#I don't even know what to do for my beta characters. Head empty. Head gone. sigh.

[manasurge]

bleh

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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[mintchocodevi]

Dance - Atsushi x Reader

A/N: The title doesn't really fit the theme for the story but it's the title of the song I was listening too when I got the inspiration to write this. I'm also playing around with how I enjoy formatting posts so forgive me if my stuff looks slightly different from fic to fic. 'DANCE' - Yumi from the Album LOST

Summary: You're leaving the agency in search of better opportunities in America. You might not come back, are you okay with that? More importantly, is Atsushi okay with that?

Characters: Atushi, Gender Neutral Reader, Dazai

Warnings: Angst and feels mostly, you two have feelings for each other but neither of you knows till the very end, Not beta read

"I'll be leaving for America in three days." Atsushi felt his fingers freeze, hovering over the keyboard in front of him as he looked at you from the back of the room. You had requested from Yukichi to gather everyone in the main room of the Agency to make an announcement.

"I know this is sudden and last minute but, this has been very hard for me to come to terms with. I've enjoyed my time with you all very, very much! So please, if it's not too much to ask of everyone here could you all see me off?"

You were standing at the front of the room with tears in the corners of your eyes, your heart heavy from the words you had spoken. You had been a loyal worker of the Armed Detective Agency for a while now and to be leaving so many people you loved and cherished behind was like having your crystal heart thrown to the floor and shattered into pieces. You looked over all your comrades faces, fearing anger and resentment for your last minute departure announcement but was met with bright smiles and kind faces. Multiple people came up to hug you and try to calm your tears. You were bombarded with questions on top of multiple people trying to console you. Honestly, it was very fitting, and a tiny bit of it warmed your broken heart.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone truthfully. I'll do my best to keep in touch but, I don't think I'll be able to visit. I'll miss you all very much honestly!" A somber chuckle left your lips as a few of the more childish ability users pouted and whined about your abrupt leaving.

However, not everyone came up and offered condolences or empty threats as a way of trying to get you to definitely stay in touch. Atsushi had found himself frozen in time at his desk, hands still glued to the same position they had frozen in the moment the first sentence left your lips. His golden eyes glued to your teary eyed face whilst hoping that in a split second you would laugh, say this was some kind of sick prank. Yet, what right did he have to feel this way? As far as he knew the two of you were nothing more than friends. Hell, it was possible he didn't even have the right to call you that either. Even so, he didn't want to see you go, he didn't want you to leave.

"You're going to finish your report before the day is over right?" Atushi was startled out of his thoughts by Dazai leaning over and pestering him about his work.

With a nervous chuckle he gave a weary nod of his head and did his best to focus back on the report that was due. Despite how much the little were-tiger did his best to hide his feelings from everyone, even himself, there was no hiding it from Dazai's watchful eye. The brunette watched Atsushi continue his work with a small grimace before his calculating eyes looked back up at you at the front of the room, still receiving comfort from his coworkers. Eventually, you had to part ways, bowing in respect to everyone and explaining you had to finish up packing before your leave this week. Dazai took seat in the roller chair beside Atsushi, watching the pale haired boy stare at your retreating form like a lost puppy wishing for its master to come back.

"Why don't you just tell them?" Dazai inquired with a bored look. The question definitely caught Atsushi's attention as he turned back to face his higher up.

"T-Tell them what exactly," Atsushi stuttered anxiously, "there's nothing else to say that hasn't already been said by others!"

Though he knew that was a lie. Dazai knew, and Atsushi himself knew too. It's not that he didn't want to tell you, but that he didn't feel he had the right. You were like the sun, the brightest smile in the room, the kindest person that could make anyone's bad day better. You were like the first dewy morning of spring, the beauty after a rainstorm! And Atsushi, was... He didn't think he could compare himself to anything as beautiful and romantic as your very being was. With a heavy sigh and a deep furrow in his brow Atsushi did his best to focus on the report in front of him, trying to tune out Dazai and whatever plan or possibly reaction he was hoping to get.

"There's nothing to tell, end of story."

Atsushi's last sentence left his lips in a whisper. Dazai couldn't help but stare at Atsushi, the poor kid practically wore his heart on sleeve in his eyes and it was plain as day to see. This kid was in love with you, and at the idea of you leaving he was boring torn apart.

Little did they know you were just as distraught. Granted, this had been tearing at you from the beginning. You had been offered a scholarship over seas at an American school in order to further pursue the career field you actually wanted to work in. It wasn't that you hated your work for the Armed Detective Agency but it definitely had not been your first choice. They took you in and gave you a job so that way you could earn some kind of income while finish up your education locally. All of your coworkers were kind and caring, some a bit more eccentric than others but it just added to their lovely personality! Though, you could definitely live without the danger, dealing with the Port Mafia on more than one occasion had solidified that being a portion of the job you hated. Yet, even when it was a situation most people would see as hopeless to escape from, you held at hope.

"No matter what, I promise to always save you!" Those had been Atsushi's words the first time he ever saved you, and without fail, he followed through on each time. It felt silly, falling in love with the man who promised to rescue you every time, but he'd always try and make it up to you! On days you both had off and he had some extra spending money he'd try to take you for food or sweets. When there was no extra cash to be had he'd still come and check up on you, make sure you were recovering from any possible injuries.

Honestly, those days he came to visit your house had to be the best. He'd come knocking at your door, clearly anxious to be at someone's real house instead of the apartments offered by the agency considering you still lived with your parents while working and in school. You'd have a bandage wrapped around your leg or arm from a deep cut or fractured bone from being roughhoused by the villain's who had captured you. The moment you open the door Atsushi is in full panic mode, ushering and helping you get back to your bedroom so you can properly rest and heal. It's a bit embarrassing, when one of his arms comes up and around your waist to hold you against him when he tries to help you take pressure off your injured leg or when his hands delicately press into your upper back to push you toward your room to rest. His touch is so warm, calming and gentle. After he manages to coerce you back into bed he makes sure to get you anything you ask for like a maid at your beck and call and it's so cute it often makes you laugh and giggle.

Reminiscing about those days, his warm touch, those gentle yet worried eyes. The reality of your situation, that you're leaving, possibly never to see him again, has you breaking down the minute your back in your now boxed up bedroom. You want more memories of him, of being with him, of him caring for you. When you're unable to keep the dam back much longer, you crumple into the side of your bed and sob.

The next two days is spent avoiding the agency as a whole. You focus on cleaning, packing, spending time with your parents and making sure people have your phone number and possible socials to keep up with you on. You know some of this information falls on deaf ears, some friendships just simply aren't meant to last no matter how much you wish they could. You decide that, since you don't know if you'll even have time to visit you cross off some minor bucket list items. You cook your parents their favorite meal and pamper them as a 'thank you' for taking care of you and raising you all these years. You buy little gifts for everyone at the Armed Detective Agency as thanks for allowing you to work there and as a small sort of apology for constantly being a rescue case for them. However, you aren't able to give them out until the third day. You had one last bucket list item in mind just before departing and you figured it was now or never.

The gentle rain seemed to match the atmosphere within many peoples hearts today. The sky was full of gray clouds, and the port in town busy with workers and many other people and families showing up and readying for departure. Atsushi was a little confused and curious as to why he was the first to show up to the harbor where your cruise was departing. He double checked his phone to make sure the time was right and he hadn't accidentally fucked up. This would be about the 17th time since he looked at his phone now, considering he would rather die and rot in the sewers than miss your departure but he still wasn't sure. Poor boy was far too worried that the world would punish him today and the clock on his phone would jump three hours from the time it actually was. When he looked back up and saw your form, bundled up in a large trench coat and gloves to fend off the cold air and rain that was sprinkling about, he couldn't help but find you adorable. Upon sight of him you raised your hand excitedly and waved, signaling him for him to come over and join you whilst workers behind you began to take your luggage and load it onto the ship.

"H-hey.. I'm not like, some how late am I?" Atsushi brought one of his hands up to nervously scratch the back of his head before sighing in relief when you shook your head.

"No, in fact your early," you couldn't contain the blush that rose to your cheeks, "I-I wanted you here a bit early..."

"O-Oh! Really..?" Atsushi blushed just as bright as you did.

The two of you stood in an awkward silence between each other. Everyone else around you seemed to pay no mind, other cruise ship passengers looking around and struggling to figure out where they needed to go, families sharing hugs and kisses to those departing and wishing for safe travels. Time was ticking away, you only had so much time alone with him but now, presented with the opportunity, your heart felt like it was about to explode.

"I hope you have fun, in America," Atsushi suddenly said.

"Have a safe trip." He reached out to awkwardly pat you on the shoulder, unsure of what else to say or do.

Was, that really all he had to say to you? You've been crying about your feelings and this boy for months. He cared so deeply for you, to promise such a thing as to rescue you every time, to visit you so often and make sure you were healing. To baby you, be a maid for you while you healed and yet, here you were leaving him and everything behind and all he had to say was 'be safe'?

"I love you."

Your heart seemed to be moving faster than your brain was now. Looking up at Atsushi in tears, the boy had no idea what to say to you. His golden iris were blown wide with surprise as he tried to let the words sink in before feeling panicked upon recognition of your tears. You threw your arms around him in a tight and quick hug, barely lasting a second, before you furiously wiped at your cheeks and moved past him. The sounds of Dazai cheering and calling out to the two of you was nothing but mumbled garbage in Atsushi's ears. His heart and brain were racing against one another right now and he was stuck at a stand still. Does he confess now? Would it be easier for you to move on if he just kept his mouth shut and watched you leave? Would it be easier for him? It was already hard enough, pretending that he didn't already love you, but maybe that difficulty would fade the moment you left. He could pretend that you were never there to begin with.

"You know, they say distance makes the heart grow fonder." Hearing Dazai's crystal clear voice cut through the fuzzy background noise of his brain snapped him back to reality.

Atsushi hadn't realized he put himself on autopilot as everyone else from the agency gathered to give you their last good-byes. You continued to cry the whole time while hugging everyone and handing out their little gifts, muttering apologies for always causing everyone stress despite their pleas and promises you weren't. As Atsushi checked back into reality, the final horn on the ship resounded, the port walkway empty except for you and all your coworkers. You gave one final teary wave good bye as you made you way up the ramp to the main deck.

'Distance makes the heart grow fonder' Dazai had said. Yeah right, with enough time it would be like you were never there. He would forget about you, forget his feelings, and focus on keeping the city safe once again.

Right?

Or...

Would he look at the clock, expecting you to come in with your dazzling smile at eight in the morning with drinks to perk everyone up? Would he still feel his heart flutter every time he looked at all the sticky notes he saved that you had left on his work desk after he'd rescue you each time? Would he ever forget the comforting scent of your bedroom he had become so familiar with every time he went to visit you?

