

Once he saw the lines on your wrist, he knew instantly what had happened.

He felt guilty, actually.

Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? Why had he just assumed that you were doing just as good as you let on?

He didn’t say anything at first, he didn’t want to set panic into you immediately by asking what the scars were.

Besides, he knew. There was no need for asking.

He just grabbed your hand and brought your wrist up so he could press a gentle kiss against your scars.

That’s when you realized your hoodie sleeves had been pushed up and panic set it, so you drew back your arm from the sheer shock.

He’d give you a worried look, and now is when he’d finally say something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Was the first thing he could say, anything else just sounded snarky in his head. Even though they weren’t.

No matter what you say, he’s going to get it out of you. His quirk was useful for getting information.

He’d want to talk about it with you, just to make sure you won’t do it again and don’t feel like that again.

Shigaraki -

Shigaraki had a tendency to be protective of you

He didn’t mean to, he was just scared of something happening to you, and he tended to watch you like a hawk.

But he didn’t originally think too much of you wearing hoodies and long sleeves all of the time. After all, he did too.

It was an exceptionally hot day, and even though the two of you were inside, there was no way you were cold.

Not cold enough to wear a jacket, anyway.

He didn’t make a big deal of it at first, the two of you were just playing on your phones when he asked you if you were hot.

“Eh,” you shrugged. “Kind of. But my hoodie is comfy.” You lied, of course.

He reached over to grab your hoodie sleeve, hoping to pull it up, but you pull away.

He didn’t need to see anything after that, he already knew.

“Honey...” he’d say, a pained look in his tearful eyes.

Somehow, he thinks this is all his fault, which ultimately just makes you feel worse.

Once he realizes that, though, he stops trying to blame himself.

He just wants you to feel comfortable talking about it to him.

If you don’t want to talk about it with him, that’s fine.

But he would feel so...happy? If you did? Like? You trust him enough to do that?

From then on, he makes sure to have someone close to you all the time, even if it can’t be himself.

He understands if you want your alone time, but don’t think he won’t be worried if you’re in the shower for too long or you’ve been unusually distant.

He has a tendency to ask you how you’re feeling a lot

It can get to the point that its almost annoying, but he really jusy wants to make sure you’re okay.

He’s terrible at PDA, he’s scared his quirk will accidentally hurt you.

But he will try and lightly kiss your scars if you are comfortable with that.

He worries about you, but he doesn’t want you to feel guilty for making him worry, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

In all honesty he just wants you to feel comfortable with him. He wants to know that you’re okay, that the two of you will get through it.

Amajiki -

Amajiki has anxiety, this isn’t news.

Therefore he’s a lot more intune to mental illness than some of the others

Not to say the others aren’t, but Amajiki is just very...caring?

He’s so sweet, his only hope is for you to be happy with him.

Therefore he’s always asking you if you’re ok, or if you need anything, if you thought him doing something was a good idea or not.

And it gets to the point where you just can’t lie to him anymore.

It catches him off guard, but it doesn’t at the same time.

He knew something was wrong with you, you hadn’t been acting like yourself lately.

But he didn’t expect you to actually admit that something was going on with you

You didn’t say anything about hurting yourself, but of course he worried about everything (especially when it came to you), and so he asked if you had been.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering wether or not you should admit the truth

When you finally told him, it took him a second to process.

He blinks a few times, then nods slowly.

He doesn’t really say anything at first, which almost scares you, but then you realize: It’s Tamaki, he never talks.

All he does initially is hug you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Bunny...pl-please don’t do that...I-I don’t, I don’t want you to do that t-to yours-self. Please?”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t actually blame himself like some of the others.

However, he will ask you if he could have done something different, or if you want him to do/stop doing something

He checks in on you a lot more now.

He did a lot before, but now he’s doing it a lot more. If he ever feels like he’s being annoying about it, though, he will stop.

He’ll ask if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t want to he’ll drop it.

