I was recently inspired by this post made by @mychakk about how things could have gone if Molly simply never picked up the phone during that scene in TFP. I came up with a somewhat angsty idea of how things might have played out in that scene and also for Sherlock afterward.Hope everyone enjoys it, and happy final day of Sherlolly Appreciation Week!! :D
John watched as a final scream of pain ripped through Sherlock’s body. He staggered backward, his back soon colliding with concrete and causing him to slide down to the floor with a strangled sob. The floor was littered with shreds of the cheap wooden coffin. The practical choice, for someone unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. John had wanted it ripped apart almost as badly as Sherlock. The truth was that none of them wanted that coffin to be a reality.
None of the three men wanted to think of the fact that Molly Hooper was now headed for one just like it.
Therapist!Ignis x Reader Word Count: 1,930 SFW For @staticeyes, who is so brave and deserves to be happy ♡
It was your mother that suggested you go to therapy. You didn’t like the idea at first—what would people think of you if they found out you were talking to a shrink? Would they think that there was something wrong with you if they put you on medication? You had all these thoughts racing through your head that you barely registered the sound of the receptionist at the office calling your name.
“Dr Scientia will see you now.”
You pulled open the heavy oak and stepped inside. It was a beautiful office. The ceilings were high, probably twelve or thirteen feet, with a skylight in the ceiling to let in the sun. Books lined the shelves, and there was even a narrow walkway that created a second floor where the library continued, which was held up by thin columns of intricately carved wood.
There was a desk at the far end of the room with some papers and a few open books, and two armchairs in the centre just below the skylight. Your therapist was sitting in one seat, his back facing you. You’d never met him before, but by the looks of the back of his head, he seemed…young.
The door clicked behind you as it shut, and he rose to greet you. When he turned and you saw his face, you tried to hide your initial shock.
He was…handsome. Definitely younger than you had expected, with tawny hair that was spiked back, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He was dressed in a crisp black suit jacket over top of a deep aubergine button up with a black collar, matching black dress pants and black alligator printed dress shoes. You also realized how tall he was as he strode towards you, his long legs closing the gap in a matter of seconds.
He greeted you and your name falling from his lips sounded almost musical as it hit your ears. “Come right this way,” he gestured to the armchairs in the centre of the room. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks, Dr. Scientia.”
“Please,” he waved his hand. “Call me Ignis. I’m not one for titles.”
“Ignis,” you repeated, dropping your bag onto the floor and nestling yourself in the chair’s plush cushions.
“Would you like a beverage?” Ignis offered, gesturing to a small tea and coffee station near his desk. “I have some Ebony brewing, but I also have an assortment of different types of calming tea.”
You shook your head.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me,” he began, pulling out his notebook and a pen before taking the seat across from you. “I know that I am to be your therapist, but I am hoping as well that you will eventually see me as your friend and ally. I am here to assist you in whatever way I can, and if at any point you wish to leave, you are naturally afforded that right.”
You felt your shoulders relax. Something about his demeanour calmed you immediately, and you felt like you could trust him right away. You smiled at him, and he smiled back.
It had been eight months since you started seeing Ignis. He’d done a lot to help you during your sessions—offered you coping mechanisms, creative outlets, tissues when you needed to cry, and clever puns when you needed to laugh. He was one of the most incredible people that you’d ever met, and you felt your guard slowly lowering around him.
The only problem was that you were starting to develop feelings for him.
You had an internal battle about this. Was it just because he was your therapist, and so by opening up to someone, and having that person be receptive to all your flaws, that you started finding him attractive? You mentally disagreed, remembering that you thought he was handsome when you’d first met, and were entranced by him ever since.
But the fantasy of his lips on yours and his hands roaming your body still came almost nightly. You’d always wake up, a panting mess, cursing yourself for letting it get this far.
It was just a crush, you told yourself. Not like he thinks about you like that anyway.
One day, before your session, you got into a really, really awful fight with your father. You stormed off, tears stinging your eyes, and practically ran to his office.
He was at his desk, writing notes in his leather journal when you burst in through the door.
“You’re early,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. He was about to go back to writing when he noticed your tear-streaked face, and the way your hands were clutched into white-knuckled fists. You collapsed onto the armchair, trying your hardest to stop crying.
It wasn’t working.
Ignis came over to where you were sitting and kneeled in front of you. You were in worse condition than he had ever seen. He offered you a tissue, which you gratefully took, your fingers brushing against his. You hoped redness in your cheeks from crying hid the blush that spread across your face at the brief contact.
“Did you want to talk about it?” He finally asked, taking the seat opposite yours as usual.
You told him everything.
“My father just kept telling me that I wasn’t going to amount to anything,” you sniffled, unable to look Ignis in the eye. “I can’t afford to move out. I can’t get out of bed sometimes. And for my own dad, someone I’ve always looked up to, to say those things about me…” You tried to steady your breath. “For him to say what I’ve always thought about myself, it’s just…it confirmed in my mind what I’ve always been afraid to be true.”
Ignis came to kneel in front of you again. He rested one hand over yours, and the other came up to tilt your chin so you met his eyes. They were the most brilliant shade of green, the colour of shallow ocean water on a summer day. You gulped.
