#I feel like it wouldn’t feel like such a failure if there’d been more if shigaraki and deku had talked more

[habken]

But it really is messed up that tenko never even had a chance. From the start he was doomed, and he was never going to be saved. All for one made sure until the very end that tenko was a pawn in his own story, how cruel is that

[gogandmagog]

I need your thoughts in a Gilbert who didn't meet Anne until later in life- let's say at redmond

For the sake of historical accuracy, PLEASE PICTURE ME DOING THE RASPUTIN DANCE as I read this. I love this ask, and I stan the asker. 🫡❤️

I think we’ve briefly talked about this before, in a superficial sort of way, but I’m obviously thrilled to get a little (read: okay, a lot) more detailed.

What would Gilbert be like, if he hadn’t met Anne until Redmond?

Anytime anyone takes this approach in fanfiction… I admit; I cower in a corner and try to look away. Of all the Anne multiverses, this is my least favourite. Like, easily. This notion makes my head and my heart say OW OW OW. For me, a big part of why Anne and Gilbert went in so deep was the heft and weight of the history between them. Their story is a slow burn that lasts well over a decade, these two idiots-in-love have known each other since they were 11 and ‘nearly 14’ respectively. We have all the good stuff, right? Their initial meet-cute-to-end-all-other-meet-cutes, the frenemies, the one-then-two-sided pining, the grand gestures that give way to an honest friendship (no one makes Anne laugh like Gilbert does, and he’s the SOLE fellow she feels comfortable enough with to share her honest feelings with, also see: Rollings Reliable)… it just means so much to me. When we take that away, we take away so much of what makes them… them.

But of course, you can rely on Gilbert himself to articulate these thoughts, too.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?” — Gilbert ‘the absolute sweetest and most poignant peach’ Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

But hey. Let’s go there anyway, because it v interesting and natural to wonder and speculate about.

To make it make sense, we must first subtract Anne from Green Gables, and Avonlea.

And 🥴… there’s a lot of collateral there. Minnie May Berry would’ve suffered the most and pays for the Anne-void discrepancy with her actual life. Lavendar Lewis? She would’ve never reconnected with Stephen Irving… and Mister Harrison would have stayed estranged from his wife. There’d be no A.V.I.S., although that seems like teeny-tiny in the wake of the rest. On the flip side, would Matthew have lived longer had the boy meant for Green Gables actually been sent? A solid maybe. And Gilbert? He would’ve never had any sense knocked (cracked, slated) into him.

Before Anne arrives in Avonlea we have a couple canon descriptions of Gilbert, thanks to Diana. We learn that he ‘torments the life’ out of the girls (and further, that they like it), and that he’s “aw’fly” handsome. We first see him pinning Ruby Gillis’ hair unto the back of her desk chair. A hot minute later, he’s all but desperate for Anne to look at him. Moreover, he thinks Anne should look at him.

“Gilbert Blythe wasn’t used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure.” — Anne of Green Gables

Without Anne? Gilbert Blythe is probably a bit of cad (need that gif of Josie Pye saying, “Gilbert Blythe is rake” right here). Just kind of a regular hoe. BUT. We have a canon quote to support this, too.

‘Even in quiet Avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it.’ — Anne of Avonlea

I feel in terms of just straight-up facts, we can reduce Anneless Gilbert to :

1. a smarty pants in an academic sense,

2. a smarty pants in the jokey non-academic sense

3. popular

4. cute, and aware he’s cute; that ‘teasing smile’ never really quits and he carries on winking ‘with inexpressible drollery’ just whenever he sees fit

This list looks a lot like the Gilbert we canonly know, until we arrive at…

5. egotistical on a degree level of… eh, medium-rare?

Without Anne to ego-check him; Gilberts pride remains fully intact, and what’s more, it’s grown and developed into a mature and self-assured vanity by the time he lands in Kingsport. Without Anne, by the time he’s 17, I think he’s probably walked home and/or kissed every pretty or exceptional girl in a good fifteen-mile radius. I would alsooo guess that Avonlea folks imagined he’d eventually settle down with Ruby. But what they don’t know is that he’s gone kissed every last one of the fine Gillis sisters. Even the oldest ones, Myra and Sara. I would also confidently speculate that this boy’s rather cavalier with his Romeo-ing ways, too, and that he’s inadvertently hurt some very real feelings… without even fully realising it. He just doesn’t take anything… seriously. Which Gillis sister did he kiss first? Oh, don’t ask him. He doesn’t remember.

And let’s support this guess with another semi-related and semi-justifying canon quote?

"Did I ever correspond with Ruby Gillis? I'd forgotten. Poor Ruby!” — Gilbert ‘dashing out heart hopes everywhere’ Blythe, Anne of Ingleside

But awoooo, settle down? No, Sir, not Gilbert. Gilbert wanders into Redmond a bachelor, free and clear of any responsibilities or ties, back home. ‘Excellent creatures though they are,’ there’s not been a single girl that he’s crossed paths with that has yet been able to stir his deeps… or even his shallows.

ADDITIONALLY… he walks into Redmond maybe two or three years earlier than he did in the books. Because without Anne, Gilbert has no reason to give up the Avonlea school – he saves his would-be room and board expenses by living at the Blythe homestead, and very simply and economically gets to college all the quicker for it. He does still want to be a Doctor. He has a great-uncle that’s a Doctor over in Four Winds, and Gilbert still believes…

“It’s a splendid profession,” he said enthusiastically. “A fellow has to fight something all through life . . . didn’t somebody once define man as a fighting animal? . . . and I want to fight disease and pain and ignorance . . . which are all members one of another. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the world, Anne . . . add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have been accumulating since it began. The folks who lived before me have done so much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race.” — Gilbert ���getting rather sentimental now’ Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

Now here’s where I fall off and digress again. I believe this is the end of educated guessing and reasonable fact-inventing about what an Anneless Gilbert probably looks like.

But for bonus points, what happens with this version of Gilbert collides with a version of Anne that never made it to Avonlea? Do they still get together? Likely. But HOW?

If someone put a gun to my head (lollll) and made me write (as previously denounced, I realise) a fanfiction about it (warning, it’s definitely gonna be giving… sensationalist and 🤌🏻 fanfictiony, but really if you’re gonna go AU… go AU; all this fully recognising that this would never be a LMM setting), here’s how I’d try to pull it off:

Anne, by the time she’s fourteen, has run away from the Hopetown Assylum. It’s nothing but hunger (Anne of Ingleside), verbal abuse, maybe worse abuse, and (despite the name) hopelessness there. Anne’s resourceful, we know she has a special knack for making things happen, and she decides to strike out on her own. But not without a plan. There’s not a lot of jobs for kids out there that also come with a safe place to lay their heads at night (though she might make up her mind to sleep under a nice obliging tree, should the need arise; “I had made up my mind that if you didn’t come for me to-night I’d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn’t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don’t you think?” ), so she, playing to her strengths and daring to dream, thinks of drama and being a stage actress. She gives a spectacularly good reading of Tennyson’s “the Lady of Shalott” to a Hopetown Theatre manager who not only pities her but also finds her wildly entertaining. Alas… he cannot offer her a job. He tells her, though, that he has contacts with W.W. Cole Circus (they toured Nova Scotia in the 1880’s, I checked this out too; I have whatever unimaginative disability it is that requires even fantasies to have bearings in reality), that W.W. Cole is always looking for cheap labour while they tour. Only!! They really just hire/have use for boys. (We can circle back to déjà vu-ish Green Gables problems here.) Anne, however, doesn’t care. She’s got a lead. She knows she can work just as hard as any boy, and means to prove it. She’s given a job (mucking elephant stalls, for starters) on a trial basis (circling Avonlea again), and does such a bang-up job that she’s kept on for a week. She becomes an instant friend with “Nova Scotian Giantess” Anna Swan. (Also a real person, from a real W.W. Cole circus circuit, pls see above regarding fantasies borne from reality. She was 7 feet, 11 inches tall, 400 pounds, and eventually married another ‘giant’ from Kentucky). Anna advocates for Anne to be kept on permanently (trying to @ Aunt Josephine almost, here). Anna, who is emphatically religious (irl when she retired, she went on to teach Sunday School at her church) and ladylike and kind, sees to Anne’s studies and upbringing when they aren’t performing. She recognises Anne’s academic abilities and leverages her own position to see that Anne is promoted, as the years carry on. Anna, duh, encourages Anne to save her wages—enough to get herself through four years at Redmond college… that she might go on to have a career outside the instability of circus acts. By the time Anne is 20, she’s far more widely recognised as Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald, and she’s a terribly accomplished trapeze artist and a very elegant acrobat (let’s throw in one minor incident where she fell off a tightrope and broke her ankle here, as we circle back to Avonlea ridgepoles), as well as especial homies with every tiger and elephant and cigar-smoking-chimp that graces the ring. She woefully wears the assigned pink tights and costume, despite often still lamenting that “red haired people should never wear pink.” She also has finally saved enough of her wages to get herself a B.A.