The last thing he wants if for you to feel pressured by him.

If you do want to talk about it, and the things that are bothering you, he’d be more than happy to listen to you.

He probably won’t comment a lot, but he’s just trying to analyze things.

After all, you’ve always been there for him, so why shouldn’t he be there for you?

Izuku -

Izuku noticed things most people wouldn’t think twice about

So he noticed the second you started feeling down.

He was attentive, and asked if you felt alright or needed/wanted anything.

To which you quickly said no, you already felt like a bother. You didn’t want him worried about you.

He wouldn’t really say anything after that, but he watched you a lot, unbeknownst to you of course.

Not in a creepy-stalker kind of way, he was just worried about you and wanted to make sure you were doing fine. He of all people knew what it was like to be told you were nothing, after all.

It didn’t take him long to realize just how much you jackets, even when it was hot outside. 

He connected the dots quickly, and didn’t waste any time in trying to bring it up with you.

Only, of course you had your bedroom door locked. Wait.. why was you bedroom door locked?

Panic flooded through him as he pounded on the wood, yelling and pleading for you to open up the door.

He was crying, but it wasn’t like he cared at all.

You wouldn’t open the door -- or maybe you would and just weren’t doing it as fast he’d have liked, he didn’t know -- so he used his quirk to break it open.

He could fix it later, right now his only focus was on you. 

Your fingertips were bloody, and it took him all of two seconds to realize why you didn’t have a knife. You weren’t cutting, you were scratching.

That would explain why he never found blades in your room. 

(Of course he had looked for them, he knew going around your room was a violation of your privacy, but he was worried about you.)

“Baby, please! Please, stop! Don’t do this to yourself, I care too much about you!”

He grabbed your hands, holding them close to his chest and pulling you into his lap. He let you sit there as you two just cried into each other. 

He’d want to talk about it, and he’d keep asking you to, but if you really didn’t want to he would eventually stop. 

He’s not letting you alone for a while, though. He’s staying the night in your room.

Kirishma -

Kirishima is another that is pretty caring towards his S/O

So when he noticed you getting a little distant, talking less, just not being as happy as you used to be, he got worried.

He wasn’t mad at you by any means, he just thinks it’s manly to be honest about your emotions.

So he’d be pretty upfront about asking you if you were feeling ok.

He gives you his signature smile whenever you tell him you weren’t fine.

He’d say that he was proud of you for admitting that, and he said to talk to him whenever you felt down.

Only he didn’t know that what you told him wasn’t the whole truth.

Every day, he’d greet you with a “Good morning! How are feeling today?”

Over time he noticed that your responses got more and more fake.

There was no way you looked like you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, smile like that, and be truly happy.

Again, Kirishima was really blunt about asking if you were okay.

He hadn’t thought of it before, but he saw you instinctively pull down your sleeves when you said “Yeah, I’m good.”

All the gears in his head clicked and suddenly his heart hurt.

You were in the hall of the dorms, so he didn’t want to make a big mess of it, but he wrapped you in a hug and started to rub your back.

Unlike some of the others, Kirishimas great at giving peptalks.

“Baby...I know now. I’m sorry I didn’t notice before. But you can get through this, okay? We’ve got this! I’ll be with you all the way. Anything you need, I’m your man!”

His tone was cheerful, and he was smiling, but his own eyes were starting to tear up now.

He would ask you one time if you wanted to talk, but only once.

He didn’t want to pressure you, or make you feel like crap for not telling him.

If you do want to talk, he’d be happy to sit and listen, even add some commentary if you wanted.

His favorite thing now is mental health days, he loves to take care of you.

Hell, he’s probably skipping school just to take you to your ice cream shop or buying your favorite movie to watch.