“You,” he stated, “are not worthless. You are someone with a brilliant mind and a beautiful soul. Your father said those things to you out of anger and projection. He is trying to place his burden on you, and I know that you have the fortitude deep down to not let him do it. You are braver than you know, and braver than I can imagine.”
You stared at him, your eyes darting over his face. He looked so sincere and so honest, and the way he squeezed your hand made your heart race. Your eyes traced the curve of his mouth, the soft expression in his gaze, the small freckles that dotted his complexion in faint constellations.
“I’m in love with you.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them. His eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly agape. It took you a second to realize what you said, and when you did, you ripped your hand away from his, gathered your things and ran from his office.
You ran home, the last place you wanted to be, and slammed the door shut. The house was empty, thank the Six, and you ran up to your bedroom and sobbed into your pillow.
How could you be so stupid? Confessing to Ignis like that, being foolish enough to think that deep down, something could happen between the two of you. He was your doctor, someone you paid to talk to about your problems. And now he wasn’t even that, because you knew that you couldn’t go back to him after your outburst.
You heard a knock at the door from downstairs. You really didn’t want to answer it, but you wiped your face and decided to just suck it up and handle whoever was at the door.
“I’m coming,” you called irritably as the person knocked again. When you swung the door open, you were shocked to see Ignis standing at your doorstep. “W-what are you doing here?” You stammered. And then you lowered your voice. “How do you know where I live?”
“I may have checked your medical records,” Ignis admitted sheepishly. “Most likely a breech of protocol, but I thought it necessary.”
You didn’t move to let him in. You stood at the door way, frozen at the threshold. “So why are you here?”
Ignis took off his glasses and cleaned them off on the hem of his shirt. “I know that you have been through a lot in the recent past,” he began. “I am also cognizant of the fact that as your therapist, I hold a sort of unspoken power over you. It is not something I necessarily want, but it comes with my profession.”
He looked at you and your stare urged him to continue.
“I did not take your confession lightly. I want you to know that. But I also know that I cannot continue our professional relationship as your therapist.” Your heart sank, even though you already considered that outcome. “I’m here because I wanted to speak to you as your equal.”
You were confused, and then realized after a beat that he had stepped closer.
“I thought maybe,” he said, looking you in the eyes, “that my thoughts about you and my feelings towards you were wrong. I’ve never felt this way towards a patient before, and it’s something that could compromise my practice. But when you walked into my office for the first time, I was completely bewitched. I started looking forward to seeing you week to week, and wanted nothing more than to be able to see you outside of our scheduled sessions.”
Your mind was reeling. “W-what are you saying?”
He smiled, looking almost shy. “You’re clever. What do you think I’m saying?”
“Stop being coy and just say it,” you half-demanded, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.
Instead of using his words, Ignis stepped closer, leaned down and kissed you. After the initial shock wore off, you brought your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against you, his hands coming to snake around your waist.
When he finally pulled away, his arms still holding you tight, you let out a breath. “Wow.”
You swallowed past the dryness in your throat, running your hands along his biceps. “Can we go slow?” You asked timidly. “This is all kind of…unexpected. And I’m not going to lie to you when I say it scares me a little bit.”
Ignis nodded. “I understand it’s overwhelming. But I do want to be with you. I can’t have you as my patient, but I would love to have you as my partner.”
You blushed, burying your face in his chest.
“Come,” he led you away from your house. “Would you like to come have dinner with me?”
You looked up at him and bit your lip, smiling for the first time in a long while. “Okay.”
Vaulted house by vPPR architects is named after its huge ceiling vaults which funnel light into the home in the most dramatic way possible. Winner of a RIBA award, this house finds a creative solution to its inconvenient location.
Baze is a skilled fighter, fast and tenacious, but there are too many ravagers in the fray.
They knock away his knives and the pair of blasters he’d surreptitiously brought to the mission. The Temple Elders had sent him to bring resources to an outlier settlement that had been plagued by ravager raids, but instead, he’d run into the ravagers themselves.
One of the ravagers strikes the back of Baze’s head with the butt of a blaster rifle; another kicks his knees in, and the third smashes their boot into his jaw. Baze hawks out a gurgled stew of blood and curses.
“Throw him in with the other one. We’ll decide what to do with him later,” sneers the first ravager.
He’s hauled off to one of the crawler units in the middle of the ravagers’ caravan, the rustiest, dankest unit of all, smelling of piss.
“You’re in for a good time with your new cell-mate.” The guard at the doorway of the prison unit bares fangs at him. “Fuckin’ Force-botherer.”
They put restraints on his wrists and slam the door behind them. Light slants in from the barred skylight in the ceiling. The locks click and seal. They don’t sound too secure; if somehow he can free himself, he’ll be able to kick the door down and escape this shithole.
Baze’s eyes adjust to the rank gloom of the unit, and it is then that he realises that there’s someone shackled directly opposite him.
Wait. He knows that silhouette, that chuckle–
“Well,” says Chirrut, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“What,” says Baze, struggling (and somewhat failing) to draw a deep calm breath, “in the name of all things holy are you doing in here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“I will–ignore the implications of your last statement for awhile. I’m sure I’ll understand things better the longer I sit here in the dark listening to you.” Baze grits his teeth, tries to move his wrists within the cuffs. He’s still seeing the odd star from the blow to his head. “And how did you know I was going to wind up here in this cell? And no cheating answers!”