Her very last performance sees her signing off at W.W. Cole’s Kingsport show. Who do you bet’s in the audience? Gilbert Blythe. The football captain, Lamba Theta inductee, incumbent class president… who also, as it happens, is there escorting one Philippa Gordon.

“I saw only one really handsome fellow among them. He went away before you came. I heard his chum call him Gilbert.” — Phil Gordon, Anne of the Island

Gilbert’s taken with ‘Lady Cordelia’ at first glance. Phil’s also taken with her. The two spend the rest of the show trying to spot Lady Cordelia in her support roles of the other acts. Is that Lady Cordelia lighting the fiery rings? At any rate, for Gilbert, the deeps? Shaken, stirred, invariably earthquaked, when he and Phil get to make actual introductions at the end of the evening production, as they and the rest of the crowd walk out, stage-door style. Anne, on the other hand, is unimpressed at best.That boy was “awfully bold to wink at a strange girl” (he’s not even the first fellow to wink at her in the last thirty minutes)… all while another girl was on his arm, no less. Rather a splendid chin, though. 👀 Maybe one could say he was equally as handsome as he was bold.

“But, of course, the one I like best I can’t get. Gilbert Blythe won’t take any notice of me, except to look at me as if I were a nice little kitten he’d like to pat. Too well I know the reason. I owe you a grudge, Queen Anne.” — Philippa Gordon, Anne of the Island

That small matter aside, who else might be in attendance? I mean, Roy Gardner, of course. (This could easily substitute his, “And you are the Miss Shirley who read the Tennyson paper at the Philomathic the other evening, aren’t you?”)

Days later, and still wanting to know exactly who she was, Phil catches sight of ‘Lady Cordelia’ (wearing Redmond colors, at that!) reading epitaphs at Old St. John’s cemetery, and we slip back into canon here. Almost. Phil and Anne become fast friends, as is natural and fitting, but far less can be said for poor Gilbert, who now has a very awkward time trying to gently cast off Phil while simultaneously wanting to cosy up to her new freshette friend. After all, Anne is Gilbert’s ideal woman.

If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. — Gilbert Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

For Gilbert to finally win over that ‘Queen Anne, my Queen Anne, queen of my heart’ we’ll need to see academic rivalry, a relationship-mending grand gesture (these two starting off on the wrong foot is a canon event, and I cannot interfere), Gilbert Saves a Life or Two (lots of congenital health problems for people of Anna’s size, her hand is shooting right up as a volunteer for this incident, and by now Gilbert is nearly white coat qualified), one rejected proposal after two years of genuine friendship, Anne and Roy fully courting, and Gilbert Blythe’s to ego finally give way to the purity of his dreams and aspirations.

“He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.” -- Anne of Avonlea

And ultimately, this seems like a good place for that old case of typhoid for Gilbert and for Anne to realise her feelings, too. It would take Gilbert a full four years and nearly dying trying, to put a ring on it. For my last trick (read: in conclusion), here's a cute lil’ attempt at more canon justification for this utter nonsense (if you just squint):

"Mother dearwums," said Jem, "can I have those old ostrich feathers in the garret to sew in the back of my pants for a tail? We're going to have a circus tomorrow and I'm to be the ostrich. And we're going to get an elephant." "Do you know that it costs six hundred dollars a year to feed an elephant?" said Gilbert solemnly. "An imaginary elephant doesn't cost anything," explained Jem patiently. Anne laughed. "We never need to be economical in our imaginations, thank heaven." — Anne of Ingleside

SO FRIENDS. ROMANS. @batrachised.

What would yooooour take on an Anneless Gilbert be? An Avonlealess Anne? I’m sooo curious.

[giggly-squiggily]

Trying my luck with this aaaaa but hello friend! It's been a while, I hope you're taking care always ✨

I heard you're opening requests again and am honestly not quite sure if this'll go through considering the focus on Scarlet/Violet as of late, but if it's not too much to ask, I'd love to see a little drabble featuring my sacredshipping sweeties. Maybe Eusine's been feeling down on his luck as of late with his Suicune-chasing turning up fruitless, and Morty decides to cheer him up with a little weakness of his that he's known since childhood? (Though he has to be careful, since Eusine most definitely knows how to turn it around on him just as easily, hehe/////)

Only if it's alright of course! Speaking of pkmn though, I've been loving all the Arven content. He deserves all the warmth and laughs and comfort especially with everything he's been put through :'D

That's all from me, have a wonderful day ahead :} 💖💫

Hey friend! :D This is beyond late- my apologies! God I love these two; friend you're making me fall in LOVE! I've gotcha covered! :D (Oh you're so sweet! Thank you so much! I need to write more Arven stuff eventually; he is the definition of comfort goals!)

Have an amazing day friend! I hope you like it :D

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @gladdygirl18 @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo

Another day, another lack of Suicune sightings.

Eusine wasn’t a foolish man. He understood legendaries were referred to as such for a reason, and he knew going into this quest there’d be periods of time where nothing seemed to come out of it.

It didn’t make his defeat feel any less intense. Expected, but just as hard hitting.

“Eusine, check this out.” Morty flopped beside his slumped figure, a map in hand showing the town over. “They got a pokemon cafe! You can order drinks with them drawn in the foam! You love that kind of thing!”

“Do they now?” He sounded so miserable it hurt. Morty puffed out his chest as he gave the map a wiggle, aiming for more flair.

“Yeah! They also make different cakes. A Gengar Forest Gateau, a Poliwag Swiss roll, and a Sui- '' Whoops. Morty realized his mistake far too late. Just the beginning of the word zapped away any intrigue from his boyfriend’s eyes, casting them dark with defeat.. “-Cone…sorry, Eu. That was insensitive.”

“No, no, please don’t apologize.” He reached out, squeezing Morty’s hand before the blonde could linger on it. “You’re fine, truly. All of that sounds amazing, and I’d love to go with you. I just…” He looked out at the scenery- bitter acceptance coloring his sad smile. “I’m just finding it hard right now to be excited.”

Morty understood that. How many times did he feel just as defeated over missed chances catching a Spiritomb? He remembered venting to Eusine once over it after what felt like the final chance- utterly pissed until his boyfriend-

The ghost trainer blinked. Then he looked at Eusine. Would it work? Failure would prove disastrous.

Eusine’s sad smile wavered, strengthening Morty’s resolve. Some risks were worth it.

“Finding it hard, eh?” Morty fought down his grin, shooting a finger into Eusine’s side. “Very well- I’ll just have to find it for you!”

“Eeek!” Eusine jerked at the touch, rubbing at his side. He leaned away as he stared, knowing exactly where this was going. “M-Morty, don’t you da-Ahahahre!”

Poke, poke, poke. Morty shot both hands forward to rapidly jab at his torso, grinning at the various squeaks and yelps the other man let out at his touch. “Gotcha! Come on, Eu- give me a smile!”

“Ehehehe! EHheehehehhahahhaha!” Eusine doubled over at the pokes, his seemingly permanent frown quickly melting into a wobbly smile as he tried to catch his boyfriend’s hands. “M-Mohohohorty! Mohohorty, my lohohohove pleahahahhase!” He squealed when those pokes turned into gentle squeezing, kneading at his sides and nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. “Ahehahahaha, it tihiihihickles!”

“Does it now? I wouldn’t have known!” Morty laughed with him, scooting closer and moving his hands to the brunette’s ribs. “Given how you’re always tickling me, I’d assume you weren’t ticklish anymore! Now I know the truth!”

“Ahehahaha-heheheehheihiiihihihiii!” Eusine let out a long winded wheeze as he sank backwards, curling up to the best of his abilities. It did nothing to prevent Morty doubling his efforts, scribbling into his belly and earning even more giggly squeals. “Mhiihihihy loohohohove! My loohohohohoove, hahahahve mehehehehhrcy!”

“Mercy? Oh alright- only because you’re cute.” Morty winked before pulling his hands back, watching Eusine gasp for air beneath him. His cheeks were rosy, eyes shiny with unshed tears as he tipped his head back. Such a pretty sight. The ghost trainer wanted to kiss him.

…Well?

“Yooohohu’re so-Mmph!” Eusine yelped when Morty leaned in and did just that, capturing his lips with his own. A quick kiss, but the effect lingered as Eusine softened before him. “Wehhell…I suuhuhpose that made the whole tickling thing worth it.”

“Suppose?” Morty raised a brow, yelping when his sides were grabbed. “E-Euhuhuhusine!”