Would he remember his promise to always save you, just like you always remembered?

"No!" Atsushi suddenly felt very panicked when he saw the boat moving and taking off. It wasn't moving very fast, but he knew that there was no stopping it now.

His coworkers jumped the moment Atsushi yelled and watched in bewilderment as the young man ran after the boat, calling for your name as loud as he could. He had to tell you, he couldn't hide his feelings, he couldn't run from them anymore, not when he was about to lose you possibly for good! He continued to run down the length of the port as best as could, the rain causing him to slip mid-pursuit and land face first into the concrete, but he couldn't give up, not now damn it! He placed his hands flat against the concrete beneath him and pushed himself up, giving another loud yell of your name till he could finally see your familiar face running out to the railing to see the commotion going on. You needed something better, something more beautiful than a boring, simple 'I love you too'.

"No matter what! I promise to always save you! Even if I have to swim across the ocean to get to you!"

[sunnydayzed]

Working on a fic and i keep wanting to post an excerpt

Some characters working through some feelings together.

I wanna eventually start posting the fic to ao3, but i wanna get together the first five chapters together and beta read.

btw, Alastor is my self insert

"Look, I- I just…" Alastor paused, rubbing his shoulder in a self soothing gesture, looking away from Leo. "I don't know what you want. To gloat? I've been trying to make it clear I've given up. Why come back if all you're interested in is hurting me?"

Leo froze at that, looking down at the man in front of him. Alastor flattened his ears, balling his fists and staring at the ground as the silence dragged on.

"You know, I tried for a really, really long time to figure out what I did that made you hate me. Was it something I said? Something of my past that reminded you of her? Was I not good enough?"

He laughed, though it was high pitched, nervous energy bleeding into empty giggles as Alastor hid his face in his hands. "It took me a really long time to accept I'd probably never be good enough for you." Alastor continued, mirth gone as he frowned, going silent. The words hung between them for several seconds, heavy with meaning, Alastors breathing becoming more shaky as he waited.

Finally, Leo spoke up, his tongue heavy in his mouth with the unfamiliar and uncomfortable words. "I… apologize."

"Oh." Alastor seemed surprised by Leo's statement, stuttering for a few seconds. "...I don't know why you're apologizing." Alastor shifted his weight, his shoulders tensing like he was preparing to fight, but wasn't ready to try attacking Leo just yet.

Leo couldn't help wondering how often this had played through Alastor's head over the years. But as he considered his next words, Leo came to a realization. It felt like someone had just pulled a layer of cloth away from his eyes, leaving details of the scene in stark clarity. Alastor's pose wasn't hostile, it was scared. Defensive, even.

Suddenly the headache, the anxiety, his hands shaking even after Leo had crossed his arms to try and steady himself. It all made a horrid amount of sense. It wasn't his feelings, after all. It was so easy to just forget Alastor could radiate his feelings onto others, like how Lukas could project his thoughts and opinions to anyone nearby, should he choose to.

But it also meant that Alastor was currently terrified of him, and it sent Leo's non-existent stomach turning in knots, feeling like he was back in an all too familiar situation, although this time, on the opposite side he once took up. It took him a few moments to find the words to use, inhaling needlessly to ground himself before speaking them out loud.

"Hey, I'm sorry." He offered, not knowing what else to say, and instead reached out, intending to cradle Alastor's head in his hands, only to freeze as the dragon hybrid flinched away, as if expecting Leo to hit him. Leo froze, that feeling returning swiftly and while he understood why, Alastor's reaction had hurt.

"...Do you want me to leave?" Leo asked after a pause, his voice unusually quiet over Alastor's ragged breathing. There was a moment when neither one of them spoke, Leo watching his every reaction, sure that if he still needed to breathe, he would have suffocated at this point.

"...No." Came Alastor's soft, breathy response, the dragon hybrid's eyes flickering from left to right, darting around wildly. His wings shifted slightly in agitation – they were still tucked closely against his sides, his tail tucked between his legs, though he was starting to stand back up. "...I don't think I can be alone right now."

"How about this…" Leo paused, an idea running through his head, despite Lukas's warning of it being a bad idea. "Just for a little bit… You can do anything to me you want." Leo hesitated, holding out his arms in invitation as he forced down his near overwhelming anxiety to speak again "No consequences."

Alastor paused, staring at him now, his expression wary, and boarding on what Leo could only assume is hurt. "...No consequences?" Alastor asked, after a moment, slowly straightening up fully, his tail swishing against the marble floor, catching on the sitting area rug.

"No consequences." Leo repeated, assuring him, and internally preparing himself as Alastor approached him, looking unsure about himself as he reached out, pushing Leo into the sitting couch behind the god of night.

He was glad he didn't have to breathe, or else the wind would have been knocked out of him with the poor way he handled the fall. By the time he'd recovered, Alastor had crawled onto the couch next to him, and seemed to be judging his reaction before...

Curling up on Leo's chest, white wings wrapping around the ghost's torso like a larger, softer hug as his mind reeled for a moment- He hadn't expected this. If anything, he'd expected rage, hatred, a fight. But instead the dragon hybrid seemed to instead take the chance for physical affection, his face buried in the god of night's mane.

Leo lay there, for a long moment, before finally raising a hand, placing it on top of Alastor's head, and feeling the smaller male flinch with his full body, but not pull away. Feeling like he could continue to press ahead, Leo gently began to pet Alastor's head, slowly feeling him relax with the affection.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." Alastor finally spoke up, his voice muffled by Leo's mane. "And part of me is mad because of it. Mostly because..." Alastor hesitated for a moment before he pulled back, and looked up at Leo with large golden eyes, a small frown pulling down one side of his mouth as he shook his head. "Like… Imagine if your bonded denied you any connection with them. Treated you as if you were nothing more than an insect that'd stain their shoe. Compared you to their abuser. All on assumptions they'd made about you."

Alastor stopped, taking several breaths as he tried to calm down, finally continuing once he'd blinked back the tears threatening to form. "And then they only start to care about you when it's revealed you have some kind of connection with them. Not when you were fighting for your life. Not when you were suffering. No, they only care about you when you have value to them. When their reputation is at stake with you. It's just..."

Alastor took another shaky breath, seeming to curl even tighter into Leo's chest. "The fact that they are bound to you doesn't seem to bother them much as much as what other people think about them, you know?"

Leo shifted, moving from half flopped across the couch to laying down properly, giving Alastor a more steady surface to curl up on his chest. "Is that how you feel we've treated you?" He asked, as Alastor's ears pinned back, the hybrid going silent. "Do you feel that we've belittled you? Do you think it's true that my bondmates haven't thought about you enough, and that the fact that you don't receive their care isn't an issue for them?"

For a moment, Alastor remained silent. Then he nodded hesitantly, and wrapped his tail tight around Leo's waist, nuzzling into the space where Leo's neck would be beneath his mane. He didn't say anything, so Leo decided to keep talking. "...How about I promise never to treat you like that anymore?" He said softly, as Alastor nodded again. "Okay? And that's a promise."

Alastor didn't respond immediately, so Leo gave him some time to collect himself. "...Alright." Alastor eventually responded, sounding reluctant, and he looked up at Leo, eyes bright with gratitude, "Thank you."

[ererokii]

What Goes Around Comes Around

T. Shouto x Fem! Reader (inspired song fic)

Song: What Goes Around by Justin Timberlake

Warnings: angst, cheating, like one scene of sex (very small scene), characters are 18+

Italics mean flashback

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This is my first fic and my first attempt at writing angst so I’m sorry if this is quite shit and of course it had to be my boy (pls forgive if there are typos). Also big shoutout to @shoutodoki and @shoutosplaything (also thank u for beta reading gabbi) for letting me tag them!

Don’t wanna think about it

Don't wanna talk about it

I’m just so sick about it

I can’t believe it's ending this way

Just so confused about it

Feeling the blues about it

I just can’t do it without ya

Can you tell me is this fair?

14 days

It’s been 14 days since the last time you saw Shouto Todoroki. You refused to acknowledge him as the man that you once loved but deep down inside you knew that you still love him. Everyday your thoughts kept haunting you as if it was a song that kept repeating itself without your permission.

Was I good enough?

Did he not love me anymore?

Could I have known before it happened?

Could it have been fixed?

Maybe I wasn’t putting enough effort?

You thought that your relationship was perfect. Like every other couple, you had your ups and downs. To something as silly as leaving the dirty dishes there or something as serious as miscommunication. Regardless, that was the best relationship you’ve been in for a while. Thought Shouto was the one to be. The one you would spend the rest of your life with. You guys were the It Couple. All your friends would always compliment on your relationship. Soulmates. That’s how everyone described your relationship with Shouto. A bond that could never be broken. The universe bringing two people together to forge the most perfect relationship. That’s what everyone used to say.

Tonight, just like every night you stared up at the ceiling refusing to let sleep take over your body as all you saw was Shouto when you closed your eyes. Laying on the couch, you stared up at the ceiling like you were in a trance, unmoving. The blanket lazily hangs off of the couch as you refused to shield your body from the cold. The unfinished dinner stayed on the granite counter in your kitchen, the half-empty wine bottle laid untouched on your low table. How pathetic you thought to yourself as you let out a weak chuckle and sat up slowly, running a hand through your messy hair. A bang like knock to your door startled you, making you turn your head quickly and could have sworn you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Who in the hell..” you mumbled and stood up, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts as you made your way to the door, stopping in front of it. You let out a deep sigh and fixed your hair quickly to the best of your ability.

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

You let out an indescribable noise as you quickly covered your mouth. Why was he here? What does he need? Is he drunk? Millions of questions raced through your mind. Even with the door separating you two, you could still feel his intense gaze burning holes right through it.

“Y/N please open the door. I just want to talk to you and explain things.”

“There is nothing to talk about Todoroki” you snapped and leaned your forehead against the cool wood. He internally cringed whenever you used his last name. It sounded so foreign to him whenever the word escaped your mouth that he honestly forgot what it sounded like.

“Please all I ask of you is to let me explain”

You let out a low groan and unlocked the door quickly, opening it with force that even Shouto was surprised you would agree to face him.

“Explain?! You’re gonna explain how you oh so magically or you tripped and stuck your dick in another girl’s vagina?! Cause if you have an amazing explanation please be my guess and enlighten me.”

“Y/N come on don’t act like that..”