“I didn’t. But The Force did.”
“I said no cheating answers!”
“The Force,” says Chirrut calmly, “does not play by your rules. There are no cheats in the Force.”
“Fine,” snaps Chirrut. “If you must know, I’m here because you owe me something.”
“I owe you something?” Baze raises an incredulous eyebrow. Good thing he’s all shackled up secure like this, or else he’d have leapt across the space between them and given that entitled bastard a good shaking.
“Yes. A confession.”
Baze breathes. “What do I have to tell you that I haven’t already told you? You know that I don’t keep secrets from you.”
“We’ll see.” Chirrut shifts in the dark. Baze can hear him moving his neck, straightening the cricks out of his bones. “In our shared quarters in the Temple, there is a single window. Do you remember what used to sit on the windowsill?”
Baze is really wondering if he’s indeed having this conversation. Sometimes talking to Chirrut can be such a surreal experience. Not always in a good way. “Yeah. I don’t know. Some old carvings from the souk. A plant.”
“That’s right. Think about the plant.”
“Still don’t where you’re going with this.”
“I’m thinking of the plant, Chirrut.”
“What kind of plant is it?”
“Uneti seedling. Found it growing somewhere and put it in a pot and gave it to you.”
“Describe the plant to me. And just do it. Don’t ask why.”
Might as well play along. “It’s green. Ish. Long leaves. Actually no. It’s dead.”
“Ha!” Chirrut shouts, suddenly. “Have you got anything to confess?”
“About the plant,” says Baze, deadpanning.
“About the plant.”
Baze breathes deeply. His headache is getting worse. The smell of the place isn’t helping, and he’s really straining his eyes trying to see Chirrut’s expression, trying to see if Chirrut has been hurt by the ravagers.
“I killed it,” he says. “I spilled battery acid on it by accident.”
The unit begins to rumble as the engines start firing. The ravager caravan is on the move.
“Thank you,” Chirrut says. “For confessing.”
“That’s all you wanted to know.”
“Good,” says Baze. “Now. Would you please tell me why. The fuck you are locked up in this shithole cell? I thought you’d gone to visit the Cadera Monastery.”
“I was on my way there,” Chirrut answers. “But the Force pulled me off my path. I felt disinclined to go to the monastery. I just kept being bothered by something. Then I thought of you. Then I remembered something I wanted to ask you. So I went to find you out in the desert. I came across the ravagers and decided to wait with them until you arrived.”
Baze tries to process the nonsense of Chirrut’s story. He can’t quite manage it. But then again, this is Chirrut. The more he tries to explain something (and he does it in a way that makes his logic sound like the only obvious thing in the galaxy), the less sense it actually makes.
He will make a good candidate as future Venerable Master Guardian of the Temple.
“So the thing you wanted to ask me was about the plant.”
“It was,” Chirrut agrees. More silence. “Baze?”
“You’re hurt. I can hear your breathing. They hit you hard.” Chirrut’s voice goes tight. “They won’t get away with this.”
“And the ravagers didn’t hurt you?” says Baze.
“I didn’t fight them. While waiting for you, I thought I’d talk to them about the Force, and how we are all equal in it, and that there is purpose to be found if we sought it in the Force. Sadly, they were less than eager to listen.”
“So you went up to a bunch of bandits and started preaching at them. No wonder they called you a Force-botherer.”
“I was making small talk,” says Chirrut indignantly.
“Next time,” says Baze trying to be conciliatory, “next time you want to go out and preach the scriptures of the Whills around the desert, I’m coming with you.”
“Why?” Chirrut’s voice is suddenly sharp. “Why is it so important that you go where I go?”
“What d’you mean ‘why’? Why even ask such a stupid question?”
“Because apparently I am a stupid person and a fool,” snaps Chirrut. “So tell this fool why.”
“Because.” Baze is going to need a lot of air in his lungs for this. So he takes the deepest breath that he can, like he’s preparing to enter into a deep meditative state. Except he is nowhere close to meditating. Then the rant blows out of him. “Because I care. I care about you and what happens to you. Do you honestly think that I enjoy being such a nag? It goes against my very nature, and my god, Chirrut, sometimes I wish I can just abandon you to all the ravagers of the world. But I can’t. Because I can’t. So instead I wish a sinkhole will open at my feet and then I’d get flushed down and out through the asshole of the galaxy. I wish I’d get eaten by wolves because because because. Because you’re so fucking infuriating sometimes. You know why? Because! That’s why!”
“You can just say,” Chirrut’s voice is unperturbable. A serene note that somehow makes some of the anger leach out of Baze. “You can just say that you love me.”
“I love you,” says Baze. “And I always have. That’s why. Because I love you.”
The minutes inch past like flies. The ravager caravan must be crossing stony terrain, because the unit jerks and jolts and worsens Baze’s headache.
“Baze,” says Chirrut.
“About that plant. I really liked that plant. I know you grew it specially for me in the back garden of the Temple. When it flowered you transferred it into a pot and gave it to me. You didn’t just find it. You grew it and tended to it.”