“Supposed indeed. While I do appreciate the kiss, I think this is what I really want.” Bodies shifted. The worldview got turned, and before long Eusine had Morty pinned beneath him, scribbling into his sides and making the blonde shriek and gasp. “You truly didn’t believe you could tickle me and get away with it, did you?”

“Gahhahahahaha! Gheehahhahahhahaha nahhahahahah! Nahahhahaha I dihihihihidn’t thihihihink thahahaht at ahahahahhahall!” Morty cackled out, thrashing like a bull against the grass. “Ehehehehehehu, cohohohohohome ohoohhooh, I’m shhahahahahhhahahrry!”

“No you’re not.” Eusine pointed out without malice. He reached down and gave Morty’s legs a squeeze, making him scream.

“FIHIHIHINE FIHIIHHINE I’M NOOHOHOT! GEHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA, EUHUHUHU!” The blonde squirmed so hard he flipped on his belly, limbs spasming until he tucked them in as Eusine pinched along the backs of his thighs. “I DOOHOHOHN’T REGREHEHEHT IT! GAHHAHA MOHOHOHOVE SOHOHOMEWHHEWHHERE EHEHEHELSE!”

“Hehe, bad spot?” Eusine laughed as he went back to his torso, dancing his fingers into Morty’s ribs and making him shriek. “My my, you’re ticklish just about everywhere! How could I ever forget such an endearing tidbit about my beloved?” He leaned in to kiss Morty’s neck, smiling against burning skin as the blonde slapped the ground rapidly. “Giving up so soon? Very well.”

He pulled his hands back, nearly choking himself on laughter at the skittery sprint Morty took to put distance between them. The ghost trainer tried looking tough, but Eusine’s wheezy giggles broke down his glare. He soon was laughing just as much as he returned to his side. “Arceus, you’re too good at that! I was about to see the light! My grandmother’s gengar was standing there with a pot of her homemade stew.” Morty shuttered, slightly green. “I think if I ate that, it’d be the true end of me.”

“Pfft! Aheahhahha!” Eusine waved a hand frantically, the other covering his smiling face as he laughed on. Morty grinned at the sight, drinking it like fine wine. It was such a nice change from earlier. “Ohoohohho! Ohoho, my- I lohohohove you so much, Morty.”

“Hehe, I love you too.” He leaned in and kissed his cheek, flipping out the map he held earlier. “So, about that cafe..?”

In response, Eusine’s stomach growled, making the blonde snort. “Oh hush, you!” Blushing pink, he laughed softly as he let Morty pull him to his feet, keeping his hand within his own. “Very well- let us go and try it. I’m rather interested in that Sui-Cone dessert you mentioned earlier.”

High above, out of sight and forgotten briefly in their plans, a lone dog sat. It watched them go with curious eyes, its mighty mane floating behind it in waves. It waited until they were out of sight before running off once more, awaiting their next encounter.

Thanks for reading!

[patchworkgargoyle]

WIP Weekend!

Tagged by the owner of one of the best usernames on this webbed site, @steves-strapcollection, thanks for the writing nudge!!

RULES

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in or just post.

*Optional: Respond to the ask with the lines you wrote.

WIPS

Some might be recognizable, because I haven't worked on them since last time WHOOPS-

mouth of the wolf, eyes of the lamb (~new~)

i recognise you're a hideous thing inside

Nail Polish

Plagued by Piercings

Shark Bite Meet Cute

SNIPPET

From mouth of the wolf, eyes of the lamb, a ~new~ fic inspired by this post and this snippet, aided and encouraged and brainstormed with @steves-strapcollection and @scarcrossdlvrs!

It’s been a month.

Or more like six weeks and two days.

Six weeks, two days since they’d gone into the Upside Down, guns and molotovs blazing, the screeching of demobats and a lone guitar echoing in the distance before the Creel house swallowed them up and spat Vecna out, only for him to crawl off to god knows where to lick his wounds.

Since Steve, Robin, and Nancy raced back to the trailer, and ran faster when they heard Dustin’s agonised screaming. Pulled him back to their side of Hawkins while he thrashed, sobs like jagged shards of glass echoing louder than the eerie thunder, fighting them every step until they saw the gates were widening, not closing.

Since Max fell into a coma, her broken form so small in the hospital bed.

Since Eddie died.

Steve’s known failure, when it comes to the Upside Down. He can’t untangle it from the tragedy of Barb, the fallout of him and Nancy, his fall from the Hawkins High social ladder. Yeah, he’d wanted to shove it all under the rug that first year, but sue him, he didn’t know there was more to come, and when it did, again and again, and he’d think back to how he felt in ‘84–and those two years felt like two decades away, some days–he couldn’t blame himself for it. He just wanted to feel normal. Now that normal wouldn’t ever exist again, if Steve could talk to his past self he wouldn’t tell him to do anything different.

This failure, though, felt so much worse. More final. Barb was the beginning, and Eddie was the beginning of the end. He couldn’t stop wondering if there’d been some way to do it better, one more play that would turn the tide and win the day instead of… this. Maybe now he finally understood how Nancy felt.

And the non-obligatory tags! @ghost--enthusiast and @spicysix!

[riken-leather-co]

Bapzo Propaganda | Day 24 & 25 |

Many people, especially soldiers, disliked thinking in terms of ‘what ifs’. Sure, back up plans were always made because it’d be foolish not to. It didn’t mean they had to like it. Back up plans and ‘what ifs’ always implied that the first plan ended in failure, and who liked to admit to failure? Who liked to go into a mission with that little nugget in the back of their head that things could go wrong? Most people didn’t.

That was one key point where Hanzo and Baptiste differed. Hanzo would prepare a back-up plan, sure, but he never had any intentions to use it. When he went on a mission he had every single bit of information provided, memorized. He went in armed with his weapons and knowledge, fully intent on completing the mission with no slip ups. Overconfidence teetering on arrogance. Not that Baptiste wasn’t confident in himself, but he was aware they couldn’t account for everything. There was misleading information, soldiers that were still just human, and enemies that wanted them dead no matter what. It didn’t mean he didn’t believe in their first plan but that he was prepared.

With this thought, maybe it was a bit overboard and paranoia to write letters to your loved one in case you died. But, in Baptiste’s defense, they were a part of an organization that was constantly sent on dangerous missions. And he’d come close to dying a few times. Hanzo certainly hadn’t been happy about Baptiste’s suggestion. There’d been a hard look to his eyes, an unpleasant twist to his lips as he stared Baptiste down.

“I will not write a letter to be delivered upon my death.” Hanzo spat. He crossed his arms while he sat on the edge of the bed.

Baptiste sighed and slid closer even as Hanzo continued to glower at him. He shifted and got on his knees, resting his head on Hanzo’s legs as he looked up at him. Already he could feel some of the tension leaving Hanzo - success.

“It’s just a precaution Hanzo,” Baptiste said, keeping his voice soft. “Mercy and I may be medics but we’re no gods. Is it wrong to want something left behind by you if something happened? A few encouraging words? Loving words? I don’t want my only thoughts to be of how I could’ve done more.”

“....,” Hanzo tapped his finger against his arm and frowned, turning his head to stare at the wall instead. “Fine.”

Baptiste pushed himself up and forwards to plant a kiss on Hanzo’s cheek. “Remember, it’s just a what if, yeah? We both have no intention of dying.”

“Of course not,” Hanzo said, scoffing. “Who plans to die?”

With that, Hanzo pulled him into bed and that was the end of the conversation. He’d never got to see if Hanzo actually wrote the letter. Baptiste never caught him writing anything, but then again they were both busy people. Anytime he asked Hanzo would assure him that he had. And, after a brief conversation with Genji, he confirmed it. Not that Baptiste doubted Hanzo anyway - anytime Hanzo said he’d do something, he’d do it. He was a man that detested lying and it was one of the traits he loved about him. In the end, a letter did end up being read. But not by Baptiste.

The dust on the field had settled. As far as everything and everyone looked, there wasn’t a hair out of place and the payload was perfectly secured. There had been a little hiccup at the beginning - Baptiste being dispatched a little further away to help Cassidy out of a pinch. They’d only realized an issue when they went to load up and the two had yet to return. Tracer was sent to find out what the hold up was, while Hanzo was forced to stay behind to keep a watchful eye out. Something he wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t been the bad feeling in his gut. A faint nausea that he tried to ignore, an oddly silent mind as he kept his hands steady on his bow. Hanzo wasn’t prone to anxiety, so why…?

Then he saw it: three figures on the horizon.