#bnha #mha #kirishima #izuku #tamaki #bakugou #shigaraki #shinsou #kirishima x reader #kirishima headcanons #izuku x reader #izuku headcanons #midoriya x reader #midoriya headcanons #tamaki x reader #tamaki headcanons #amajiki x reader #amajiki headcanons #bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugo headcanons #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shinso x reader #shinso headcanons #shinsou x reader #shinsou headcanons #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

[the-volume-is-astronomical]

The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay

Meant To Be Good News

A/N: ... heyyyyy- its been a bit. I got rapped up in exams and i felt like being productive today so u get a chapterrrr and i wrote another one so u have about two chapters guaranteed ill try to be more consistent lol (also long chapter as compensation)

(also let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!)

First | Previous| Next

words: 2286

summary: Virgil doesn't want to deal with this mess but he was sent to deliver a message so, theres not much he can do

pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit, Remile

warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, negative self talk, food mention, worried for a characters safety

(let me know if there's any other)

They went up the steps in silence.

As they entered through the door, Roman grabbed the basket that was abandoned during the argument. He left it on a table near the entrance, he headed towards the corner with shelves, grabbed a brown book, nothing interesting in the cover, just a plain brown book and headed towards the window seat to read.

Virgil was struggling to decide if he should try to speak or not, he absolutely despised small talk but if he didn't talk he didn't want it to get awkward. He looked over to Roman because if he did decide to talk to the prince, what in the hell would he even talk about?! Virgil saw the royal glance up from his book to look at the small table near all the shelves that had a single red book, it was simple like the one he was holding, it just had a title, yet it caused more intrigue than the other.

When Virgil took a good look at Roman he looked somehow defeated, like he had lost- no, given up on a 100 year long fight. The monarch glanced once more at the table with the red book, this time however, he caught a glimpse of the stormy knight, “ You should sit down, the trip back alone takes a few hours, it's gonna be some time before you get to go back.” Virgil looked up at the prince who had resumed his reading, “Uh… yeah” he took a seat near the desk Roman kept glancing at.

Virgil decided to take a glance at the book. It seemed to be a fictional adventure book...seems interesting. Roman looked at the table again and spotted the tall knight carefully opening the book. “It’s an adventure book. Just a fairytale.” Roman’s voice seemed to startle Virgil as he immediately slammed the book shut.

“Y-yeah sorry, I didn't mean to open it without permission, that was so rude of me and-” Roman stopped him mid rant “It's alright, you can read it. One of my personal favorite books.” The prince smiled at him to show he didn't mind “I’m not much of a reader. I just uh… got curious, I guess?” Virgil didn't seem sure of his answer. “Well, I can give you a small summary! If you’d like me to, of course.” Roman backtracked pretty quickly, snide comments about how excited he got over meaningless things forcing themselves into his head. But Virgil’s “Sure, Why not?” Made him a little less apprehensive.

“Ok! So, the story is focused on this boy named Aaron. He is a poor farm boy living with his family in a village that was overthrown by the guards, they became corrupted and betrayed the royal family and took control for themselves.” Virgil just nodded along.

”They treated the least wealthy of the kingdom the worst, they didn't have money to bribe them with so to them they were useless, it got to the point where they were becoming the robbers, they would never steal from people with money because they were cruel people. Aaron and his father wanted to make a change but his mother didn't want them to, she wanted to play it safe and just gather enough money to leave for a better place.”

Roman rambling about the story not realizing how little of a summary it actually was since he definitely wasn't being concise, “I agree with the mom. Her plan sounds safe and effective.” Virgil didn't really mind, at least he wasn't going to be bored while he waited, “Maybe so! But where's the fun in that, dear knight?” Roman didn't really get the knights perspective “May not be fun but at least they'll get outta there without a problem” Virgil thought he was in the right and that the main character would make stupid reckless decisions for the drama and suspense.

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“Aha! They went back to the mom’s plan anyway! There was literally no need to try and do all that heroic shit.” Virgil was now fully invested in the story, he probably wouldn't have been if Roman wasn’t such a good storyteller.