“It’s just a plant. I’ll grow you another. Takes a long time for the seed to germinate, but I’ll manage.”
“I am glad that you are here with me. And I love you too.”
The unit begins to slow down. The ravagers are stopping.
“I think,” says Chirrut, “that the Force is done with us being here. It’s time for us to go home.”
There is a clink of metal, the sound of unlocking. And then Chirrut shakes the restraints off his wrists and crosses the unit to where Baze is. He holds up a tiny device that looks like a many-pronged star. It’s an old unlocking gadget that is only ever handmade these days. An antique. But it will definitely be able to unfasten the cuffs.
“You had an escape means all this time,” says Baze in the deadest, flattest tone that he can muster.
“Surely you didn’t think that I wouldn’t have a backup plan.” Chirrut works the mechanism on Baze’s cuffs. They click open and Baze drops his arms to his side in relief, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck.
“One day you’ll be the death of me. Mark my words.”
Chirrut kisses the chafed parts of Baze’s wrists. Wipes Baze’s face with his sleeve. “Until then, I’ll be your life.”
“Let’s go,” says Baze.
As the unit grinds to a halt, he kicks down the door and they burst out, the pair of them, into sunlight.
Hi there! Just wanna say I absolutely love your blog! I wanted to request headcanons of Akutagawa, Dazai, Atsushi, Chuuya, and Mori (if that number is too big then just the first 3 are fine! ^-^) with an S/o that is an artist, but when they get really into their paintings/drawings, they don't always pay attention to the boys?
(I did general artist HCs too, I hope that’s okay?)
For the sake of Akutagawa’s interior decoration, it’s probably a good thing you’re an artist. The only thing clothing his otherwise naked walls is your artwork. No matter what you paint, it’s going on display.
Painting is one of the few things Akutagawa compliments often and openly. Art is one of the things he appreciates most; the fact that such emotion and intensity can be displayed without words amazes him. Normally, Akutagawa wouldn’t be anywhere near as vocally encouraging, but he wants you to know how much genuine pleasure your work brings to him, so he praises everything from your brushstrokes to your color choices.
Secretly, Akutagawa slips your sketchbook in with his belongings if he’s going on a long trip for the Port Mafia. Looking at your drawings comforts him, and the lines winding across the page quickly become his solace when the two of you are apart. Even when he’s countless miles away from you, a mere glance at your sketchbook’s pages makes the distance seem a little less cold.
Akutagawa doesn’t want to pull you away from your hobbies, especially ones that he enjoys as well, so he’s a bit more reluctant to recapture your attention while you’re focused on art. Despite this, he still takes your sudden cold-shoulders a bit personally, even if they’re not intentional.
After awhile, Akutagawa will flat-out tell you he’s sick of you tuning him out. He points out that he really doesn’t have that much time to spend with you, what with all the Port Mafia business he’s got to handle. If you still don’t pack up your supplies, his mood sours instantly. Akutagawa doesn’t dare start putting away your tools himself- he’s worried he’ll screw something up and you’ll be forced to scrap countless hours of work. Instead, he sits perhaps three feet away from you, glowering. He stays there, glaring, still as a statue until you’re simply too uncomfortable to continue.
Dazai praises your art exuberantly and often. There’s no one in the ADA who hasn’t been victim to him waxing poetic on your mastery of shading, the delicacy of your lines, the poetic beauty of your finished pieces. Often, he’ll google complicated artistic terms, just so he can compliment every possible thing there is to point out. Plus, he sounds smarter when he uses words like ‘chiaroscuro’ (even if it’s not always employed strictly in the right context).
Often, Dazai seeks out art exhibitions in Yokohama for the two of you to peruse. No matter the quality of the pieces shown, Dazai always pretends to be disappointed, bemoaning the fact that none of your art is there. Whenever you pick out a work that you like, Dazai sidles as close to it as the gallery attendants will let him. After scrutinizing it for awhile (he usually whips out a magnifying glass), he draws back, sighing dramatically and shaking his head. Dazai points out all the aspects that you could’ve done better, mourning the fact that this got into a gallery and your work remains displayed only in his home.
Depending on the mood he’s in, Dazai either is alright with letting you alone as you work on your art, or he simply can’t handle being ignored. If he’s in one of the latter moods, kiss any potential progress good-bye. When you focus on your art instead of him, he’s immediately scheming ways of drawing your attention back. All of his brain power is channeled into getting you to acknowledge him.
Dazai tries every trick in the book. He starts off with sweet little kisses, smattered on your cheeks and neck, but it only goes downhill from there. If you don’t give in instantly, he morphs into a whiny toddler. Dazai creates racket in the background, pokes at your cheeks, complains about how cruel you’re being, pouting face about two inches away from yours. Things only escalate the longer your will holds out. Once, he set off the fire alarm just so that you’d acknowledge him (he apologized, but he wasn’t really sorry. Setting it off was so satisfying, not to mention effective, he’s got a burning desire to do it again.).
Atsushi’s simply amazed by your skills. Whenever you show him a finished piece, he beams, eyes shining with awe as he admires your work. Atsushi’s never been too talented with a pencil and paper, and your creative prowess is only one of the countless reasons why he adores you.