“No! You have no right to tell me how I should be acting! And don’t you fucking dare call me by my name. We aren’t formal anymore” You snapped and felt tears starting to form. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure to see you cry. Not again.

~~~~

The thought of marrying Shouto has been on your mind for the longest. Being in a relationship for 3 almost 4 years with him was amazing, you were deeply in love with him and you wanted to take the next step.

Recently you noticed a difference in Shouto’s behavior. He lost his loving touch. As time went on you noticed the bridge separating both of you as if it forbade you to meet in the middle once again. It started off small. He would come home later than usual. Yes being a Pro-Hero called for him to be out at unusual times of the night but this didn’t feel right. It wasn’t right.

“Shouto!” You called out from the front of your apartment, slipping on your shoes. “I’m going to be out for a while with Ochako! I shouldn’t be gone too long!”

Silence.

You were met with silence.

A frown formed on your face as you glanced at the man sitting down on the couch, staring down at his phone. ”Shouto?” This time you were met with a grunt. Least it was better than silence. “Did you even listen to what I said?”

“No. What did you say”

Ouch. That hurt.

“I said I was going out. With Ochako” you announced slowly, expecting that he would take notice this time. ”Uh-huh. That's cool.” he mumbled, not looking up from his phone once as a small smile formed on his face. ”Well..okay then I'll see you later then. I love you.”

Once again you were met with silence but this time he lifted his head up to meet your gaze. The look in his eyes looked unrecognized, something you haven't seen since the beginning of your friendship. ”Ok. Stay as long as you want.”

That was some of the red flags you should have taken notice of, but you were so blinded by your love for him that you didn't bring it up.

You told your best friend, Ochako Uraraka about the situation and she simply told you that you were probably overreacting and just needed to speak with the man himself. “Ochako you know he doesn't even acknowledge me anymore. He doesn't say ’I love you’, he's not affectionate anymore and always pushes me away whenever I try to have sex with him. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?”

The brunette girl sitting beside you swirled the red wine in her glass as she stared down at it. ”I really wish I knew the answer for you Y/N-chan. From what it sounds like you just need to sit down and talk with him. It could possibly just be miscommunication.”

”What if he's cheating on me?”

”I'm going to have to stop you right there. Todoroki may be a bit dense at times but he isn't an idiot. If that were the case I would personally go down there and show him that he doesn't mess with the best girl around. In case you didn't notice, you're the best girl.

A weak chuckle escaped your lips as you took the final sip of your wine, relishing the way it went down your throat and left a tangy aftertaste. “Maybe I’ll buy a little something on the way back. Maybe some strawberry milk and soba noodles from his favorite place.”

“I mean you can do or you could just go straight home and talk to him without any bribery.”

A sigh exited your mouth as you placed your now empty glass on her white table. ”I really appreciate that you let me come over”

A smile tugged on her lips as she wrapped her arms around you, hugging you tightly against her smaller frame. “Of course Y/N-Chan! Let me know how it goes after!”

Then that’s how you found yourself in front of your door, reciting a small monologue on how you would approach the man. You opened the door quietly, staying put when you heard the soft creak of the door. “He should be home..” you whispered to yourself as you shut the door behind you once you entered your shared apartment. “All I have to do is approach and speak my mi-“ Black heels? When did you leave black heels here?

You didn’t. The only pair of shoes that were beside the black heels were your white slippers. You felt as if your heart dropped down in the depths of your body. It was a misunderstanding. It had to be.

You began walking towards your room, taking quiet steps despite feeling that your feet were dragging across the floor. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t capable of doing that. Right?

Turning the corner to enter the hallway you stopped your motion and stared. Across the hallway was your closed bedroom door. It felt like a journey that hasn’t even begun. Before taking a single step towards your destination, you heard it.

“S-Shouto!”

That was it. The moan. The noise of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of your once shared bed where it was him making you feel that good. Him touching you in a way that no one else could feel his touch. It used to be you. Only you.

“No no no” you repeated like a mantra and walked over quickly only to stop in front of the door, hand resting about the door knob. You were hesitating, but why? You already had your answer. Was it because you were in denial? You thought this was a dream?

Taking a deep breath you grasped the knob and turned it, pushing the door open quietly.

There it was. The scene you always hoped you would never see. Your now ex-boyfriend, drilling some woman into your mattress. Your presence seemed to be ignored by them.

“Fuck baby you fuck me so good!”

“You’re so fucking tight” Shouto grunted and threw his head back and closed his eyes before opening them again, tensing up on once he spotted you standing right behind him. His hips stilled as his hands let go of the woman’s ass.

You couldn’t believe it and started shaking your head in denial

“Y/N this isn’t what it looks like”

“Oh? What is it then huh? I know I’m not fucking blind. I can see what is going on with my own two eyes.”

He got off the bed quickly and grabbed a spare sheet, placing it on top to cover himself up. “Please Y/N” he whispered. He sounded desperate as he reached to grab your hand while taking a step towards you.

“How long has this been going on.”

“What?”

“How long have you been doing this behind my back.”

“...6 months.”

The past 6 months seemed like a lie now. Every kiss. Every touch. Every ‘I love you’ was nothing but a lie. Now, you remembered all the red flags that were thrown your way but your denial got the best of you. The constant fighting, blowing you off on dates to go hang out at ‘Midoriya’s place’ or even ‘Bakugo’s place’. Coming home late even when he wasn't called for work. It all made sense now.

”Baby we can talk about this”

“No!” You snapped and pointed a shaky finger at him. “Do not beg me. I gave you everything I possibly could. I put in all my time and my energy for this relationship and for you to just..” you trailed off and covered your mouth with your hand, suppressing a sob from fleeing. ”You know...instead for future purposes. If you want out of a relationship j-just tell them. Don't cheat on them from behind. And don’t you dare call me that fucking name again.” You said as confident as you could but in reality it was the opposite of confident. Your voice was wavering, your once perfect mascara was running down your face mixed with your tears.

Shouto gulped and clenched the sheet in his hand. “I still love you Y/N.. we can talk this out please. Just give me a chance.” He whispered and looked directly into your eyes. Broken. Torn. Guilty. The look in his eyes seemed to stare right through your soul.

“If you really loved me, you would have never cheated on me in the first place. You would have come up to me and spoken to me how you felt instead of doing this behind my back… I’m going to leave. When I come back, I want you out of my apartment. Take everything you own and leave.”

Is this the way it’s really going down?

Is this how we say goodbye?

Shoulda known better when you came around

That you were gonna make me cry

Now it’s breaking my heart to watch you run around

Cause I know that you’re living a lie

But that’s ok baby cause in time you will find

What goes around, comes around

~~~~

You shut your eyes tightly as the memory and clenched your fists right by your side.

“I was drunk. I went to a bar right when you left to go visit Uraraka.” Shouto said as he took a small step towards you. It felt like the world was suffocating you.

“A bar? That’s your excuse for cheating on me? Drunk for 6 months? Please. I’m not stupid. I know plenty of men that get ‘drunk’ and they don’t cheat on their significant other. I didn’t expect that coming from your mouth. You disappointed me. You let me down. You made me feel like it was my fault.”

“That’s because it’s not!” He suddenly yelled and you flinched slightly at the sudden change of his tone. He let out a deep sigh and kept going forward till he had you caged between him and the wall inside your apartment. “It was all me. I was stupid. I’m sorry for hurting you..I should have just came up to you and spoke to you how I was feeling. I’m sorry.” He whispered and placed his finger underneath your chin to make you look up at him.

You gulped and felt his intense gaze stare through you. His bi-colored hair tickling the top of your forehead. His face was close to yours, you could feel his hot breath hitting your face as he cupped your cheek.

“I’m afraid of losing you..I don’t want to lose you Y/LN” he whispered into your ear, smiling faintly when he saw you shiver. Even like this, he still had the same effect on you and you loathed it. “We can just forgive and forget.. I’ll make it up to you I promise just please forgive me”

You wanted to. You wanted time to go back and give you what you wanted. A meaningful relationship. Being with Shouto was on your mind everyday as if it was mocking you. You desperately wanted to be in his loving arms again, feeling his body on yours. Now that you were caged behind him, a low level panic started to arise in your body. Could you ever forgive him? How could you forget? What makes this different? What if he does it again?

“She cheated on you didn’t she”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, she cheated on you. Didn’t she?”

His quietness was all you needed as your answer. You shook your head and looked up at him, stroking his scar gently with your thumb.

“And you felt if you came back to me thinking I’ll let you back huh? You think that because she cheated on you it’ll make us relate on a different level and make everything better right? How’d it feel? It felt horrible huh? Like your heart was being ripped into two then stomped on.”

Shouto growled faintly and gripped your shoulders a bit tighter, opening his mouth to say something but you interrupted him.

“No. I’m not done fucking talking. I cried. I cried and cried for your sorry ass. You and I are not feeling the same type of pain. I loved you. She didn’t. I..I still love you” you whispered the last part under your breath

Shouto sucked in air as he tensed up. Time seemed to stop as the earth stilled. No one said anything. You missed the silence with him. Under different circumstances you would have enjoyed it. “You..you still love me?”

“Course I still love you!” You cried out and pushed him off of you, walking towards him as he kept backing up with each step you took. “But I can’t be with you. Part of me wants to forgive you and throw myself at you but the other half is telling me you’ll just do it again.”

“You think I would do it again?”

“I mean you did it the first time. So what would make it different from the next? Todoroki you just.. you need to leave.”

He quickly reached for your hands and cupped them, holding them to his chest. “I can’t lose you Y/N..” he whispered

“You already did.” You said coldly and pulled your hands out of his grasp. “What goes around comes around huh? That’s your karma now. Get out. I never want to see you again. I want the guilt to swallow you alive.”

He stood there unmoving, hands grasping around nothing as he looked up at you. He cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m sorry. I hope we can start over again soon. I hope you can forgive me.”

You watched as Todoroki walked down the steps and into the dark night. It felt like a weight was lifted off of your shoulders but the hole in your heart was still wide and open. Closing the door till he was no longer in sight, you let your head fall against the wood, letting out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Goodbye Todoroki Shouto.”

Is this the way it’s really going down?

Is this how we say goodbye?

Shoulda known better when you came around

That you were gonna make me cry

Now it’s breaking my heart to watch you run around

Cause I know that you’re living a lie

But that’s ok baby cause in time you will find

What Goes Around, Comes Around

[beauty-and-passion]

I know this isn't like your usual questions, but I was wondering what you thought of Sanders Sides fics with OCs in them? Particularly those who are shipped with a Side (or more if in a Poly-relationship) and is in the canon-setting as Thomas' Sides.

I'm attempting to write one; but I'm rather self-conscious about it. I have a friend who's beta read the few chapters I've written which helps me continue to write, but I don't at all have the courage to even think about posting it online for so many others to see.

So I thought getting someone else's opinion would help? If that's okay with you I mean...