“Three approaching!” he called to the others, drawing his bowstring tight as he lined the shot. They got closer and finally, Hanzo could make out who exactly they were. He dropped his bow, dropping down from his perch, and sprinted towards them the second he saw one being held up by the other two. Baptiste’s face was bloody - eyes shut as blood dripped down, some head injury likely. Cassidy was beaten and bloody, eyes wide and face pale as he took up most of the brunt of carrying Baptiste. When Tracer and Cassidy saw him approaching, both their faces dropped.

“Hanzo -” Cassidy croaked. His brow pinched and his lip shook. Hanzo could hear the others behind him but he didn’t care. He slid his arms under Baptiste’s as Cassidy kept speaking. “He ain’t - he -”

“MEDIC!” Hanzo roared, falling to his knees and taking Baptiste with him. He quickly grew bloody as he held him, hands shaking as he grasped at Baptiste. The man was still warm to the tough but his body was heavy against him. Hanzo pulled away, grabbing Baptiste’s face as he shook him and tried to get him to open his eyes. Around him the others continued to speak but Hanzo couldn’t hear them over the blood in his ears. The blood and Baptiste began to blend together as Hanzo’s vision blurred and nausea rose within him. Hands grabbed him roughly and pulled him away even as he fought.

Through the black dots beginning to take over his vision, he felt pain blossoming within his chest as only one sentence filtered through his hearing: “He ain’t breathin’.”

There was a strange numbness to his body the next few days. Hanzo was there and very much alive, but he was a spectator to his own body. Everything ached but at the same time lacked feeling. He knew there was a pain just under his chest bone but couldn’t, didn’t want to identify it. During his funeral, Hanzo was a child with a blanket wrapped tightly around him to protect from outside forces. The entire thing was a colorless blur. No matter how many people approached him, Hanzo stood firm like a wall with termites eating away from the inside out. Strong with withering internal structures bound to fall. He wasn’t aware how many days had passed when he opened his door to Genji standing outside.

“Brother,” Genji greeted. If he noticed Hanzo’s less than savory state and his bedroom, he said nothing. “I -”

“No,” Hanzo said. It came out as more of a breath. He could feel an anxiety taking hold in his chest, blossoming within him as he made to shut the door. Even if Genji hadn’t said it yet, Hanzo knew what he was here to do. And Hanzo he couldn’t - he felt like it would be the final straw. One more good chip in the wall keeping him together, and once the wall was gone he’d have to truly mourn. Have to actually process and feel.

“Brother.” Genji wedged his hand between the door. A letter was clenched tightly in his other. “You have to. Did you not promise him you’d read it?”

“I said no such thing,” Hanzo hissed, stomach dropping as he saw the letter. He could picture Baptiste bent over the desk in medical writing. Rubbing at his eyes after working for long hours but refusing to rest until it was done. His grip on the door faltered and Genji pushed through.

Genji held the letter out to him silently. “...Would you really break one of your last promises to him?”

Hanzo said nothing. With a shaking hand he took the letter and stared at it until Genji left the room. For a moment he thought of leaving it on the desk and forgetting it existed. But, in a way, it felt like ignoring Baptiste himself. He took a deep breath and opened the letter.

Hanzo,

I know I’m the one who came up with the idea, but I had really hoped you wouldn’t have to read mine. Not that I wanted to read yours either. There was the firm belief we’d live through this whole Talon debacle and retire. You’ve never been to Haiti, right? I wanted to bring you there.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I died and didn’t stick around. I’ll miss you, you know? Keep doing those wood carvings, don’t stop wielding that bow. Keep getting closer with Genji, and maybe bake some sweets and leave them at my grave, okay? Don’t spend too much time at my grave. I want you to keep living enough for both of us, can you do that for me?

I don’t want to see you too soon. If you even think about it I’ll kick you right back out. We never talked about what we thought the afterlife was, but I’ll wait. Reincarnation? We’ll meet again. Heaven or Hell? I’ll go where you go. I’m a patient man, you know, so don’t worry about me. When you come I want to hear about everything you got to do in my absence.

Mwen renmen ou, Baptiste

The tears had started coming in the middle, dampening the paper and smearing some of the ink. He’d tried to keep himself together - intent on finishing the letter without ruining it. But, when he finished Hanzo couldn’t stop himself from clenching it. There was no stopping the tears when the dam broke. Hanzo bent over and sobbed, an indescribable pain and yearning opening up within his chest. By the end his head pounded, throat and eyes raw from crying. And, when he saw the letter was ruined he cried again. He didn’t emerge from his room for another day.

It was hard but Hanzo kept living. Even if all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and let himself rot away until he was able to see Baptiste again. His brother helped. Oftentimes Hanzo forgot when he needed to eat and Genji was there to remind him, as well as Cassidy. It reminded him of when he was young and sick, Genji sneaking a snack into his room that Hanzo shouldn’t have been eating. There was time before he was allowed on missions again. Even if he decided to continue living, sometimes it was difficult to force his body out of the way of danger. After one too many bullets he’d been discharged until further notice. He couldn’t bake. But, Mei and Tracer had helped him prepare a cake for Baptiste. He couldn’t go on missions, but Cassidy and Genji helped to keep his bow sharp.

There was no getting rid of the ache in his chest. But, as time passed it would lessen even if it never disappeared. And one day, he’d see Baptiste again.

[tennessoui]

Miss Kit updates from you never fail to cheer me up, and that was a tall order this week when I spent my birthday alone because of covid and had to cancel my party because I'm still testing positive, so thank you! If you're taking Prompts I'd love to see something where Anakin is ill or injured as misery loves company, maybe the bit in cheating au where he's hospitalised and Obi-Wan finds out/is in waiting room? No pressure though, just wanted to drop in and say your updates always make me happy

hey!!!! it's been uh. a month. maybe two months. so like. i hope you're no longer testing positive :D here is a 2k snippet set in the cheating au when obi-wan rushes to anakin's side after he loses an arm fighting. also when padmé may start thinking that there's something rotten in the state of stewjon.......

(2k) (cw: i wrote this on my laptop when the i key was sticking so who knows how many i's i've missed)

(also cw: cheating)

(this snippet is sorta mentioned, might be important to read for understanding of the verse)

Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking. They have been since the missive came in for Padmé and Obi-Wan had leaned over to read it when she’d gasped in horror.

Her husband had been wounded. There’d been an attack of some sorts, a robbery or a premeditated attack or something else all together, and Padmé’s husband had heard the noise from his gallery and gone to investigate. He’d decided to break up the fight with nothing more than his voice and his own hands, and he’d lost one in the process.

He’d lost a lot of blood as well, Padmé’s husband had. A lot of blood and an arm. Padmé had been right to be so horrified, so frantic in calling for a recess in the conference, just one long enough to gather her things from her Republic-funded room, brief the secondary senator from Naboo on the state of negotiations, and then hail a shuttle to the nearest space port. She was allowed to go with little fuss.

After all, it was her husband who had been hurt so drastically he had been airlifted to the best trauma center in Coruscant. She had children to comfort and hold and feed sweet words of reassurance to.

Obi-Wan logically knows that he must stay. He’d been told as much by Padmé herself—not outright, of course, she probably wouldn’t have thought to do so, but she’d squeezed his shoulder as she left the Hall and promised to comm him as soon as she could with updates on Anakin’s condition.

It was, after all, the duties of a wife.

But what of the duties of the lover? The affair? The man who knows for certain he has managed to slip his way into Anakin’s heart, wrap himself around it until its every piece belongs to him alone, nothing left over for the wife who has rushed to his side?

His hands ache with the need to hold, to feel at Anakin’s skin, his pulse.

He makes it ten more hours into the conference before he follows Padmé’s example. He does not stop to collect his things, nor does he brief the secondary senator of Naboo, parting with a “you best have been listening, mate, or our failure’s on your head”; he flew to this planet in his own ship, and he flies it now.

He utilizes every trick that Anakin has ever shown him about how to fly fast and how to fly well. Under the guise of Obi-Wan being the worst pilot in the history of Stewjon and Anakin being unable to be cordial with someone who signaled before they changed vertical lanes, they’d spent years sneaking out to the stars for activities that had nothing to do with flying.

But perhaps against his will or perhaps because his love for Anakin had to better him in some way in order to be endured, he had also learned how to pilot the way Anakin piloted.

His hands shake the entire time. It’s the one concession he will give himself to the roar of emotions that feel like they’re tearing his insides to shreds.

His comm buzzes and when he checks it, an hour out from Coruscant, it’s a message from Satine. He doesn’t read it. He has long since stopped caring what his wife has to say about any matter, and the matter of this affair in particular. 

They had never particularly loved each other, though he thinks they both were convinced they did upon their marriage. But what he feels when he thinks of Anakin Skywalker dooms every other love he’s ever felt in his life to pale imitations.