Unless you specifically allow him sneak peeks, Atsushi avoids your unfinished pieces like the plague. To him, something just doesn’t feel right about glancing at such a personal object in progress. If he does happen to notice an uncompleted project, he’s instantly apologizing to you, begging forgiveness for invading your privacy.
If you let him, Atsushi loves to sit back and observe as you work on projects. He admires the way your hands swerve across the paper, sweeping lines with unbelievable grace and precision. He also thinks your facial expressions as you concentrate are adorable. Every time your nose scrunches, or your tongue pokes out of your mouth in concentration, Atsushi can’t help but grin, delighted at your sheer cuteness.
Although Atsushi feels a bit slighted when you spend hours fine tuning artwork instead of hanging out with him, he would never dream of interrupting you. Your level of focus amazes him. As long as you’ve got a paintbrush or pencil in your grasp, Atsushi doesn’t disturb you, occupying himself with something quiet and unobtrusive. He doesn’t even want to cause accidental breaks in your concentration, shying away from all loud noise and distracting activities while you’re at work.
When you’re in your zone, Atsushi keeps close tabs on you. Meals are left by your workspace to ensure that you don’t forget proper nutrition, there’s always a full water glass somewhere nearby, and his inner mother comes out when it’s long past time to pack it up; Atsushi strongly ‘encourages’ you get enough sleep (ignoring him results in an indignant cold-shoulder; he’s trying to look out for your health and you brush him off?! Unacceptible), no matter how much progress you’re making
Soon after he discovers you’re an artist, Chuuya’s constantly bothering you to paint something for him. He insists on paying commission. If you won’t let your recompense be money, he’ll settle for paying you in kisses.
Instead of keeping a photograph of you with him, Chuuya holds onto a pocket-sized self portrait. Staring at your likeness, one that you created, brings a smile to his face no matter where he is. The picture especially helps when he’s called away on long Port Mafia tasks; glancing at the image every so often eases some of the loneliness of being apart.
Chuuya will love anything you create, but he’ll especially enjoy a scene of Yokohama at night, with the lights glimmering over the water, or a portrait of you two together. After letting you pick out a suitable frame, he hangs every art piece you give him somewhere noticeable; usually, it ends up decorating the walls of the front hall or dining room. Chuuya’s special favorites go in his bedroom. When you’re not with him, it helps ease his loneliness if the last thing he glances before he falls asleep is one of your artworks.
You have to be careful complaining about your art supplies when around Chuuya. He’s prepared to splurge any amount just so that you’re outfitted with top-of-the-line tools. Whenever he notices that your pencils are growing dangerously short, or that your paintbrushes are fraying beyond redemption, he immediately surprises you with replacements. They’re always an unbelievably expensive brand, probably foreign, and usually, your initials are etched somewhere.
Chuuya will never directly let you know that he’s annoyed when you’re ignoring him. He’ll try every trick in the book to coax you away from your art, though. Chuuya taunts you with the promise of your favorite meals, tries to rub your shoulders until you’re putty in his fingers, even hints at all the other, more… exciting things you could be doing instead. If you’re completely determined to work on your art, he’ll eventually let you be, but he won’t go down without a fight.
Mori’s absolutely delighted when he finds out your artistic ability. He encourages all of your hobbies, but this one, he’s especially enthusiastic about supporting. Mori’s no art critic, but he does enjoy browsing pieces. If you’re the one to create it, his interest only skyrockets.
To Mori’s absolute glee, Elise takes a liking to your art, too. Whenever you’re slaving away on a project, she’s probably got one she’s working on, too; she likes to pick out the same subject as you and compare when you both finish. Mori can never decide which is better when pressed for his opinion (usually by Elise). They’re both masterpieces, he insists, and there’s no competition between masters. Both artworks are hung up together, a plaque underneath them identifying the pieces as a collaboration between the world’s two greatest art masters.
Without telling you, Mori calls in a designer and sets up a massive studio for you to work in. The room is fully equipped with every art supply your heart could ever desire. It’s absolutely gorgeous; there’s windows overlooking gardens filled specially with all of your favorite flowers, and skylights littering the ceiling filter in moonlight when you want to work at night. Mori brushes it off as nothing, insisting that artists of your caliber need work spaces that measure up to their skills.
Generally, Mori leaves you be when you’re devoting all your attention to your art, although he’ll whine a bit. After he complains for a few minutes that he deserves your attention just as much as any canvas, he abandons the pursuit of your acknowledgement. Mori’s busy enough that he can occupy himself until you’re ready for him again. He’ll be mopey until you’re back in his arms, though.
There are, of course, exceptions; when Mori’s looking for sex, no amount of charcoal smeared on your hands is going to stop him. He’ll fuck you right against an easel if he has to. In addition, if Elise wants your attention, he’ll stop at nothing to fulfill her demands. Mori will ensure you give the girl what she wants.