(see? all confidence is gone even talking about it I'm half forcing myself to send this...)

- smol 🐍

Don’t worry, you can ask me anything! About songs, fictions, words, what to wear tomorrow, everything. I’m not an expert in everything you may ask me, but I can still give advices XD

Regarding your question, there are two factors that come into play: personal tastes and writing skills.

About my personal tastes, I can tell you that I don’t like stories with OCs. In my 15 years of reading fanfictions, I’ve learned that if there’s a story with an OC, there’s a very high chance this OC is:

a colossal Mary Sue

the author in icognito

a super-duper character that is always right, never fails and that will show amazing powers and will be the chose one who will save the world and so on.

In other words: someone you will never identify with and that you will end up hating.

But it’s also true that the fictions I liked the most have OCs inside. Sometimes even more than one! One of my favourites had an OC that was the brother of the protagonist, not exactly a secondary character.

So why did I like these stories, despite having OCs? Because of the writing skills. Because the authors loved their story and it was clear they worked really hard to write them. The stories were good, with a clear, coherent outline. The events made sense, the rhythm was nice, the characters were IC. And the OCs weren’t perfect angels with one trillion powers, but just normal characters, with strengths and weaknesses.

So, long story short: it all depends on you. If you like this story and you’re enjoying it, then keep writing it. Every good story needs the author’s love, even the best written one: otherwise it would be just a beautiful, empty shell.

But you can’t forget the writing skills. Plan your story, organize the events, decide what should happen and in what order, keep your characters coherent. A good planning will make the writing process easier, because you will spend less time thinking about what should happen next and more about enjoying it.

Also, one final advice from someone who has always been afraid to show others their works: don’t be afraid. Receiving feedback from others is the most beautiful and the most important thing a writer needs - no matter if you’re an amateur or an expert.

I remember the feedback my friend gave me, when I showed her my first short story: there was a description that worked for me, because in my mind I had a clear image. But it wasn’t as clear for her. And her feedback teached me something huge: that I needed to be more clear, because other people aren’t in my head and they won’t see things like I see them.

And yes, one feedback is good, but the more feedback you get, the more you’re able to learn and improve. My friend’s feedback was important, but only when I posted my first fanfiction and other people commented it, I learned a lot. Because people are all different, they come from different places and have different cultures/experiences.

And yes, maybe someone won’t like your story, but that’s okay too. That’s even better, because they will explain what they don’t like and every word will be useful for you to do better in the future.

So don’t be afraid to post your story. If you love it, work on it. If you enjoy writing it, write it. Ask for your beta’s advice and feedback. And then, when it’s time, post it. The world is huge and people are different, so I’m sure you will find someone who will appreciate it and/or give you some good advice.

In any case, it’s a win for you ;)

[prolestariwrites]

Time To Go [5]: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: M Characters: Nero, Dante, Vergil, Kyrie, Nico, Trish, Morrison Tags: Mystery, Humor, Missing Person, First Time, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Post-Canon Chapter: 5/9 Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4]

Summary: When Kyrie goes missing, Nero goes on a desperate search to find her. Unfortunately, Dante and Vergil go too. Sparda boys shenanigans, fighting demons, a smattering of family drama, and male bonding (otherwise known as Nero’s worst nightmare). Please check it out below, or you can read on FFNet or AO3. Beta read by @copper-wasp.

Now posted! Chapter 5: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point, in which Nero meets a former President, Dante and Vergil race, and Nico’s van gets a makeover.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

The van screeches to a stop in an empty parking lot. One street lamp flickers in the corner; otherwise, it's quiet—there are no lights, no cars, no people. It is the perfect spot for them to regroup and figure out their next move.

Dante opens the side of the van and climbs out as Vergil and Nero do the same. Reaching inside, Dante grabs the demon by the front of his coat, ignoring Trish's protest, and sets him down, the demon's legs dangling over the side of the van. Planting his foot up on the edge, Dante says, "Start talkin'."

The demon looks up, shaking slightly. "I don't—"

"Listen, shit head," Dante sighs. "It's one in the morning, I got this kid up my ass, I've had to look at my brother's ugly mug all night, and a cat stole my pizza. I'm pissed, tired, hungry, and I want to go home. So fucking talk."

"I don't know anything!" the demon cries.

Trish leans her forearm on the side of the door. "I thought you said you were good at this."

"I thought you said he'd know something."

Next to Dante, Vergil huffs. "You might try asking an actual question."

"Okay, everyone back off!" Dante snaps, holding up his hands.

"Move." Nero pushes him out of the way, stepping up in front of the demon. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Abe Lincoln," the demon replies.

Nero nods. "Okay, Abe. There's a girl missing. Her name is Kyrie. One of you demon assholes took her, and I want to know who. If I like what you have to say, you get to live another day. If I don't, you get a bullet in your head, just like your namesake. Understand?"

It is hard to tell what exactly the demon's expression is with his human suit so mangled, but Dante assumes it hits somewhere between annoyance and disgust. "Fucking humans," he says. "What makes you think I know anything? You all look the same to me."

Nero takes out his revolver and pushes it against the demon's head. "You have five seconds."

"He's not kidding," Vergil says. "He shot me earlier."

Dante snorts, but notes how Nero's fingers flex and coil around the grip of the gun. If they aren't careful, he'll blow the informant away before they get any information. "All right, kid," he says. "Let's give him a chance to answer."

"You're crazy!" the demon snaps. "All of you are crazy!" It looks up at Trish hissing, "Why did you bring me here?"

"Just answer their questions," she says tiredly.

"Time's up," Nero says.

The demon puts his hands up. Half the suit falls off and hits the ground, and Dante wrinkles his nose in disgust as it splatters on his boots. "Okay! Okay! What's her name? I don't know, maybe I heard something—"

"Kyrie," Nero replies coolly.

The demon nods. "Okay. I mean, maybe? Lots of demons take humans for food or power or just for fun. I don't know their specific names though."

"She's from Fortuna," Dante offers.

"Fortuna? I don't fuck with Fortuna." The demon gives a weird hissing sound that could be laughter. "Anyone that has any sense stays the hell away from there."

"That's funny, I kill plenty of demons there," Nero says.

The demon looks at him scornfully. "Newbies," it replies.

Dante heaves a sigh. "Listen, Abe, you got something for us or what?"

The demon looks around nervously. "No! I don't know. I ain't heard nothing about taking people from Fortuna, and I ain't heard the name Kyrie. Don't kill me!"

The three men exchange a glance. "He's telling the truth," Trish says. "He wouldn't lie, would you, sweet?"

"No, ma'am," the demon answers.

Dante narrows his eyes at Trish but she offers only a cool smile. "I'd really, really appreciate you not killing this one. It took me a long time to find a worthwhile informant."

Nero makes an angry noise in his throat, but he lowers the gun. "If I find out you lied to me, I'm going to come back here and rip your heart out myself." Then he steps away and walks around the van, climbing into the driver's side and slamming the door shut.

Dante swallows uncomfortably. He looks at Vergil and says, "Got any other ideas?"

Vergil shoots him a look but doesn't answer. Dante nods and says to Trish, "Thanks for trying anyway. I guess we'll head back and figure out our next step."

"No problem." Trish hops out of the van and tugs the demon with her. "Give me a call if you need anything else." She walks away, dragging it behind her, until they disappear into the night.

Dante heaves a huge sigh. "What a damn mess."

"We should go back to Fortuna," Vergil says. "Start looking there. I'm still not convinced she didn't leave on her own."

"Don't push that with the kid," Dante growls. "He's feeling bad enough."

"Let's go." Vergil steps into the back of the van, leaving Dante to kick the tire in frustration.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

They are halfway back to Fortuna and in the middle of nowhere when something inside the van makes a loud popping sound. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood, and with a series of curses Nero pulls over to the side of the road. The van sputters as it rolls to a stop, and all three men climb out and step around to the front hood.

The only light on the road comes from the van's headlights. There is not a sound, not even animals in the distance, and they had not passed another vehicle for at least an hour. Nero rubs the back of his head as Dante checks his phone, which has no signal bars above the time that reads 2:28 am.

"Now what?" Vergil asks.

"Guess we walk." Dante heads to the van and opens the side door. He climbs in and grabs an empty bag, rummaging around for anything they might need. He finds a flashlight, a smattering of knives, and a candy bar, the rest of it just being Nico's junk that he can't make heads or tails of anyway. He munches as he returns to the others, who are still staring at the smoking van. "You guys coming or what?"

Nero slams his fist on the hood of the van, leaving a small dent. "This is bullshit!" he shouts. "We came all this way, and for nothing! We're no closer to finding Kyrie and now the van—" He lets go a yell and punches it again, and again. His demon arm activates, the blue light looking eerie in the dark, and with a final growl Nero rips off the entire hood and tosses it towards the wooded area off the side of the highway.

It skids across the ground with a metallic, grinding sound until it comes to a stop. Dante swallows the rest of the candy bar as Vergil glances at him. He gives a shrug, and Vergil nods. They stand shoulder to shoulder and watch as Nero continues his tirade for another minute or so, the van left with holes and dents in the metal, and the windshield now sporting a nasty crack that runs diagonally through the glass.

Nero plants his hands on the side of the van, leaning his head down as he takes heaving breaths. His shoulders shake as he tries to get a hold of himself, and Dante clears his throat. "You good now, kid?"

"No, I'm not good," Nero hisses. "What are we gonna do now? She's still gone and…" Metal screeches as his demon hand bends the frame under his grip. "This is just like Fortuna. I was too weak to protect her then, and now she's been taken all over again. I'm supposed to keep her safe but this shit just keeps happening, because of me."

Dante wads up his trash and shoves it in his pocket. "Ah come on, you don't know that—"

Nero whirls on him, the edges of his eyes glowing, the devil inside him kept at bay with the barest threads of sanity. "It's because of me, and you, and him—" Nero points at Vergil, who tenses in response, "—and Sparda—I wish I wasn't a part of this fucking family!"

Dante can feel his own demon powers rallying inside in response, but he tempers it easily even as he sets his jaw. "Fighting me ain't gonna get you anywhere," he warns.

"It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"Nero," Vergil says in a warning tone.

Dante can't help but stiffen a bit. He has no idea what to say at this point, if there is anything that can be said to calm the kid down. But he knows for sure whatever lecture Vergil has planned is going to end with them all bloody, so he sighs and shakes his head, bracing himself for it.

To his surprise, Vergil simply says, "Come on. It's getting late."

Nero blinks in surprise when Vergil turns and starts walking up the road, his strides purposeful. He glances at Dante who gives the kid a smile and a shrug, slinging the bag over his shoulder and following. He smiles at the stunned silence behind him, only broken when Nero shouts, "Where are you going?"