They had never particularly loved each other, but it’s only been in the last year that Obi-Wan has felt resentment bubble up in his soul. His wife is one more thing that makes Anakin leave his bed early in the morning. Obi-Wan’s wife and, well.

Obi-Wan has been arguing with the health droids for ten minutes before Padmé appears from around the corner. She’s still wearing her Naboo regalia, though it looks much more worn. She must have arrived hours ago, yet she’s not left at all yet. This observation makes Obi-Wan’s heart seize up in fear. Has Anakin taken a turn so nonsensically towards the worst? 

Padmé looks startled to see him. She looks relieved though, too.

If Obi-Wan were a better person, he’d let the guilt of it all eat him alive. As it is, he’s not a better person. He’s a politician, and he wants something.

“Padmé!” He says upon seeing her. “How is he? Please, tell DR-023 that I should be allowed to see him.”

Padmé blinks, as if she can’t understand the stimuli her brain is showing her. “Obi-Wan, you came.” 

“Of course I came, Padmé,” Obi-Wan replies and knows he should say something else, but the words are tricky. He wants to say, because I love him. Because it’s Anakin. Because I know he would want me there. Because if it were me in that medical bed, I would want him beside me.

All of this is too incriminating. Padmé, though she still does not know about her husband’s infidelity, is not an unintelligent woman.

So he says, “I view you all as my family.”

This is uttered with a pointed look at the medical droid, barring Obi-Wan’s passage to the rooms of the hospital. Though heavy-handed, it seems to shake Padmé into action, and she swoops forward to key in the Skywalker room code into the droid’s bank, allowing Obi-Wan passage.

“Thank you,” he tells Anakin’s wife, and then when he cannot wait a second longer, “how is he doing?”

Padmé guides him back to Anakin’s room, and Obi-Wan lets himself be guided. “He’s—he’s going to be alright,” she says. “They—they won’t fit him with a prosthetic, not while he is unconscious and cannot consent, but they’ve taken him out of bacta and done several blood transfusions. Mine took, thank the stars.”

Obi-Wan swallows and stares forward so as not to give into the monster inside of him that roars in jealousy at the idea that Anakin and Padmé’s bloodtype match. That once more, Obi-Wan is made an interloper.

“Quite,” he replies faintly, for they’ve entered the room. There on the bed, looking much too still and ashen, is the love of his life. It takes all of his training in politics and appearance to stop himself from running to his side, grasping at his one hand, and raising it to his lips. The japor snippet around his neck burns with his need to touch and feel and heal.

Padmé, unaware of his agony, walks to the other side of Anakin’s bed, ghosting her fingers over his missing forearm with a haunted sort of expression.

“I was just going to leave to relieve the nanny,” she confesses, brushing a piece of hair away from Anakin’s face. Obi-Wan stiffens and forces himself to relax. “The twins haven’t seen him yet. I thought about getting them when I arrived, but….”

The twins live a charmed life, five years old and untouched by every great unfairness in the galaxy. Obi-Wan would hesitate to retrieve them as well, not when it would mean they would have to—at least for a moment—confront the senseless violence of their world.

“They should see him,” he tells her gently. Anakin would want that. “Please, I—I can get them if you do not wish to leave him.”

“I’m perfectly capable of parenting my own children,” she snaps. When she looks up, her gaze is hard.

Interloper.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan gentles his tone, his mannerisms, and steps back from the bed though that distance kills him. “Whatever you want, Padmé, I am only trying to support you.”

Anakin’s wife stares at him for several seconds, before glancing down at her husband. “You’ll call me if he awakens?”

“In an instant,” Obi-Wan promises, and she nods once, slowly and then with a fast upward tilt of her head. She navigates around the bed, and Obi-Wan moves closer to the very bounds of what is allowed.

He doesn’t watch her leave. He cannot tear his gaze away from Anakin’s slack face. There will be scars on it, wounds so deep that the bacta could not heal them perfectly in time to save him from the blemish.

Obi-Wan already finds them beautiful, because it is Anakin and he finds Anakin beautiful always.

He doesn’t watch Anakin’s wife leave, so he is startled to hear her speak. Startled and deeply grateful he hadn’t given into the impulse to touch her husband’s cheekbone. Stewjoni are affectionate, but not that affectionate.

“I am glad you’re here, Obi-Wan,” she tells him. Her tone is unreadable and when he turns around, her face is the same. 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks when she does not immediately continue. 

And then for a moment his heart freezes in his chest as he follows the descent of her eyes. Sometime between leaving the conference and arriving at the hospital, he’d taken his heavy, ceremonial Stewjoni cloaks off. His shirt is unlaced most of the way, his chest almost on display.

But she’s not looking at his skin.

The japor snippet lays lower than the shirt cuts, thank the gods, but there’s something in her eyes that looks like a denial. A rationalization. She’d seen the same leather cord around her husband’s neck for two years before he’d lost that pendant.

Before he’d given it in secret to its intended recipient and told his wife it must have fallen off in some restaurant on some planet.

He tries not to move, to hold his posture exactly as it is. Any sudden movements would read as guilt.

He has nothing to feel guilty about.

He has a whole galaxy’s worth of wrongdoings to feel guilty about.

“Why’s that?” he asks, prompts her towards speech in a voice that he prays is not shaking.

Her eyes snap up to his face. They’re unreadable. She is unreadable. She is the last thing that stands in the way of Obi-Wan being able to cradle Anakin’s head in public, kiss him in broad daylight, and if he loved Anakin less, he would tear off the necklace and throw it to the ground in  front of her feet, dare her to rationalize that coincidence away, the same way she’s rationalized all the touches she’s seen, all the heavy looks, lovers’ feuds, piloting lessons.

But he loves Anakin.

And if a team of droids refuse to operate on him without his consent, he can’t just go and reveal their affair to his wife without the same.

“Why’s that?” he asks again, when she doesn’t say anything. He crosses his arms, higher than he usually would, in case the japor snippet is peaking out from the edge of his shirt collar.

“They said he was calling for someone,” Padmé Amidala-Skywalker says, soft as rain and bells and lace. “They thought it must have been his wife. When I told them I was his wife, they called me Mrs. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense with the effort not to look at Anakin. He wants to see him suddenly so bad that it hurts, but he forces himself to hold eye contact. “How strange,” he murmurs instead of the myriad of things he wishes to say. “I’ve always thought the name Obi-Wan to be quite masculine.”

Padmé says nothing, but she does leave.

It feels less like a surrender, more like a retreat.

[hypnomicimagines]

4 with doppo

Kannonzaka Doppo:

Another missed date.

Doppo felt the guilt eating away at his gut as he tried to finish his paperwork, purposely ignoring his phone after he sent that last message letting you know he wouldn’t make it on time for the dinner reservations. He couldn’t imagine how disappointed you felt and he was too, but more in himself than anything else. He had tried to fight back against his boss but the pressure was already too much to handle, losing his job wasn’t an option at this point or there’d really be no dates, so he had gritted his teeth and agreed to the extra workload. He hadn’t realized it was so hefty that he wouldn’t be getting out of work within the next century, though, or else he would have simply taken the verbal lashing and been on his way.

It’s so dark in the office building that he has a hard time shuffling through, the janitor having turned off the lights without realizing he was still there (because who the hell would still be working an office job close to midnight). He stumbled out of the office onto the bright streets of Shinjuku, miserably shuffling home when he knew he should be with you right now. His brain, now moving on autopilot, took him in the direction of your apartment which he didn’t realize until he was already standing in front of it. He tried to see if he could pinpoint which window was yours, wondering if you were asleep by now or if you had gone out anyway to have a nice night to yourself.

Would it hurt to visit? To apologize in person?

You’re surprised by the knocking as you had just settled into your comfiest set of pajamas, having decided on a self-care night since your boyfriend had to cancel your date. You weren’t particularly surprised he had to cancel which you know would hurt his feelings if you said it out loud but his job seemed to be of the overwhelming sort. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed but it was just because you missed him, you had been looking forward to seeing him tonight but it apparently hadn’t been in the cards. You at first think this is the worst burglary attempt in the world as a disheveled man shuffled around in front of your door, looking at his feet so you couldn’t see his face, but you quickly realized from the depressed mumbling that it was your boyfriend.

“Doppo! You haven’t texted me back!”

“I’M SORRY!”

You didn’t expect him to prostrate himself before you the second you opened the door but he’s on his knees, bowing down and repeating that he was sorry over and over again. You could only imagine the noise complaints your neighbors would have in the morning but for now you worked on hushing him, gently touching the back of his head and telling him to stand up.

“I understand if you want a new boyfriend! I’d want a new boyfriend too after all my failures, can’t even take you out on a nice date or, or buy you nice things or spend time with you!? Why do you date me?! How could you want someone like me?!”