I regret the moments I don’t spend with you, because I feel like we’ve spent from the beginning of eternity until now apart, and I want to make up for lost time. The minutes and hours that I count when I’m away from you don’t add up to the small amount of time we are together. There’s always a clock ticking, waiting to chime to send you off and away again. I want- no, I need to be able to come home to your sweet oceanic eyes every night, to wake up each morning wrapped in the silk of your skin as your arms entangle me into you, to simply be with you, and to know that you are the sun and the moon; the start and the end to all of my days.
The time apart only makes my love stronger, for I fall more in love with you after the days away when I finally get to see the enrapturing joy that is the corners of your lips rising to your eyes. I fall for you harder and harder each time I write you “goodnight” instead of kissing your stubbly cheek one last time for the night; I fall for you deeper when you squeeze my hand back as we stroll past the stores under a darkening skylight ceiling; I fall for you always, no matter if we are fighting or crying or not talking at all. You’re the light at the end of the tunnel; my very own sunshine.
I just wish we didn’t have to take a train to get there.
I miss him so much and I just saw him four hours ago
You woke to the sound of muffled voices beyond the ajar double doors of the bedroom. You sat up slowly from the bed and rubbed your eyes before looking around. The clock on the bedside table read 2:34am. You thought maybe it was best that you leave to avoid any awkward encounters in the morning.
You shivered when the thin sheets slipped off your body and you scanned the floor for your clothes. You remembered you had left your dress outside the bedroom. Sehun’s black dress shirt was crumpled in a corner so you quickly shot out of bed and ran to pick it up and put it on. You buttoned up most of it and rubbed your arms to bring back some warmth.
Voices could still be heard outside. One was familiar, Sehun’s smooth voice was unmistakable. The other was deeper, more mature. Curiosity got the better of you and you tiptoed over to look through the crack of the door.
You saw an older man, standing over the couch facing the fireplace. The person he was talking to had his back turned to you, but you could tell by the blonde hair that it was Sehun. The older man was speaking to him, and you strained your ears to catch what he was saying.
Rated: PG13 (speak of violence and romantic content). Enjoy! <3
It was much more difficult to explain everything that had happened to Jaime and Lyanna than Aurora had anticipated. She had to omit so many details, she almost felt as though she were telling a lie.
The three of them were sitting in their usual spots at their table during lunch. The cafeteria was buzzing around them, people constantly coming and going, and Aurora had to lean in closer to hear them properly.
Lyanna’s eyebrows hadn’t dropped a bit since Aurora told them Eric’s plans for her- the main part of it at least. When Aurora recounted what had happened this morning, minus the kiss of course, their mouths dropped open in surprise. Once the shock was past though, they became concerned. They had both witnessed Eric’s unusually cruel treatment of her during training yesterday.
Lyanna finally went back to picking at her fries, but shook her head.
“Not that I’m not proud of you for doing so well, and not that I don’t think you could do it, but… why you?” She asked around a mouthful of food.
Aurora shrugged rather solemnly without taking offense. “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks after what went down at the chasm, I’m special or something. He didn’t go into a lot of detail about why or how. Just said I was going.” And then hoisted me up onto his desk and kissed me.
Jaime noticed the way Aurora’s ears reddened and her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? What are you going to do in the meantime- surely you’ll need a bit of extra training?”
“Yeah that’s already covered.” Aurora absently picked at a roll of bread and the rest of her untouched food. Her friends would think she wasn’t eating because she was nervous, but it was actually because her heart hadn’t stopped racing and her stomach hadn’t stopped knotting since she left Eric’s office- and then worse after her lesson with Four.
“Eric told me instead of training with the rest of the initiates each morning, I have to meet with him at 5 to go over the special stuff I’ll be doing. I think he mentioned I need better practice with a gun. Four gave me a few lessons this morning. That’s why I missed the first bit of training.” She hoped they wouldn’t notice the way her voice faltered around their names.
Lyanna’s head snapped up again. “Four? Why did he do that? Is he going too?”
Aurora kicked herself mentally for letting that one out. She had to stick to as few truths as possible, otherwise they’d want to know more about why on earth Four was paying any attention to her at all. As far as she knew, he didn’t speak to any of the initiates, ever.
She fumbled for a second but covered it up with another shrug and an impassive laugh. “I don’t think he’s going. I guess he just doesn’t want to be held responsible if a brand new initiate ends up with her brains sprayed across the road. Or beat to a pulp. Since they’re accountable for our training and all… Not that I think either of them would be particularly troubled if that did happen.”
They both seemed satisfied by this and returned to their lunch without asking any more questions. Meanwhile Aurora was wondering how the hell she was going to get through the next couple days. Suck it up and deal with it, don’t think about either of them anymore, do what tasks you have to do. Or pack your bags and leave in the middle of the night and take your chances out in the ruins of the city rather than between the two Dauntless leaders.
The rest of the day went by smoothly, which Aurora was thankful for. After lunch, she and the other initiates played an underground game of capture the flag. Even though Aurora’s team lost, she was thankful to have a few hours to just have fun with her friends and the others. It was nice to not have to take everything so seriously for just a short while.