Dante turns and walks backward, squinting at bit at Nero's silhouette illuminated by the headlights. "Gotta be something up the road," he calls back. "Best to keep moving."

He stares at the back of Vergil's head as they continue on, and a half minute later the headlights go out. Dante can hear Nero's footsteps hurrying up behind them, and again he smiles to himself. He picks up the pace a bit, a renewed energy letting him pass Vergil, who makes a noise behind him. "Don't walk in front of me," Vergil mutters. He moves a bit faster to catch up with Dante, making sure to walk just fast enough to stay a half step ahead.

Dante picks up his pace in answer. "Too slow, old man."

Vergil starts walking so quickly he is nearly jogging, and Dante begins trotting along to pull ahead. "What are you doing?" Nero calls behind them, but neither brother answers. Their speed increases incrementally until they are both moving at a quick jog, when Dante gives Vergil a shove.

"Watch it!" he snaps.

"Watch you eat my dust," Dante laughs.

He sprints forward, running as fast as he can. "That doesn't even make sense!" Vergil yells behind him, and a moment later he appears by his side, the two racing down the highway in the dark.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

The little office of the rundown motel is crowded with all three Spardas inside. There is just the front counter in front of a wall with dangling keys, the attendant looking up at them in a surprised half-daze, as they squeeze into the waiting room. Nero looks around at the stained green carpet and the calendar on the wall that is three years late, his skin itching just being in here. "Van broke down about thirty miles back," Dante says. "You got a phone we can use for a tow?"

The attendant leans over to turn the volume down on the little television set on the counter. "Only tow around here is Richie, but he won't answer this late. You'll need to wait until morning."

Nero huffs and pushes his way through the other two. "We're in a hurry."

The guy squints his eyes up at him. "You fellas in the circus or something?"

Dante gives a loud laugh. "Something. Since we gotta wait, you got a room? Three of them."

"Yeah." He pulls out a book and starts to write. "It'll be ninety dollars, plus tax."

Vergil and Dante exchange a look. "All you, brother," Vergil says.

"I ain't got it." He nods to Nero. "You can cover, right?"

"Not after I had to pay that woman and then buy you pizza," Nero mutters. "I only have another thirty on me."

Dante leans on the counter. "What can we get for thirty?"

The attendance swallows. "One room for the three of you. Checkout is at ten."

Nero grumbles under his breath, pushing past Vergil to go outside. After chasing down the two idiots they had spotted the neon Vacancy sign, heading over from the highway. It is nearly three in the morning now, and Nero can feel tiredness in his muscles and joints between the driving, the fight, and then the run. A shower and a couple of hours of sleep actually had sounded good, even in a fleabag place like this, but he still itches to get back to Fortuna and look for more clues.

The room is as bad as he had feared. Two double beds are inside, the mattresses lumpy and the blankets looking unwashed. Dante immediately flops on one, his frame taking up the entire space as he crosses his legs and props his hands behind his head. "Not so bad," he says as Nero and Vergil exchange a glance.

"It's awful," Vergil says.

Nero reluctantly agrees, watching as Vergil steps through the room tentatively. He turns and looks at Nero and says, "I'm not sharing the bed."

"Don't bother," Nero snaps. "I'm not gonna sleep anyway."

He strides through the room to the bathroom. The tile is cracked and dirty and the shower looks like it hasn't ever been cleaned, and he doesn't even want to look as he closes the toilet and sits down on the lid. In the next room he can hear Dante flip the television on as Vergil gripes about the inch of dust on the bedside table. Guilt fills his stomach as he thinks about the way he destroyed the van and railed against them both. Nero heaves a sigh, dropping his head down. Despite his tantrum, they had stayed with him and hadn't given him any grief about the van. That has to mean something.

"Hey kid!" Dante pounds on the door, startling him. "There's a vending machine, you want something?"

Nero chuckles. "Sure," he replies.

[lenfaz]

Sea Squad, ch. 13 (13/14)

Summary: Killian Jones has always managed tough spots in his con life… but never like this one. His brother is out of jail and convinced the only way to win his name back is to heist the casino of a major Vegas mogul, leaving Killian to do the planning. He now has to deal with a half-brother desperate to gain a name of his own, an ex-fling that carries her own torch against the casino mogul, his brother losing his mind over his ex-wife,  his former mentor’s depression and the one woman he can’t get out of his mind giving him chase. Ocean’s Eleven AU

Rating: M

Content warnings: semi-explicit sexual content, law-breaking (they are thieves, liars and con men), mild violence (someone will get punched), mention of former relationships (for the main pair) and cheating (but not for the main pair)

Banner (link to banner post) and art by the amazing @clockadile Go check her art tag for the fic here!

This fic would never exist without the wonderful @sambethe who convinced me to do over hot chocolate on one cold Chicago afternoon and virtually held my hand and betaed this fic for months. thank you SO much for everything you do.

A/N: A long time ago there was talk about Hook & his sea friends and a few collective posts shaped the idea of a Sea Squad. This fic is the attempt to bring that creativity to life. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge   @thesschesthair   and @jvosketches as they were part of that initial thinking back in the day. If a few things sound familiar, it’s because they are based on the movie.

Link to  FFnet & AO3

on tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8  9 10 11 12

Chapter 13

I did something stupid back in the day, lad… and while trying to fix it, I might have uncovered something that I’m not sure if you wanted to know.

Now, we don’t have time and I know everyone thinks I’ll make it. But just in case… if you want to know who you are, Henry… talk to Smee, lad. Tell him to show you what we found out.

Anton’s punch to his gut pulled Killian from his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he grunted and slammed his fist against the floor, holding onto the pain. His face had remained almost unscathed, nothing but a small bruise along his left cheekbone and another on his jaw. As much as he wanted to preserve it completely, he knew Gold wouldn’t buy it if his face was unscathed.

The door opened while he lay on the floor, and Killian closed his eyes for a brief second, playing the part of a beaten-up rival. His hand moved to hold onto his ribs, grunting in pain.

“Get him up,” Gold ordered, and his two goons moved to follow orders, pulling Killian up without any consideration to his possible wounds. Once again, Killian mustered all his energy to play his part. Lifting his head, he met Gold’s eyes. His suit jacket was askew, his shirt untucked, and a couple of buttons were missing. His pants had dust marks all over them. Tilting his head to the side, Killian smiled at Gold, wincing at the very last minute to show pain.

“Gold, I didn’t think you’d grace me with your presence. Not when you had such a wonderful host tending to my every need.” He spat on the floor - a mix of saliva and blood. Anton had been gentle, but the man was a still a half-giant with a steel punch. “Tell me, how is the other fight going? It is as fixed as this one?”

“Did you have a hand in this?” Gold scrutinized his face, his eyes drilling a hole on Killian’s forehead.

“A hand in what?” Killian moved his eyes around room, working to appear as if he were assessing the space. “Your wife? You know I did.”

The punch came from his left, one of Gold’s goons hitting his cheekbone and making Killian see stars. He moved his jaw left and right. He deserved that one, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d say it again if the opportunity arise.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, dearie.” Gold leaned on his cane, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “Did you have a hand in this?”

“Gold, I have no bloody clue what you’re talking about.” Killian spat the words, ensuring he was delivering them with the appropriately frustrated tone. “I’ve been locked up in here, a room with no view I might add, my body getting closely acquainted with the fists of your roughneck.”

Silence stretched between them, feeling the room with a thick air of anticipation as Killian waited and waited some more, his face devoid of any emotion except confusion, pain, and tiredness. He was pulling out all the stops on this one. It would make Nemo proud if he could see him. But alas, no cameras in this room.

Finally, Gold tilted his head, his face contorting into a condescending smile. “Fine. You’re free to go, Mr. Jones.” He moved to address his man. “Show him out. We have work to do.”

Killian made a show of buttoning his shirt back up and tugging at the lapels of his jacket before he made to follow the men out of the room. One more step down, only a few more to go.

He needed to give the delivery of his lifetime and he needed to do it at the appropriate time in the appropriate place.

After all, it was all about the setting.

/-/

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Emma asked the question for what felt like the eleventh time, although it truthfully was only the third or fourth. A duffel bag laid open on the bed and a suitcase already stood by the entrance. Her packing was almost done. She hadn’t brought much - part of always being on the road or on the run meant you got used to living with only carrying the essentials - and she was finishing arranging her toiletries in her bag.

She’d been in Belle’s suite when she’d received the call from Gold. It hadn’t taken her by surprise. The moment the power went out, Emma knew her chances with Gold were gone. And if she were honest with herself, Emma knew the moment she didn’t inform Gold that she’d spotted Killian Jones lurking around his casino, she’d made her choice. And now she had to live with it. Belle had gone with her to Emma’s room and was currently pacing back and forth.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble.” She pulled the sides of her cardigan sweater tight over her frame, averting her eyes.

“I don’t care about being in trouble, Belle.”

“I’m sorry, Emma” Belle was on the verge of tears. “Robert, he sometimes-”

Emma closed the distance between them and laid a comforting hand on Belle’s arm. “Hey, hey. You’re not responsible for what Gold does. Or Liam, or any of them for that matter.” She smiled, an idea coming to her. “Belle why don't’ you come with me? What are you going to do here anyway?” She didn’t want to leave Belle alone - or at the mercy of Gold if he figured out who was behind the robbery. It wasn’t just that she’d promised Killian, it was that Belle didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.

Belle shook her head, pursing her lips. “I can’t… not yet. I just I need time to think.”

Emma kept her voice gentle. “Think about what?”

“Whether or not I can trust him again.”

Emma didn’t ask which him Belle meant, because by the frazzled look in her eyes, she wasn’t sure even Belle herself knew. She only knew she couldn’t leave her here in this state.

“How about a cup of tea before I go?” Before Belle had time to protest, Emma shrugged her shoulder. “Look if Gold wants to time my exit and remove me forcefully, so be it. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Belle pondered her words for a moment before she gave Emma a small smile. “Let me get the Keurig settled.” She stepped out of the bedroom and moved into the living room. Emma quickly shut her duffel bag and grabbed it. She was about to leave the room when her phone rang. The screen read Unknown Number. Her heart beating frantically on her chest, Emma took the call.

“Hello?”

The voice that spoke sounded tiny, like it was far, far away. “Turn to channel 88. Make sure Belle is watching.”

Reaching for the remote, and fearing the worst, Emma turned on the TV. The image on the screen and the little piece of sound she was able to catch had Emma quickly raising her voice as she called for Belle.

“Belle, come here! You might want to ditch the tea and bring some alcohol instead.”

/-/

We’re all set.