“I want you and only you, Doppo, not someone like you.” You urged him to stand up again and he listened this time, trudging behind you into your apartment where you firmly sat him down on your couch. “I’m getting you something to drink.”

“…You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Doppo, I look like I’m ready for bed.” You walked into the kitchen while Doppo’s eyes followed you, turning with the beer in hand to see that he’s turned himself around on the couch to face you.

“It doesn’t make it any less true! You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever dated and I-I-!”

You’re worried another rant is coming your way so you quicken your pace, handing Doppo the cold beverage and seating yourself beside him. You take the time to loosen up his tie, pushing his suit jacket from his shoulders so he looks at least a little more relaxed. You can see his frayed nerves are becoming more soothed the longer you’re together and not yelling at him so you decide to keep the energy, unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt which gets you a gasp out of him.

“Relax~ Now that we’re finally together, we can have a little…makeshift date night. Sleepover?”

Did he deserve this? He didn’t really know, but he wasn’t about to turn you down, not when this was the perfect chance to make it up to you.

[disformer]

So I draw a lot of goofy shattered glass stuff but I actually really like both the slapstick haw-haw and weeeeeird lovecraftian angles! This is a slice of a SG fic I’m working on that… is taking a lot longer to get through on my schedule rn so I thought I’d post what I’ve got here since we’re talking abt it ❤️

Cw: body horror, psych horror, disturbing imagery and general grissly descriptions.

“Optimus?”

It’s Megatron's voice like he hasn’t heard in years. Soft, gentle, if Optimus pressed it against his throat it would kiss rather than pierce. He thinks of blue optics and tentative hands and wondering smiles and he hates.

Optimus runs hands over the smooth tarp in his lap and doesn’t look up.

“My friend, I’m so… This isn’t what I wanted to happen. Not like this. You don’t deserve-” Megatron’s vocalizer fritzes, choked with pain, “Not like this.”

It’s a lie, in every way. Megatron loves his deceptions. He oozes them with his every breath, his every intake a blasphemy. If Optimus could get his hands on him he’d pin him to the ground, snake his fingers through the wiring in Megatron’s throat and pluck, pluck, pluck, until at last he screamed, fear and pain and wailing as he looked upon his greatest failure. Optimus thinks it would be good for him. It’s always a relief to be honest.

“We weren’t able to get them to drop the processor combing but- Soundwave told them it wouldn’t be safe with the Matrix so your consent protocols are going to be active. It’s not- It’s not the best, I know but-”

But it’s better than what you deserve, Optimus finishes for him, cooing the thought.

There’s no need to speak here; Megatron is an unwelcome guest in his processor. His old partner spits static denial but they’re in LAN connection, and Optimus feeds on the guilt. Gluts on it. Visualises it like a river, pouring over his intake and down his throat and into his belly. Pouring, pouring, black and thick, until it submerges him, chokes him, seeps out of the seams of his optics and his belly until he’s spluttered and offlined, sated. Full to bursting.

Somewhere ahead of him, Megatron begins to weep. Optimus doesn’t look up from his tarp but he can hear it. Megatron is weak if he thinks this is as bad as it’s going to get. If he thinks Optimus is the worst thing lurking in this shithole of a frame.

He shouldn’t have come.

“It’s not going to be anyone you don’t know. I promise.” Megatron moans, voice thick with tears. “Just me and Soundwave. We’re not going to- we’re going to do everything we can to not hurt you.”

Optimus lifts his gaze at that. The mnemo-simulation has put them in his old warehouse, generated by whatever background program they’ve got running to make him as comfortable as possible.

It’s not doing a very good job.

The walls have a shaky look to them that gets worse in his peripherals, the windows seem to open and close by themselves whenever Optimus looks away. The world falls apart on close inspection and he tries not to look at what the chipping of reality reveals.

Every now and then there’s a sound like someone dragging a talon down concrete. Optimus feels it down his back, a tickle. It’s playful. Inviting. He shudders.

“Optimus?” Megatron is talking again. He’s going to want to stop doing that. “Is there anything I can do for you to make you more comfortable? Speak to me, please.”

He meets Megatron's eyes. They’re just as blue and sweet as he thought they would be, a version of them he’d known before war. Optimus wonders what they’d feel like if he pressed his thumbs against them until they shattered.

“Kill me.” He says, and Megatron disintegrates with one last horrified glance as the simulation explodes around them.

---

Before anyone there’d been Ariel and Dion. They weren’t gestalt or spark-brothers, but one day they’d rolled off their manufacturing line together in a pile of shivering, ill-fitting parts and from then on they were family.

Everyone born in that building was screwed from day one; it was a hole-in-the-wall deathtrap of a MTO plant pumping out mechs for the Parade of Metals staff shortage, only to be shut down by enforcers a few vorns after the three of them had been born.

They were all made from the same brittle, recycled scrap and salvage. In the storm season the three of them shook like loose screws under their tarp, frames tucked around each other for warmth their rotting insulation could’t provide.

Ariel had it the worst. Her spark chamber didn’t fit right, a few inches too big for her. It left her constantly rattled and clingy, muttering and pressed into her brother's chests. Some days would be worse than others and she would curl in on herself, sobbing, shoving on her chassis with weak, fumbling hands. Orion would curl around her back and hold her steady for hours while she shook her head from side to side no, no, it hurts.

Dion couldn’t get used to his plating. Something wrong with it, he’d say with a shrug, casual. Just itches a bit. He wouldn’t understand Orion and Ariel leaping to drag his fingers away from his face, away from the bits he’d been peeling off. Just gotta get it off, he’d say, don’t fret, it’ll only take a minute.

They couldn’t stop him forever. One awful night Orion remembers they’d sat down with a stolen vibro-knife over a bunsen burner and the two of them had taken it in turns to slice pieces away while Dion sighed in relief, thanking them every time a section was cut free. It was almost worth it for how well he’d recharged from then on.

Orion didn’t have it half as bad as either of them, which meant he was the one who worked. A thousand dead-end jobs, back-to-back, every cycle. Illegally long shifts at every two-bit docking station from one side of Iacon to the other. Measly paychecks, but that was the story everywhere. If you were on the bottom, at least you were stuck there with company.

The word ‘criminal’ can mean a lot of things, depending on your perspective. Mouths to feed, tanks to fill; civility is a luxury, and it’s an expensive one.

So was it any wonder, Soundwave, what I did next? I suppose you still have your objections. Yes. I see you there, you perverse little voyeur.

Of course you wouldn’t understand. You’ve never been filth before. True, expendable, invisible filth. Alpha Trion was a madman but you’ve never spent a hundred years starving, knowing you would starve for a hundred more, if you even made it that long. You think you know rock bottom but you don’t because if you did, you’d know how it pushes. Peels. It rips you up, ruins you. You don’t feel ruined to me, Soundwave. I can change that if you’d-

---

Glk-glk-glk. Glk-glk-glk.

Optimus wakes.

They’ve opted out of force-feeding energon down his intake by means of bypassing a tube into his anterior tanks. It doesn’t have to go through the pressure regulator in his gastro-chamber; no need to bother with his gag, so Optimus has the uniquely delightful experience of hearing the energon levels in the supply tank deplete in time with the rhythm of his fuel pump.

Glk-glk-glk. Glk-glk-glk.

He shutters his optics, but there’s no budging the haze. His visual processor components feel like soupy plastic in his head and his tongue is an inflexible presence in his intake.

Soundwave-

Naw, man, naw. It ain't safe, Megs, that wastoids got some gnarly shit in that skull of his and I’m not-

“Ah! Hello there, chap,” A voice chirps to his left, crisp and bright and plainly nervous, “terribly sorry to wake you, I was just checking your fuel levels there and- Oh my! Goodness but you do burn through it, aye?”

Shockwave. He’d recognize that grating little accent anywhere.

His optics don’t clear, but they do find purchase on the shiny yellow smear somewhere overhead.

Shockwave is wringing his claws together guiltily, “I would like to say while I have you here I find this all shockingly appalling; personally, between you and myself, I’m not exactly chuffed about all this unethical shadowplay business. Anyway, my own moral compass aside- well. It’s nasty stuff.”

He lifts a claw to one side of his head and taps insinuatingly.

“Can’t stay and chat, not really allowed to even be here if I’m quite honest!” Another nervous laugh, “but I couldn’t just say nothing, could I?”

Optimus stares. He wouldn’t know what to say even if he could form words around the mess of parts he calls a mouth. It’s galling, and he’s infuriated at the small comfort it actually provides.

We don’t have another choice, Soundwave. Handing him over to the council for interrogation-

Man, slag this. I’ve got cassettes dude, they’ve gotta recharge with me. I can’t be putting my little guys to berth at night with this shit in my processor.