After dinner, Aurora went with Jaime and Lyanna around the compound. They talked about nothing of any real importance- how Lyanna was doing with Rick. She gushed over him like a puppy. Aurora was happy for her. He seemed nice and she was excited. Jaime was mischievous as always, and told them about how she was in the process of seducing one of the male nurses in the infirmary so she could eventually get access to the good drugs they kept locked away. A real fiend that one was. Even though she didn’t let on, Aurora envied them for having such a simple time here. No death threats, no attempted assassinations, no assault, no potentially dangerous and unwanted interest from the big bad scary leader.
Lyanna found a small clothing and jewelry store she wanted to check out, and dragged her friends in behind her. There wasn’t much to choose from, but there were several dresses that caught Aurora’s eye. One was mid-thigh length and dark gray with black flowers stitched into the skirt. She couldn’t think of a time she would ever wear it though.
Jaime came over to her then and nudged her with an elbow. “Hey, I was thinking. Tomorrow night we should go out again, like a little party before you head out. Since you won’t be back during final initiation, we can celebrate now. How does that sound?”
Aurora laughed out loud at the timing; it was like Jaime read her mind about not having an occasion to wear the dress. She nodded her head, agreeing eagerly. “Sounds great. It’ll be nice to get out for a break again. Except this time!” She spun around and caught Jaime by the elbow. “Don’t let me leave with any gross bartenders!”
Training with Eric was exactly what Aurora suspected it would be like. Intimidating.
She met him at exactly five o’clock as he had instructed her to, and she followed some distance behind him as he led her up a steep flight of stairs and into a cavernous room with a dingy skylight across the entire ceiling. The sun wasn’t quite rising yet, so the room was dim even with the fluorescent lights that hung on each wall. At the far end, three human-shaped targets leaned against the wall. Each was peppered with indentations from countless rounds of bullets, and there were even some chips in the stone of the walls around them.
“First, target practice. Combat won’t be close range if we can help it, so you need to improve on your shooting,” Eric pulled a heavy black pistol from his belt that Aurora hadn’t noticed before. He inspected it briefly before handing it over to her. She had used a gun a hundred times by now, but the solid weight of it still made her nervous. It took more will than she was proud of to keep her hands from shaking when she took it from him.
“Middle target.” Eric moved back to observe, and Aurora raised her hands obediently. Just as she had done before, she unlocked her elbows, squinted down the sight of the gun, and lined up the small metal head with the head of the middle target. She took a breath, let it out slowly, and pulled the trigger. The sharp recoil made her hands ache, and a cloud of dust sprayed from the rock wall as she missed her target by nearly a foot.
What! Aurora just stared. I didn’t flinch!
“Congratulations, initiate. Keep shooting like that and you’ll be dead.”
Aurora frowned, cocked the gun again to prepare the next round, and lifted her arms again. Again, she lined up the sight and fired, and again she missed. At least this time she hit the target in the arm.
Before Aurora could explain that she wasn’t usually this bad at shooting, Eric snatched the gun out of her hands. She gaped at him and took an instinctive step back.
“What, are you afraid?” Eric’s voice was harsh and condescending. Aurora shook her head, but he misplaced her apprehension. It wasn’t the gun she was nervous about. It was being alone with him again.
“Go stand in front of the target.”
Aurora’s mouth fell open. “What?” She squeaked.
Eric’s nostrils flared impatiently. “Go stand in front of the middle target, initiate.” His hand snapped up to point her forwards and she flinched away from him. If she refused, what would he do?
Probably shoot me right where I stand.
Aurora hesitantly forced her feet to move and did as he commanded. She paused before the target and tried to swallow the panic inside of her. It was surprising that she wasn’t shaking so hard her teeth rattled. When she turned back to meet his gaze, his eyes were piercing. There was a quick flit across his gaze that made Aurora think he was impressed she actually did it and didn’t start crying like she wanted to.
Aurora was surprised to hear herself speak. “So was this your plan all along? If you wanted to kill me, you could have just dragged me into the chasm. Less to clean up that way.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed at her and he smirked without a bit of humor. “I told you before. You’re not special enough for me to make a schedule just to kill you.” With that, he raised the gun to eye level and before Aurora could even think to make a move or a sound, he fired the first round.
The boom was deafening, much louder than it had been when Aurora had been shooting. It echoed off of the walls and reverberated inside of her skull. She was stunned. The hairs on the top of her head fluttered, and when she glanced up she saw a fresh hole in the face of the target barely inches above her.
She glared back at Eric with wide, unbelieving eyes.
“You actually fucking shot at me?!”
Eric’s laugh made her blood boil and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“There’s nothing worse that can happen to you than being shot at. If you can stand there without pissing yourself, you can shoot the gun without being afraid of it.” He went to raise his hand as though to fire again, but Aurora wasn’t having it.
“I’m not afraid of the gun you psycho! I couldn’t concentrate because if I drop my guard for even a second you’ll probably pounce on me again! How about you stand in front of the fucking target and we’ll see how well I can shoot.” She was seething by now.
Eric didn’t hesitate to call her bluff. He strode towards her with his jaw firmly set and his eyes burning.
“Alright then initiate. Here,” he grabbed hold of Aurora’s fist and shoved the gun into it, then jerked her arm up and pressed the still-warm barrel right between his eyes.
“Let’s see if you can hit your target this time.”