Those words were exactly what Killian had been waiting for as he slowly walked down the hallway, dragging his feet a little in an effort to show he’d been beaten to a pulp by Anton.

He lifted his head and spoke into the emptiness ahead of him. “What happened tonight? Did you get robbed or something?”

Gold’s reply from the other side of the hall came almost immediately. “Stop.”

Stopping in his tracks, Killian bent his head as he turned around, hiding his smirk. When he finally looked up, Gold was in his face.

“I am going to give you one more time to come forward, dearie. Where is my money?”

“Are you willing to make a deal for it, Gold?” Killian waited for two seconds, letting the words sink in and peak Gold’s interest. “What if I tell you that you can get your money back if you give up Belle?”

Gold raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips in a grimace. “Belle, huh?”

Killian shrugged. “What can I say? My brother still loves her. They were happy together.” Meeting his eyes directly, Killian dropped the affable mask. “You and I both know the only reason you went after her was because you knew it’d bring my brother pain. And therefore, it would bring me pain.”

Gold didn’t even flinch, his smile turning into something evil and maniac. “Oh yes, I intended to make you suffer. I still do.”

“Careful there. You need me if you want to get your money back. So why don’t we try that again?”

Gold hesitated and Killian knew he was weighing in on his options. Was his hatred for Killian and his family so deep that he’d risk never seeing his hundreds of millions again? Killian wasn’t going to give the man too much time to make a decision. “Do we have a deal, Gold?”

“Fine.” Gold huffed and Killian allowed himself a tiny smile. It would be out of character if he didn’t at least show some satisfaction about one-upping his nemesis.

“I know some people. I made a few new contacts while teaching celebrities to play poker in L.A. Give me a few days, I’ll find out who has your money.”

Gold wasn’t impressed, not in the least. He clenched his jaw and Killian had to bite his tongue to keep the smile off from his face. “I will hunt you down, dearie. This is not over. I can still make you suffer.”

Killian adjusted the lapels of his suit. “That threat got old a few years ago, and you’ve burnt more than your fair share of bridges since then. Especially with the people you’d hired to hunt me down last time. Such a tricky thing, not paying your debts.” Killian paused and shot him a small grin. “And let’s face it, anyone else you can think of hiring to hurt me and my brother like us more than they like you. So unless you’re willing to get your own hands dirty, which we know you aren’t, you’re left with no other choice."

Gold’s eye twitched and for a moment there, Killian thought he was going to punch him. But in the end, he simply gave Killian a dark look before turning to one of his security guards. “Call the police. Alert them of Liam Jones possibly breaking his parole, as I’m sure he’s nearby, and turn Mr. Jones here into their custody. He was acting suspiciously on casino grounds.”

Well, that was nothing that a little charm and some bail money couldn’t fix. And Killian had both in spades now. He let the guard walk him to the casino lobby. As he was being escorted, the ding of the elevator made him turn his head just in time to see Emma and Belle quickly making their way out of the hotel, carrying a suitcase and travel bag between them. They were close to the entrance when Ursula approached them.

As he waited for the police to show up, Killian couldn’t hide his smile. Belle and Emma clearly had gotten the message.

All was well.

Almost.

[bettsfic]

Ok so I've got this issue and wanted to see what you might think. I truly and seriously love not only yr voice and fiction but I love your take on writing in general. Here's the issue. What do you do when you hit that part you don't want to write? Not meaning here like emotionally difficult or tense just like in between. Something happened, something else is coming and there's just this - empty spot. When is it acceptable to just "skip that part"?

this took me a while to consider because my gut instinct is to say, “don’t write anything you don’t want to write.”

but then i started thinking of all these caveats, because there are so many different reasons for not wanting to write something, and if you’re asking whether you should skip it, it’s probably because you shouldn’t.

what you’re specifically talking about is like the long haul between two major plot points. generally in longer works, this is where you’d thread back whatever subplot you’d established. but sometimes fanfic doesn’t have subplots, and shorter works definitely wouldn’t have them.

so rather than writing everything that happens between A and B in scene, which might drag down the plot and slow your pacing, try switching up the structure. here are some ideas:

a montage

this is what i had to do for EoE, because it came down to the Falling In Love part, which in movies is almost always told in montage. i rewrote this paragraph about a dozen times, but here’s what it ended up looking like:

He would not fuck Albus Potter. He would not.

Even though he made it a habit to kneel by Draco’s chair after Griselda had gone to bed, his head resting on Draco’s thigh, Draco playing with his hair while reading through case files. Even though he bit his bottom lip whenever Draco made the mistake of looking at him too long. Even though he came to Draco with questions from his textbooks, asking for clarification on some obscure topic he happened to know quite a lot about, and listened intently until they both realized, stunned, that hours had passed. Even though Draco found evidence every time he left the Manor that Albus had gone into his bedroom. Even though Draco could smell him on his sheets at night, or just the illusion of it, taunting him, making him imagine what kind of awful things he’d done to himself in his bed. Even though a blizzard overtook the grounds and they went outside for a walk but proceeded to chuck snowballs at one another, tumbling into a wrestling match that Draco too easily won. Even though he pinned Albus in a valley of soft snow, gloved fingers intertwined in his own, flakes in their eyelashes and faces ruddy red and numb with cold. Even though he asked over cocoa later that evening, his legs across Draco’s lap, “You have the plea written. What are we waiting for?” to which Draco wanted to say, I can’t risk losing you, but actually said, “My caseload is too heavy right now.”

what i was aiming for here was one paragraph that would show the passage of time through specific images, which is still veering closer to show over tell. rather than “and then THIS happened” i slotted it within some internal monologue.

vignettes

somewhat same idea as above, but a little longer. a vignette is a short, self-contained image, like a snapshot. imagine the passage of time as flipping through a series of pictures, and each vignette is a description of a picture. no movement. just one single image that encapsulates the scene you’re trying to write without writing the entire scene.

a frame

which is to say, move out of chronological order. go directly from A to B, but once you’ve set the scene for B, backtrack and describe in reflection what happened between the two points. 

for example, if i’m skipping ahead a year between scenes to, say, a major battle, i might go straight from entering boot camp (which i don’t want to describe) to the battle. once there, the character is in the trenches, clutching his rifle, debris falling all around him -- he’s in the thick of conflict, so i can take my time now and weave in whatever i need to.

then i go back and describe, in summary, his experience in boot camp and how he got to where he is. this way, i don’t need to waste words on elaborating too much on boot camp when what happened there might not be relevant to the plot.

zoom out

i think learning how to zoom in and out on a scene is integral to understanding pacing. when you get to a part you don’t want to write, practice zooming out. pass five years in a paragraph. zoom back in and spend a page on just one day. toss a lifetime in a single sentence.

conversely, zoom in on a scene until your writing becomes so textured it feels like a painting. describe every detail of everything you can see in your mind. 

do not zoom in so far you get trapped in a character’s head -- this exercise is for imagery, detail, and action, not internal monologue. 

once you master the lens with which you write and how closely or distantly it perceives the action of your story, it’s a lot easier to grasp pacing and gives you more tools to deal with scenes you’re not sure how to tackle. 

thanks so much for the great question! hope this helps!

writing advice tag | ko-fi | beta commissions

[a-winterprince-blog]

Family Ties (6/15)

Summary: Not long after receiving a strange warning in a dream, Killian finds himself forced to go to Camelot and deal with a long forgotten enemy. The heroes follow to aid him, but soon they are pulled into a net of family secrets and intrigues, with a foe who seems to bring back the dead. Killian is reunited with his family, but can he trust them? Rating: Mature Content Warning: Mention of rape and minor character death. Corresponding chapters will be marked accordingly. As always, a huge thank you goes out to my wonderful beta @onceuponadisneypotter (AO3) and my two amazing artists:@thisisartyannaand @captainodonoghue! You can find the story on ff.net, as well. 

“Seriously?” Emma asked. “Golden eggs?”

They had returned from the dinner, which had gone on for hours. Now she was restlessly pacing around the room, trying to distract herself from her hunger. She hadn’t eaten much, in fear of not looking like a royal.

“It’s an act,” Snow explained. “We’re royals from a different kingdom. They were under a curse for a long time, it might make them look weak. Arthur wants to prove that Camelot is as strong and wealthy as ever.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Someone has a big ego.”

“It’s all strategy and part of ruling a kingdom.”

“Just as the guards we saw on our way there,” Regina added. “He might not really have many, but he let them patrol places that we would see, to make us think he has an army protecting this place.”

“Wow. He seems paranoid,” Emma muttered, coming to a halt and bracing herself on the table. Half-heartedly, she glanced at the maps they had studied early that day.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Regina said. “There’s one thing that doesn’t add up. Remember that kingdom he talked about? The one Morgause destroyed?”

“Yeah,” Emma replied, “Dom… Dom-something, I think.”

“Dumnonia,” Snow threw in. “I think it was called Dumnonia.”

“Maybe. Besides the point.” Regina started walking up and down the room, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “He said it was protected by a spell that was based on family.” She looked at Emma, clearly expecting her to say something.

“Right… so?”

“Blood magic!” Regina snapped. “Do you ever pay attention during my lessons? It must be blood magic.”

“And that means…?” Emma drew the last syllable out, not sure what the mayor was getting at.

“It means it can’t be broken. It’s impossible.”

“Well, there’s always a way,” Snow reasoned. “Every curse can be broken.”

“Blood magic isn’t a curse,” Regina corrected her. “But it doesn’t matter. Yes, every spell has a weak spot. And if you’re smart, you create one when coming up with it. That makes it strong, so that nothing else can tear it down. If you don’t do it, if you try to make it unbreakable, it’s always possible to counteract it with a strong opposite power, like true love’s kiss for dark magic.”

“So true love’s kiss broke the dark curse because you forgot to build in a loophole?” Emma asked.

Regina glared at her. “That was Rumple, not me. And as we all know, he wanted that spell broken.” She sighed. “What I’m saying is that blood magic doesn’t work on blood relatives, that’s why it’s called blood magic. That’s the weak spot. It can’t be broken. Unless Morgause is a part of the family or the person who put up the spell took it down for her, there is no way she could’ve gotten in there.”

“Regina…,” Emma started. “Okay, yes, that’s weird, but I don't’ really see how that’s relevant to us right now. I mean, she found a way to bring back the unborn child of a woman who died centuries ago. Let’s just accept that she has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

“This is very relevant! Because if she didn’t kill those people, who did? Why does Arthur think it was her? Was she involved, did she instruct someone to do it? Don’t you see? She might have an ally in this castle! Someone who is part of the royal family!”