“Well yeah... But it was worth it! If they didn't try they would have never known the outcome of that situation.” Roman was happy the knight seemed invested, he was mostly happy because he finally got to discuss the book with someone, and that someone had very different opinions than himself.

There was a knock on the door.

They both looked at each other, It didn't feel like they had been talking for that long. So, who in the hell was at the door?

Virgil stood up, hand fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. Roman stood as well, they both walked towards the door. Virgil opened the door, only to find Ruth on the other end of the door. “Oh, it's the lady from earlier.” Virgil turned to Roman as he let her in.

“Nurse, how did you get back so quickly?” Roman spoke up. “I wouldn't say it was that quick, it's been a few hours. But we found someone along the way so that did speed up the process.” Ruth talked as she noticed the untouched basket and started nearing it.

Roman and Virgil on the other hand looked at each other with confusion. It didn't feel like they had been talking for more than half an hour. “I'm sorry, I must have been talking your ear off.” The royal felt a need to apologize, “Hey, at least you made the wait entertaining.” the knight did not deem it necessary.

Ruth turned and glared at Roman. “So, you haven't eaten?” Roman glanced at the untouched basket and cursed under his breath, he completely forgot. “ Well…” Ruth was not having it “You brat.” She walked behind him and started pushing him towards the table.

“I had an excuse!” Ruth stopped pushing him “And what is it?” Roman turned to meet her eye and said, “I get nauseous when I eat too early.” Ruth looked unimpressed “I'm fully aware Roman. But it's almost noon.” Roman’s brain scrambled for another excuse “I was reading and I lost track of time.” She was still very much unimpressed. “As long as it wasn't the book you always read, fine by me”

As Roman’s nurse made sure Roman ate she noticed Virgil standing a few feet behind them. “I wasn't able to introduce myself earlier. I am Ruth, the brat’s nurse.” She extended her hand with a smile. Virgil shook her hand while he chuckled, which was interrupted by Roman’s overdramatic offended noises. “Nurse! You’re making him think I'll be a nightmare to care for!”

Ruth turned to him “Was I supposed to lie to him and tell him you’re a delight? My apologies, sire” Roman put a hand on his chest and gasped. “Now I understand why Trent called you a witch!” Ruth laughed, “You’re just basically proving my point.” Roman could only grumble and go back to eating.

Ruth took a look around the tower and spotted the red book on a table. “I see you've decided to become a liar huh?” Roman turned to her “Whatever do you mean?” She walked towards the table and picked up the book “Seems like someone was reading the same book they always read, I don't understand why they read it if they've memorized the whole book!” Roman knew Ruth was only joking but he didn't appreciate being called a liar “I wasn't reading it this time it was just out in the open! You can ask him!”

Roman pointed at Virgil, Ruth just looked at Virgil expecting an answer, “He wasn't reading that book, he was reading the one by the window” it wasn't a lie. “You better not be covering for that devil.” Virgil noticed there wasn't any malice behind her voice, her words portrayed something different. “Are you accusing me of being a liar? I thought that was reserved for the prince.” Ruth started laughing “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Virgil just chuckled.

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Roman’s nurse sat next to the window, looking out worriedly. Roman knew his nurse fairly well, “Has Remy not gotten back yet?” Ruth sighed and turned “My son and his tardiness again”.

Roman went over to his nurse, giving her a hug “I’m sure he’s just a little late..” Ruth tried to smile at Roman “I know Roman. I'm just a worried old hag.” Roman rolled his eyes and sat by the window

Ruth looked out the window one last time and took a deep breath. “Well I have to get going so we get there some time before sunrise” Roman stood up to say a proper goodbye to his nurse. “See you in a few days…” Roman really didn’t want to let go but he didn't have much of a choice.