How- It’s that bad?

Brother when I say I’m running three system rinses after I even touch a port connected that grody slagger, I’m not pullin’ your leg. Had to motor from that last session because the freak spotted me. That’s not supposed to happen!

He closes his eyes and tunes Shockwave out, there’s too much going on. Optimus hurts all over. They’ve got nine inhibitor clips stapled down the main conduit line of his back and it turns his teeth to glue. There’s cotton balls in his joints.

Megatron and Soundwave are somewhere in the room ahead, Optimus can see their little energy fields flicker even with the wall separating them, an aurora of green and blue. The two spent a thousand years arguing during the war, but nothing has ever riled them up like this. Optimus knows this is new, unwelcome ground for the two of them. He can tell they’re lost, hurting. The satisfaction is as it has been for as long as he can remember; both personal and alien.

Without permission his fingers begin to move. Even, smooth motions at odds with the shaky ventilations and fatigue he feels everywhere else. The digits draw lazy shapes on the slab and he knows if he pays attention they’ll be shaping out strange, misshapen letters.

He doesn’t look. He doesn’t want to see how much control it has while he’s like this.

Look, Megs… This isn’t a kindness, what we’re doing. I don’t see how handing him over to the council could be much-

It’s abuse, Soundwave, in all but name. It’s a violation so fiercely out of the question that I’d rather put a bullet in him. Could you do that? Even to him? Could you live with yourself if you put him in one of those chairs and let them play with his head?

I… Frag. No, fuck that. You’re right, I just…

I understand, my friend. We’ll switch to a denser block between the two of you, total malware flushes between every session-

Glk-glk-glk. Glk-glk-glk.

Optimus doesn’t hear the rest, the soft black crawls over his optics again and he sinks.

Glk-glk-glk. Glk-glk-glk.

---

[eureka-its-zico]

Irrevocably Yours

Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 

Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)

Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess

A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 

At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 

He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 

The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 

You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.

An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 

Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 

In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 

And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 

Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 

Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 

His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 

There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 

“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 

It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 

“I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 

He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 

You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 

“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”

You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 

The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 

At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 

You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.

“That's my spot.”

Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 

“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”

“I don't see your name on it.”

Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 

“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 

You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 

“You’d really make a cripple get up?”

“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”

The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 

“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”

Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 

“He’s in my spot.”

God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 

After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 

The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 

“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”

You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”

You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 

“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”

He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 

“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”

With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 

During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.

Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 

When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.

The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 

You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 

If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 

The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 

You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 

That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 

No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 

So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 

When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 

His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.

You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 

Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 

“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”

Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 

You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 

You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 

You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 

“What was that?”

The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.

“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”

He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 

The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 

“Wow - good job doofus.”

Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 

“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”

Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 

The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?

When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 

It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 

You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.

Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 

Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 

“Can I help you?”

“I need a seat.”

He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”

“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”

“You're bribing me now?” 

His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 

“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 

Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 

“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  

Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 

“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”

“No way. Joint custody.”

“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”

He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 

Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 

“As per our agreement: the iPod.”

He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 

At least the seat was warm. 

The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.

Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.

“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”

Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 

“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”

The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 

“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”

“They are artists I enjoy.”

“They’re shit.”

You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.

“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 

“I’m trying to get my things back.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“And now you’re assaulting me.”

If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.

“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”

“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 

His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 

“I should make you go sit with Amber.”

The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 

“Now who's the Indian giver.”

Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 

You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 

“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 

His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 

“I’m so confused.”

“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 

“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”

Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 

“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”

Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 

It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 

The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 

“Just listen.”

It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 

The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 

It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 

The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 

It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 

You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 

After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 

“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”

Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”

His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 

“Did you really just smack my ass.”

“It was an accident!”

“An accident?” He questioned.

“Self-defense!”

Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 

“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”

You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 

“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 

“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”

Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 

Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.

“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”

Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 

“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”

She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 

You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 

He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 

With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 

The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 

Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.

He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 

And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.

Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 

The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 

Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 

“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 

He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry!”

Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 

“Ugh...for what?”

“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 

“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”

“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 

The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.

“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”

You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 

“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”

“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”

“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”

“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”

You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 

You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.

“You’re welcome.”

You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 

Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.

Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 

So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.

______________

For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 

The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 

Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.

And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 

How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 

If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 

Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 

You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 

With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.

You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 

Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 

Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 

It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 

“I came to help you.”

The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”

“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”

You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 

Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.

Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?

You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 

The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 

“What?”

Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.

“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”

“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”

You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 

“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”

“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”

“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.

You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 

He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.

“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”

The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 

After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 

“Oh my god! You would do that.”

The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.

“Oh, so you think you know me now.”

“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”

You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 

Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 

“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”

“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”

“I was not pouting!”

It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 

“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”

Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“

Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 

The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 

The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 

Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 

“What in the hell was that for?!”

“Now whose pouting?” He teased.

You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”

“I thought you said brat?”

“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”

You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 

You wanted to murder him. 

When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.

“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”

The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 

Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 

Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 

Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 

“The fu-!”

Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 

You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 

You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 

“You think this is funny?”

“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”

It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 

Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 

The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.

It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 

So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 

And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 

Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 

“Jungkook-ah!”

His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 

He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 

You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 

This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 

The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 

You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 

There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 

“Are you cold?”

Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 

On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 

“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 

You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 

“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”

A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 

“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 

“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 

“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”

You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 

Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 

You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 

“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 

“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”

You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 

“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 

“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 

His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 

It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 

“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 

The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 

And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.

“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”

Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 

After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 

Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 

“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”

You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 

Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 

You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 

You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 

When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.

[gobblewanker]

A One Time Thing

So, um, I might have made the mistake of writing fanfic on my phone instead of sleeping. Again. I got randomly stuck by the idea of an AU where Sherman takes Stan and Ford away from their parents when they're kids and does his best to take care of them on his own, and I just knew if I didn't write it now I wasn't going to ever.

It had just been supposed to be a one time thing.

When Sherman had still lived at home, it wasn't entirely uncommon for him to be woken up by the timid knock of a small hand at his door, overlayed by the sounds of yelling and crashing from the kitchen downstairs. Somehow - call it practice, maybe - he could sleep through the cacophony of angry sounds. But at the first tiny tap of knuckles on wood, he'd be groggily pulling himself out of bed with a slurred "I'm coming".

Allowing his little brothers to take refuge in his room when mom and dad were at each others throats and the twins were too upset to sleep alone wasn't an uncommon occurrence. He was the big brother, by quite a lot actually, it was his job. He was born first so that he'd be there to protect them when they came after. So he'd already have the experience gained through trial and error. So he could test the waters and let them know where it was safe to step. So he could be there to save them if they started to drown, because if he wasn't, they'd pull each other under instead.

He needed to wade out into the frigid storm and get them back to shore. Even if he was still just a kid too. Even if his brothers were too caught in the current to realize it. Even if the sharks were closing in. Even if there was blood in the water.

Blood.

Stanley's nose bled as Sherman hauled him up bodily, grabbed Ford's hand, and slammed the door to their parents' house with one last string of profanities thrown over his shoulder at their dad.

It was just a one time thing. That was what he told himself as he drove the two eight year olds to his cramped apartment and put them to bed on the couch with an icepack for Ford's black eye and a couple of tissues up Stan's nose. It was just for one night. Just until Pa calmed down enough that Sherman didn't feel violently ill at the idea of leaving the kids with him. Just until Sherman could trust that his brothers would be safe at home. It was just a one time thing.

A day stretched out into a week. A week became a month. A month became a year. Sherman had to leave them in the apartment more than he was comfortable with. He didn't want to, he lived in a crappy area, and there wasn't anything for them to do. He promised he'd try to get more time off, but someone had to pay the bills and no matter how burned out he was, he was not going to take a nine year old up on his offer to "help" by pickpocketing. Stan got himself into trouble enough as it was already. They were decently self sufficient at least. They could keep eachother occupied. Sherman still felt like he was failing them when there where entire days he didn't see them awake. When he had to be out for college classes before they even woke up, and stay out for late night shifts until long after they'd put themselves to sleep. He had to turn down coming to Ford's spelling bees and Stan's sports competitions. He had another job interview.

He hugged them, and promised it was just a one time thing.

Sherman's little brothers didn't complain as much as the other children did. He wondered if that was normal. The few times he could get off early enough to pick them up and walk them back to the apartment, he usually saw the other kids their age whining at their parents about all sorts of things, but the twins rarely ever protested anything. It wasn't like they couldn't. He remembered them both nagging and being stubborn with him when they'd all three lived at home. They were his brothers, they were supposed to be difficult with him. They were supposed to tell him that he couldn't boss them around.

They never did.

It couldn't be normal. He asked if it was, the first time he had to go to a parent teacher conference. Teachers worked with kids the whole day after all, they should know what was normal and what wasn't. All he'd gotten out of it was a lot of questions and sceptical glares. He assured the teacher he was only there because their real parents couldn't make it.