Emma raised her eyebrows. She looked at her mother. Regina seemed to have a valid point, but she was too exhausted to think about it right now. They already had to worry about one powerful witch, there were already too many questions. What did she want with Calie? How did she know Killian? And what about Calie, how was she here if Milah was dead? She should’ve known it would come back to bite them in the ass if they ignored it.

“Fine,” Regina said, exasperated. “Forget what I said if you’re not interested. But I promise you, I will find out how it really happened!”

She left the room, letting the door close with a slam behind her.

Emma rubbed her face with her hands, holding back a yawn, and turned her attention back to the maps. They had marked spots that seemed like good hiding places for a witch with an ‘X’. Thankfully, all magic-blocking crystals were marked as ‘safe spots’ in the maps they had been given. But it was hard to judge the territory without ever having seen it. She couldn’t hide in a plain, there had to be something, a cave or a building. Something to provide cover.

“Do you think she’s right? About Morgause’s ally?” Snow asked.

Emma shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t  know. She seems to be ten steps ahead of us, technically everyone in this castle could be playing us. Maybe the whole court’s working for her.”

She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, eyes looking at the opposite wall without actually seeing it.

Snow stepped closer, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Emma”, she said. “We didn’t have much time to talk. How are you feeling?”

“Fine”, she replied absently, looking away. She really wanted to be alone right now. She was hungry and tired, not to mention she had an evil witch to think about. And a baby to save.

Unbidden, Calie’s face appeared before her inner eye. It was strange, she had always been irritated by her crying. But this morning, when she had woken up to silence, it had felt empty. Like there was something missing.

She wondered where Morgause was keeping her. If she made sure that she was warm and fed. If she rocked her to sleep.

She was so lost in thought that she almost forgot her mother was there.

“Look, Emma, I know you’re hurting. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you!”

Emma slightly turned her head away. She really wasn’t in the mood for a hope speech.

“But we will find her, I promise, good always wins! She will be fine, and you’ll get her back, and then we can all go home and-“

“Stop it!” Emma snapped, shocked at how irritated she sounded. But the stress of the past few days was taking its toll. “If you want to go and make someone feel better, go find Killian, but stop pretending like Calie is my daughter, because she’s not!”

She got up from the bed, walking away from her mother. Not that she could avoid her, she thought grimly, looking at the wall in front of her.

She tried to focus on the painting on her eye level. It showed three children playing in a field. Emma’s gaze fixed on the girl and a dark-haired boy. They could almost be Henry and Calie, when she was older. Henry loved her like a sister. He had always been so pure, so loving. Like her parents. Too bad that trait had skipped a generation. Emma briefly wondered if all the time she spent alone, in the foster system, was the reason for her jealousy, the reason she feared not to be enough, after all this time.

“But… she’s Killian’s daughter and you’re together”, Snow said confused. “I mean you’ve taken care of her for the last four months. You’re the only mother she has!”

“I’m NOT her mother!” Emma shouted, spinning around. “And Killian took care of her, not me. Her mother is dead!”

The pity in Snow’s face didn’t help. If anything, it made her angrier and more frustrated. Why didn’t anyone get it? It wasn’t like she wasn’t already irritated enough.

“I know what you’re doing”, Snow said. “You’re trying to protect yourself from emotions, like you always do. But I think you love her, and you know that. And now you’re fighting with Killian, which is absolutely natural because you’re both worried for her, but it will all be fine in the end! Good always wins!”

“You want to know why Killian and I are fighting?” Emma said. “Because I wish we’d never found Calie, and I told him that!”

Snow looked shocked for a moment, but she quickly covered it up.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it, even if you think you did. You love each other, and you’ll figure it out. As for Calie, she’s just a baby. If you’re worried that she won’t accept you, don’t be! She never knew her mother, and she will love you!”

“Since when are you an expert on parenting?” Emma asked coldly.

Snow flinched, and Emma sucked in her breath, immediately regretting what she’d said.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. I’m just… tired.”

She rubbed her face with her hands, sitting down on the bed. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right”, her mother said softly. “David and I are still learning.”

She started gently rubbing her daughter’s back. “With Neal and with you.”

“Can I ask you something?” Emma suddenly said. “If you had the chance, would you change anything? Would you still put me in that wardrobe?”

Snow’s hand stilled on her back.

“Yes”, she said with a sad smile. Emma tensed. “It was the right thing to do. We knew you would be the Savior, the only chance to break the curse. It does not mean that I don’t wish things had been different, that David and I could have raised you, and that we could have been a family. I wish it so much, Emma! And I’m sorry for everything you went through because of this.”

Emma nodded slightly. “Don’t be”, she whispered. “As you said, it was the only way to break the curse. You saved all the people in your kingdom because you are heroes, and you did the right thing by giving up your child, and giving me my best chance.”

She took a deep breath, holding back the tears stinging in her eyes. “It’s just sometimes I wish you weren’t heroes. Sometimes I wish you hadn’t saved everyone else but me, and just kept me. Because for all the years before I knew you, I never once felt like a Savior, or loved, or like I had my best chance. I never knew. I always thought my parents abandoned me because they didn’t want me.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you know the truth now.”

Emma felt a tear escaping her eye, and angrily wiped it away. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve known you for what, two years? And I’m thirty, mum. The lonely part in my life was kinda pretty long! And I can’t even blame you because you did the right thing. And now you expect me to do the right thing, too, and love my boyfriend’s motherless child, even if her mother was his true love, and even if she’s a constant reminder that I will always be his second love. He only has eyes for her, because she’s the only thing he’s left from Milah!”

She couldn’t help the tears from streaming down her face now. Her mother put her arms around her and pulled her close.

“Emma, he loves you! Maybe you’ve just been shutting yourself out? Calie is a part of his life now, she’s his daughter, and like it or not, but you have to accept that. You know how it’s like to love a child. If you distance yourself from her or see her as competition, it’s no wonder you’re distancing yourself from Hook, too! And she really needs you, as a mother. She’s just a baby, Emma. She’s not yours, but that doesn’t mean she can’t become yours.”

“I’m a horrible person for hating her”, Emma said between sobs.

“No, you’re not. And as I said, I don’t think you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to find her.”

‘Iseult.’

Morgause quietly snorted in disgust. Was this another way to punish her? Not only did she have to marry a man three times her age, she had to do so under a fake name. Nimue didn’t want anyone to associate her with Avalon or with magic in general, so now, instead of Morgause le Fay, she was Iseult of the White Hands.

How could she do this to her? Names held power. Nimue knew that. Morgause le Fay was strong and had her own mind. Iseult of the White Hands was no one. She was weak. She only served as a way for Uther to gain more power.

“Lady Iseult, are you tired of riding yet? You can always sit in the carriage”, one of the knights escorting her asked. He was probably the youngest knight in Uther’s court, save for Prince Arthur. Morgause tried to remember his name. Something starting with T.

“No, I am fine”, she heard herself say. She smiled at him. “But thank you for your concern, Sir…?”

“Tristan. My name is Tristan.”

She gave him another smile and he fell behind as they passed a narrow bridge. Morgause focussed her gaze on Merlin, who was riding before her. His white cloak covered almost all of the horse’s back.

She had seen him talking to her mother right before they had left. Nimue had given him something and she wanted to know what it was. A weapon in case Morgause refused to marry Mark? Surely her parents wouldn’t hurt her?

Morgause wasn’t naïve. She knew that Merlin was her father, even though Nimue had tried to keep it a secret. It was the only explanation for her power. The legacy of the le Fays combined with the one of the most powerful magicians to ever live.  Even though she had never been allowed to use her magic she felt that if she learned to control it, no one would be able to stop her.

She was also perfectly aware that her mother feared her power. They both knew that if she trained her, the student would soon exceed the master.

Morgause could feel the magic within her every second she was awake. She could feel it tingling in her fingers, prickling sometimes, as if it was impatient to be used. She could feel it in the air in Avalon, as if the magic on the island was inviting her to come along, to join in the ancient dance. She could feel it in her heart that threatened to burst every moment she had to hold back. Every part of her body and soul yearned to finally let go, but she didn’t know how. It was like there was something missing, the key ingredient to channeling the power within and letting it out.

If there was one thing Morgause didn’t understand it was why Nimue decided to have a child with Merlin in the first place. That question had kept her up so many nights since she had figured out who her father was. She wasn’t under any illusions that her parents were in love and she was the product of their affair. It wasn’t how these things worked in her family.

The Lady of the Lake wasn’t supposed to fall in love and give into feelings. She was supposed to stand above it and make the best decision by finding a suitable father for her heir. Nimue had later broken this arrangement with Uther, but it didn’t matter as much since she already had a daughter. She wouldn’t have made that mistake with her heir.

So if Nimue chose Merlin as Morgause’s father, she must’ve anticipated that the child would be born with magical powers beyond her understanding. It must’ve been her intention.

Power, Love and Wisdom.

The three ideal traits that balanced each other, at least according to her mother. How many times had she heard them in her childhood?

Could it be that long ago, Nimue had favored power over the other two? If she really had created Morgause out of lust for power, it was only ironic that she would take it away from her now, she thought bitterly.

Her thoughts wandered back to the object Nimue had given Merlin.

Just what had her parents planned?

[stereksummerexchange]

Don't Underestimate the Skinny One

@benaya-trash | AO3 - I really hope you like this as much as I like your art and stuff :)

by @vyxynheartssterek

Mature - Character Death

When Jackson opens his big mouth, it pushes Stiles away. Where has he gone, and why? And how is Derek coping?

The crack echoes through the preserve, the wood of the bat splintering against the Omega’s skull. The wolfsbane coated wood that’s now under the werewolf’s skin is seeping poison into his bloodstream, slowly and painfully killing him.

An Alpha’s roar shakes the trees, and the remaining wolves bare their necks in submission. Derek strides through the reverent wolves towards the Spark, grabbing Stiles by his hoodie and drawing him close.

“What do you think you are doing Stiles?”

“What does it look like I’m doing Derek? Saving your ass again!”

Derek shakes Stiles, and draws him in even closer, noses almost touching. Stiles watches as Derek’s fang elongate and pierce his lip, eyes flashing Alpha red.

“You came to a fight with a baseball bat. What did you hope to achieve?”

“Seriously Derek? I knocked the bastard out with said baseball bat, and you have a problem with it?”

An angry growl bubbles up from the depths of Derek’s soul, sending goose bumps pebbling across Stiles’ pale skin.

“You could have been killed Stiles.”

“So? You could have been killed too Derek.”

“He was an Omega, I’m an Alpha, he had no chance against me.”

Stiles snorts. “Really Derek? You lot have been fighting him for the last 10 minutes. I come in and knock him out with a baseball bat. ME. Not YOU, oh mighty Alpha.”