Ruth started packing what she had brought in silence, once she neared the door she spoke “Roman, his and her majesty will have to be informed about this incident..” Roman was obviously not content because this would surely somehow be put partially on him. “Yes, I understand.” Ruth smiled sympathetically and turned to the storm eyed knight only a few feet away.

“Virgil, you’ll have to stay with Roman for a while longer. Commander Arlott sure didn't expect the need to find a replacement for Trent and truly not a day after being stationed here.” Virgil just nodded, he understood the circumstances and was glad to be able to witness such a sight. “The Commander insisted it would take quite some time to take someone off their post, he insisted he wasn't worried.” Ruth opened the door ready to leave, while Virgil was just trying for the pressure to not get to him.

Ruth said her final goodbyes and exited the tower.

Virgil then turned to the Royal, who went back to the same spot he had been before Ruth arrived, and just stared out the window as his nurse left.

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As Roman sat near the big window just looking out he started wondering why Virgil had even come here in the first place. He vaguely remembered Trent mentioning him being a messenger but that could just be some Knightly insult he was unaware of. So… he asked “Virgil, if you don't mind me asking...why exactly did you come here?” Virgil looked alarmed for a second as he had just zoned out for about 20 minutes “Commander Arlott, wanted me to deliver a message to Trent” Roman just responded with a simple “Oh” and resumed his staring out the window.

“So… how did the book end?” Virgil felt a little embarrassed to interrupt the silence to ask but he got extremely invested, to the point that if the Prince refused to share the information he might just read it himself. Roman just laughed, he knew how intriguing the book was “Well… In the middle of the mother’s plan being in motion they actually got word of a rebel group that had been inspired by their attempts to take the crown back.” Virgil sat down right across from the Royal nodding for him to go on.

Roman continued speaking but he kept getting distracted by a tapping sound. At first it was nothing, but then it got so prominent he couldn't ignore it anymore. Mid-rant he stopped himself and started looking around to see where the sound could possibly be coming from.

Virgil was confused as to why the heir had stopped speaking but then he started to hear taps. They didn’t sound like just a regular forest sound and they would surely not hear minuscule noises from such a height.

“Dear knight, are you hearing that?” Virgil nodded and stood up to see what could possibly be causing the ticks, Roman stood right along with him and then suddenly pointed towards the balcony doors. “Virgil, it's coming from the balcony.”

Virgil stopped to listen carefully “Yeah, but what's causing it?” They then saw a little pebble hit the glass doors of the balcony and make the tapping they had been hearing.

Roman went to the balcony with no hesitation and opened the doors.

Virgil started having his thoughts race a mile a minute, what if this was to lure the prince out to assassinate him? If the prince died on his watch he would be hung no doubt.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, he moved forward to follow the prince. He then quickly realized the prince was leaning over the balcony having a casual conversation with his possible murderer.

“Remy, what are you doing here? Ruth is going to kill you if you don't get there by sunrise!” Roman screamed down to the man in a black cape with dark tinted glasses covering his eyes. “Well yeah! But I had to make a stop here! I have something for you!” That made Roman start jumping with anticipation as to what Remy could have brought him from his trip

“What is it Rem? Is it something fancy? Is it food? Is it a book?” Though his eyes couldn't be spotted, not only because of his glasses but due to the height, it was very apparent he rolled his eyes. “No! It's a letter.” That got Roman even more excited. Could it actually be him? Roman haven't received anything but it could actually be! Finally some good news!

“Who’s it from?!” Remy looked down at the letter as if inspecting it “I don't know.” That caused Roman’s excitement to dull immensely. He would have surely marked it. There’s still a chance it could be him, right? Roman’s anticipation quickly turned into more of an anxious feeling.

taglist:

@meowthefluffy

@shade-romeo

@pattonsmile

@sevencreepycatsinacoat

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@innerpostturtle

@queenof-hell

@joyrose-fandomer

@vpow

#prinxiety #remile #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #roman angst #prinxiety fic #platonic remy n roman