They both stood there with bared teeth glaring at each other. Aurora imagined herself actually pulling the trigger. His head would implode and his blood would spray against her face. His body would drop like a brick to the floor and she would stand over him like a beast finally bringing their prey to the ground. His hands wouldn’t hurt her again, his voice wouldn’t boom around her like thunder, and he couldn’t threaten her anymore.
But Eric wasn’t stupid. He liked himself too much to actually put his life into the hands of someone he supposedly ‘didn’t give a shit about’. He expected her to call him on his threat because otherwise, she would look like a coward. And Eric knew her well enough to know that she would never cower.
Aurora growled up at him and with a burst of adrenaline that made her head spin, she pulled the trigger.
She expected at least a small bit of panic to rush through Eric. Maybe his eyes widen in surprise or his face get pale with shock that she actually did it. But there was absolutely nothing in his expression other than the fierce authority that never seemed to leave him. If he was startled or uneasy at all, he didn’t show it a single bit. His breath was not the smallest bit uneven. Aurora hated his constant strict composure. Maybe if he showed even an ounce of humanity once in awhile, she wouldn’t want to smash the butt end of the gun into his face.
Eric smiled triumphantly and took the gun from her again. This time, he loaded it with bullets he pulled from the breast pocket of his vest. Aurora could barely breathe. Did she really just pull the trigger on Eric? Oh god.
“There. Now you’ll hit your target.” His voice was calmer this time, softer. When he pushed the gun into her hand again, she didn’t notice the weight.
Without a word, she crossed the room again and stood behind the white chalk line on the floor. Eric stood away this time, but remained in the peripheral of her vision so she could keep an eye on him while focusing on the decoy. This time there was nothing going through her mind when she raised the pistol. She didn’t have to take a breath to steady herself. When she fired, the bullet embedded itself into the forehead of the target with a satisfying thunk!. Aurora didn’t stop there though. She fired again and again, emptying the clip into target without pausing between. By the time she was out of bullets, the crater in the target’s head was visible from across the room.
She was breathing hard and her hand was numb with the shock of the kicks from the gun. She jumped when Eric’s sudden clapping interrupted the silence and he walked over to her.
“Very good, Aurora. That’s much better,” he loaded up the gun again. “Once you’ve got shooting a stationary target down, we’ll go onto moving ones. No one’s going to stand there and let you shoot them, after all.”
“Except you,” Aurora looked up at him.
Eric shrugged in agreement. “You wouldn’t have shot me if you knew there was a bullet.”
Aurora rolled her eyes and scowled. “What makes you so sure? You’re pretty annoying as far as sadistic narcissists go.”
Eric laughed at that. “Sadistic narcissist? You’re going to have to try a little better than that, babe. I get that one before breakfast.”
Aurora wrinkled her nose at him and turned back towards the target. She shot out each hollow eye and an uneven smile into the fake mouth.
“I don’t know why you’re recruiting me for this mission anyways. Pretty sure it’s not standard procedure to drag initiates into things like that.” She flashed him a withering look.
“Nothing about you is standard, initiate. It’s not every day a girl the size of an elf tosses an assailant into the chasm and then takes a stroll down there herself.” He loaded six more bullets into the gun.
“Sure, but that doesn’t explain the other things. You think I’m tough so you’re making me go. Okay, fine. Then why did you kiss me?” Aurora felt braver on the smart end of the gun and decided she could risk the question. If she didn’t like the response, maybe she would shoot him for real this time.
Eric was silent for a long enough moment to make Aurora glance back at him over her shoulder to make sure he was still paying attention to her.
He played it off as though it were no big deal that only 24 hours ago, he had her in his office and was maybe thirty seconds away from tearing her clothes off. “What can I say? I’m a scoundrel,” he growled the last word. “And besides,” his arms folded across his chest. “I think you liked it.”
Aurora’s mouth fell open at his audacity. She scrambled to defend herself. “I did not!”
Eric lifted one brow incredulously at her as though to say, oh really?
“Well I can do it again if you want. This time I’ll make sure you do.” His eyes sparked and he bit his bottom lip. Aurora nearly dropped the gun onto the floor and choked. As much as he was just taunting her, she knew he would actually do it.
Aurora didn’t know how to respond to that so she started shooting again. This time she went back and forth between all three targets, moving on from one to the next and back again until the barrel was empty. When she was finished, she blew a curl of bright red hair back from her face.
“Just once,” Eric suddenly said. “If you don’t like it, I won’t touch you ever again.”
Aurora stared at him. He wouldn’t leave her alone would he? Why was he so determined about this? What made him think she had the least bit of interest in him?
One step was taken towards her, but she held her ground. “No, Eric.” Her voice was stern and her feet planted. “I don’t want you to.”
Eric’s gaze turned to steel and Aurora could sense how badly he wanted to challenge her resolution. Only a second passed but it felt like a lifetime. The air was charged, and Aurora couldn’t tell if it was with tense hostility or something else.
Finally, finally, Eric shrugged it off and stepped back again. “Fine.”
Aurora let out a breath of relief and felt her shoulders relax. It was a miserable thing to be thankful for, but she was glad if Eric was an asshole, at least he heeded her answer.
Feeling a little better now than that was over, Aurora shook out her tingling hand. “I’m ready for those moving targets now.”