Derek roars in anger, the full force of frustration being thrown in Stiles’ face. Stiles’ face falls. Pushing the wolf away, Stiles stumbles back a few feet. Taking a shaky breath, he points a shaking hand at the Alpha.

“Fuck you Derek.”

Stiles turns, and stumbles his way through the trees back towards the Jeep.

Derek turns and looks at his betas. With a snarl, he stalks in the opposite direction to Stiles, leaving his very confused betas behind.

Isaac speaks up first. “What the fuck just happened?”

*****

Stiles avoids pack meetings for a few weeks. He explains to the pack while they’re all sitting around the table in the cafeteria at school, that he couldn’t bare to face Derek.

“I just want to punch that perfectly structured face of his. Who does he think he is? He can’t tell me what to do.”

Scott sighs. “He’s just worried about you dude. You’re just a human. You’re all squidgy and shit.”

Stiles’ nostrils flare in anger. “Just a human? JUST A HUMAN? Are you fucking kidding me Scott? Whose side are you on?”

“Yours! Always yours Stiles! But come on. You jump into things without thinking sometimes. It has all of us worried.”

“Not me,” Jackson murmurs. Lydia elbows him in the side.

“Not thinking? That baseball bat I used was covered in wolfsbane! And who was the one that held Derek up in the pool for hours? Me. Two months ago, who was the one that dragged Derek’s limp body out of the collapsing warehouse? Also me. Give me some credit you jerks.”

Allison clears her throat. “They’re right though Stiles. Scott and Derek. You don’t have the skills the rest of us have. I’m human, but I’ve got my hunter skills. I don’t need to be in the middle of a fight to be helpful.”

Stiles looks incredulously at Allison. “Are you serious right now? Just because you’ve got ranged attack Allison, doesn’t mean you haven’t been hurt in the past. Also, screw you!”

“Stiles! Don’t talk like that to Allison!”

“Screw all of you then! What about Lydia huh? What about her? Why is no one telling her to be careful.”

Lydia flips a curl over her shoulder. “Because I don’t get myself hurt when I go out there Stiles, IF I go out there.”

“So all of you feel the same as Derek then? That I’m a weak, squishy, human. You’re all forgetting the times I’ve saved your lives too. Yes I’ve been hurt, but all of you have too. Plus I help with strategy and stuff, so I’m not useless.”

Allison looks at Scott before turning back to Stiles. “We aren’t saying you’re useless Stiles, just that you are more likely to get hurt. Or worse. We’re just looking out for you!”

“So what, I’m just supposed to not help anymore? Is that it?”

Scott shrugs. “Maybe? Maybe you should just chill with the heroics. Just stick to research, it’s what you’re best at! No one is better than you at research!”

Stiles’ heart sinks. “That’s all I’m good for? Research?”

Jackson smirks at Stiles. “Well it’s not like you’re pack or anything, so why should it matter?”

Stiles rears back like he’s been slapped. “I’m not pack? Is that what you all think?”

The pack finds something to quickly distract them, while Scott looks at Stiles with his patented puppy dog face.

Stiles feels a rush of heat to his face, and a flood of tears to his eyes. “Wow. Good to know where I stand. Well, I’m just going to take my incredibly fragile ass elsewhere then.”

Stiles gets up from the bench and grabs his tray. Looking back at the pack he shakes his head in disgust, and stomps over to the bin, emptying the contents of the tray into the trash, and throwing the tray in the dirty tray slot. As he stomps back past the table, he swoops down grabs his backpack, and storms out of the cafeteria, grumbling under his breath.

“I’ll show you have valuable Stiles Stilinski can be.”

*****

Derek is pacing the loft, clawed hands balled in a fist. “What do you mean he’s just left.”

Scott looks at the others before answering. “He’s left Derek. The Sheriff said that he’s gone to Poland to stay with his babcia for a while.”

Derek stops pacing and glares at Scott. “And why would Stiles have randomly gone to Poland, Scott?”

Scott shrugs.

Derek’s eyes flash red. “What did you say to him?”

Allison steps forward, and in front of Scott. “We told him he needs to be careful. That he shouldn’t rush into things because he’s human.”

Derek growls. “You’re human.”

“Yes, but I’m a hunter. I can look after myself.”

Isaac pipes up. “Yeah Stiles is useless. He’s only really good for research.” He looks to the others for backup, but everyone is shaking their head at him, with eyes wide.

Derek takes a step back, letting his hands unfurl. Blood drips down his fingertips from the claws that are still extended. “You told him he was useless?”

Jackson snorts. “He should consider himself lucky we didn’t call him anything else.”

A split second later Derek is holding up Jackson by his shirt, feet dangling in the air. Derek’s in beta shift, eyes red, fangs large, venom dripping from his words.

“The only useless one here is you lizard boy.”

Derek drops Jackson, who falls to the ground whimpering. Derek turns to look at everyone.

“How could you send him away like that? It was bad enough he wasn’t coming to pack meetings anymore, but to have him flee the country?”

Isaac looks confused. “I don’t understand Derek. We only said what you said.”

“I never called him useless, Isaac. I called him human. Breakable. And I shouldn’t have. He’s done more for this pack than all of us put together. He’s the heart and soul of us all.”

Lydia looks accusingly down at her fingernail with the chipped polish. “Well, he was also told he wasn’t pack, so that wouldn’t have helped.”

The pack watches as their Alpha’s face drops. The betas hear his heart almost stop. “Who told him he wasn’t pack?”

“That would be my half witted boyfriend. I really need to trade up.”

Derek looks at Jackson like his heart is breaking. “You told him he wasn’t pack? Jackson, he’s … Stiles is ….”

Lydia leans forward and quirks a perfectly arched brow. “Is this where you finally admit you’re in love with Stiles?”

Derek turns to Lydia in shock. “Oh my god, I am! I am in love with him. And he’s in Poland because you’re boyfriend told him he wasn’t pack.” Derek turns to Scott. “Is he going to come back?”

Scott shrugs. “I don’t know man. I’m sorry.”

Derek clutches at his Henley, and backs away until his legs hit the back of a side table. He sits down gingerly and lets out a gut-wrenching sob.

The pack look at each other at a loss for words. Their Alpha is sitting before them in tears, shoulders hunched, body shaking in sadness.

*****

Two years pass. Beacon Hills had been relatively quiet since Stiles had left, nothing the pack couldn’t handle.

Until now.

Kate Argent stands before Derek who has been drugged with wolfsbane and strapped to wires that have been wound around trees in the preserve. Electricity pulses through the wire, leeching into Derek’s skin, convulsing his body. Blood drips from his nose and his ears.

“How much longer do you think you can last Derek? An hour? Maybe two? Shall we place bets?”

Derek’s eyes flicker between green and red as the electric pulses contract his muscles. “Fuck. You.”

Kate laughs. “That all you got? Fuck you? Oh come now Derek, surely you must have something better than fuck you.”

“He may not, but I sure as hell do.”

Kate lets go of the lever in shock, and swivels around. Standing before her is Stiles, eyes blazing gold, electricity dancing from his fingertips.

“You are a blight on society Kate Argent. You need to be punished.”

Kate sneers at Stiles. “And what is a little skinny runt like you going to do huh? How exactly are you going to punish me? Take off a sneaker and throw it?”

Stiles sneers back at her. “Nope. Like this.”

Stiles raises his arms up at his sides as he begins to levitate, power radiating from his very pores. Trees on either side of Kate reach out their branches towards her, and begin to wind around her body, twisting and turning until only her head is left visible.

Kate begins to panic, and fights against the branches, but finds she can’t move. “What have you done? What is this? Let me go!!”

Stiles voice booms with authority. “You have desecrated Hale land. You have have shed the blood of the innocent. The earth cries out for justice.” “No! No please …”

“Your cries for help go unheard. The earth cries for justice.”

“What are you going to do? Derek? Derek! Please help me!”

Derek stumbles where Isaac and Scott have undone the tethers, and let Derek down. Allison removes the battery from the wires.

“You should be ashamed of yourself Aunt Kate. You’ve besmirched the Argent name.” Allison cocks her bow, raising an arrow towards her aunt.

“Me? You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! It’s unnatural! You aren’t a true hunter Allison! You’re all freaks!!”

A wave of energy pulses through the preserve as Stiles booms, “ENOUGH. The earth is calling for justice.”

The branches begin to pull apart, bringing the screaming hunter with them. Wind whips around the pack as Stiles helps bring punishment against Kate. Allison drops the bow and turns away, burying her face in Scott’s shoulder. The rest of the pack watch as Kate is torn in two, then four pieces, each piece being drawn into holes of the trees.

Her dying screams echo through the preserve.

Slowly Stiles sinks back to the ground, his eyes becoming their whiskey-hued brown once more. He rushes forward towards Derek who is looking at him with wide eyes.

“Derek! Are you ok? Are you healing? I can help!” Touching his hands against Derek’s bloody chest, a thrum of blue light glows from his hands, pushing healing power into Derek’s battered body.

Derek hasn’t taken his eyes off Stiles face. “You’re back,” he croaks.

“I am. Just in time too.”

Derek smiles. “You’re powerful.”

Stiles blushes. “I’m more than just a spark apparently.”

Derek chuckles only to stop as his healing ribs shoot pain through his body. “That was amazing and terrifying.”

Stiles smiles, and cups Derek’s face in his palms. “I’ve missed you Sourwolf.”

A lone tear rolls down Derek’s cheek, only to be diverted by Stiles’ thumb. “I love you Stiles.”

Stiles’ heart soars. “Oh thank god. I love you too Derek. So much. I have missed you so much.”

Derek turns his head into Stiles’ hand, and rubs his cheek along the man’s fingers. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I thought I wasn’t welcome. I thought I wasn’t pack.”

“Oh Stiles, I’ve always thought of you as pack. I’m sorry I never said the words.” Stiles smiles bashfully. “You’ve said them now.”

Derek smiles widely, and pulls Stiles into a searing kiss. While the wolf and the mage embrace, tendrils of vines and budding flowers grow from the the earth beneath their feet. The pack watches in amazement as the new flora sprouts and expands, taking over the trees that saw the death of the hunter.

Derek and Stiles pull away from the kiss, smiles adorning both their faces.

Jackson sputters out an apology and stumbles over his words  “Holy shit Stiles that was amazing, what the fuck!”

“Jesteś głupia mała jaszczurka wilków Jackson.”

Derek smirks at Stiles. “You speak Polish now?”

“Yep! Fluently even.”

“That was kinda hot.”

Stiles laughs. “Jesteś moim ulubionym wilkiem alfa”.

Derek tilts his head like a pup. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re my favourite Alpha wolf. And you are. You’re also MY Alpha.”