He assured them it was just a one time thing.

Feeding three people on one 20 year old's budget was hard. People his age were supposed to be spending their money on movies, dance halls, and dreams of motorbikes. Not pasta and bread. He was pretty sure Stan shoplifted a few snacks when he allowed the twins to go with him to run errands, but he wasn't about to bring it up. He couldn't bring himself to tell him no. He just wished he could pay for it instead. The fact that he had to stretch their budget to the point where he couldn't even buy his twelve year old brother a few sweets made him feel like a failure. Not nearly as much of a failure as when he looked in the pantry the night before his next paycheck and found nothing but a pack of instant noodles and some random leftover ingredients from the birthday cake he'd managed to squeeze into the budget. He put food colouring on the noodles and joked to the kids that it was worms. They ate it with joyful shrieks and the ultimate preteen-boy accolade of "gross".

Sherman filled the largest glass he had with water and drank, quietly telling himself that it was just a one time thing.

The years continued to creep by, and the twins never complained. So he supposed he was doing something right. What exactly, he wasn't sure. It didn't feel like he was doing anything right. But he supposed he had to be, because his brother's never made a fuss. Then came that one night, one that felt eerily familiar, when there was a knock on his bedroom door. The hands that made the noise were larger, stronger than they'd been, but somehow still just as timid. At the first tiny tap of knuckles on wood, he'd groggily pulled himself out of bed with a slurred "I'm coming".

There'd been a military man at their school that day. Talking to their upperclassmen about war and duty and enlistment. Stan and Ford were still too young, it didn't concern them, and Sherman told them as much as both teens broke down. Sitting together wrapped in blankets and going around and around in aimless circles of attempt reassurance as he tried to assuage their fears. The silent threat that had been looming large but seemingly distant suddenly felt far too close. As if it could be upon them any day.

That didn't matter though. They'd be okay. They'd made it this far, they could keep going. Sherman wasn't going to leave them. Not when doing so would put them back home with Pa. That wasn't going to happen, they'd be fleeing to Canada or Europe or whatever before he let that happen. They wouldn't go back. He wasn't just going to let them go without a fight.

Eventually, he managed to get the two teens calmed down enough to fall asleep. All cramped together uncomfortably on his bed. Cramped, but safe and calm.

He hoped to whatever good was out there that it wasn't just a one time thing.

[free-pool-trash]

disappointment - peter maximoff

i’ve yet again lost my ability to write :D anyway here you go lovelies <3 idek know what this is tbh i just had to post something (it’s not good im sorry I seriously hate this omg anyway im going)

word count: 2k

warnings: senseless angst, WandaVision spoilers, swearing

comments are appreciated <3

masterlist

“Are you nervous about the mission tomorrow? ‘Cus I am.” Peter’s voice sounded beside your ear. His head was tucked between your neck and shoulder while his chest was pressed flush against your back, his arms wound tightly around your middle.

With a tired yawn, you rubbed your boyfriend’s forearm soothingly. It was late and you were half asleep but you’d been dating Peter long enough to know that he could never sleep if there was something on his mind. “You’re not even going on the mission tomorrow, baby. Why’re you nervous?” You lazily played with his fingers, stopping them from anxiously drumming against your stomach, as you slurred your words sleepily.

Peter let out a heavy sigh and hid his face against your neck, pecking the skin softly with his lips as he did, “I’m not going, but you are. M’worried about you…”

His confession caused your eyes to flutter open.

Peter Maximoff had the biggest heart of anyone you’ve ever met. He loved hard but he worried harder. So when you heard the slight shake in his raspy voice, you twisted in his grip to face him.

His lips were turned downwards, as were his eyes as he avoided your gaze.

“Pete…” You whispered, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. “I’m gonna be okay. Raven and Charles will be with me the whole time, we’ll be in and out. I promise.” You pressed your lips against his quickly before pulling away to look at him, his brown eyes finally meeting yours, his hands holding you tightly against him still.

“I just don’t get why Charles won’t let me come.” He complained with a childish pout.

You let out a quiet laugh before tugging Peter’s head down slightly so his forehead could rest against yours, “We really need this mutant on our side, Pete. Charles insisted that only X-Men with the “powers of persuasion” are going.” You explained, making air quotes despite the fact he couldn’t see them.

With another light kiss you continued, “And hey, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Peter scoffed at that, scrunching his nose up in distaste, “He could blast the only woman I’ve ever loved into a different dimension.” He grumbled, rubbing his nose against yours.

His worry wasn’t exactly misplaced. There’d been a group of mutants on a warpath lately, one of the group slightly friendlier than the others, albeit, still highly malicious. The man in question had the ability to open portals to other realities, and he’d been using said ability to get rid of anyone who stood in his way.

Charles thought he’d be an asset, Raven thought he should be taken out of the picture and you thought the man was more than just a lackey, like he let on.

So Peter, as much as he liked to overthink, was definitely onto something. There was a huge possibility that, if anyone was going to get blasted into another reality on tomorrow’s mission, it was probably going to be you.

Your mutation was mind control, you could make anyone do anything just by saying the words. Charles’ tactic was to try persuade the mutant and if that failed, yourself and Raven would be brought in to manipulate his decision.

“That won’t happen.” You tried to reassure him, letting your hands run through his hair but Peter remained on edge.

“But what if-“ He started but you cut him off with a gentle tug on his silver hair.

“No buts. I’m gonna go on this mission, it’s gonna be a pain in the ass but it’s gonna be fine. I’m going to come home with not even a scratch on me. Then I’ll find you and you’ll kiss me and welcome me home like you always do.” You rattled off the usual post-mission routine with a fond smile across your lips.

Peter let out a defeated sigh, a smile of his own beginning to form as you placed lazy kisses against his jaw.

“Fine. I believe you. But if you don’t come back I’m gonna be seriously pissed.” He jostled your body, chuckling happily when you let out an airy giggle against his neck. “Don’t go getting any ideas, sweetheart. Even going to a different reality won’t get rid of me.”

You continued placing short kisses against his neck and jaw until you worked your way back up to his pink lips, you ghosted over them with your own, only barely pressing them down and pulling a whine from Peter when you pulled away to look at him with a teasing grin.

“So say your lovely girlfriend does get sent to an alternate reality… would you follow?” Within a second of your question, Peter had flipped your positions so that your back was against the mattress and the man in question was hovering on top of you with a cheeky grin.

“Sweet cheeks, I’d follow you anywhere.” He told you and you giggled at the stupid pet name before pulling him down to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttering shut as you murmured against his lips, “I love you, idiot.”

Softly, Peter tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you too.

*

It was safe to say that the mission was a complete failure. As you’d thought, the mutant Charles wanted to befriend turned out to have plans of his own, one of those plans being to throw you head first into a different dimension, apparently.

As much as it pained you to admit; Peter was right.

Fuck, he was probably going out of his mind with worry. You kicked yourself internally, not believing that you’d actually been careless enough to get caught out by the burly mutant. Not that it was entirely your fault, now that you thought about it actually, it was pretty much entirely Charles’ fault for doing his usual; not listening to you. You warned him it wouldn’t work, yet he sent you in anyway. If he didn’t find a way to get you home soon you’d… well, you weren’t really sure what you’d do. Probably find Peter and tell him you love him then go kick Charles’ ass.

Dreams of giving your professor the biggest telling off of his life came to a crashing halt when you took in your new surroundings. It seemed you’d been regurgated out in the middle of some run down town, if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought you were still in your own reality, but unfortunately, you did know better.

There was something wrong, or if not already, something was about to go very wrong in the little town. You could feel it. Someone very powerful was about to lose control of themselves. You couldn’t exactly tell the future but you had something of a disaster radar that told you when shit was about to hit the fan.

With nothing else to do, you decided to follow the feeling as it led you to a red car.

Noticing a woman in the driver’s seat, you approached cautiously. When she noticed you walking towards her she rolled down the passenger side window, looking at you with a questioning gaze.

“Sorry to intrude,” You told her genuinely, “It’s just I thought that maybe someone needed help.” You bet around the bush slightly, you knew it was the redhead in front of you that needed help but it wasn’t in your nature to use your powers to demand someone to spill their souls to you.

When her eyes lit up red, you didn’t startle. The feeling of someone poking around your thoughts wasn’t a new sensation to you, Charles seldom knew when to mind his own business, so the fact that the woman before you was reading your mind hardly phased you.

“I’ve got abilities too.” You told her with a small smile before going on, her eyes back to normal and her form more relaxed.

She nodded in understanding, “You’re very far from home, no?” Her tone was sympathetic and you let out a humourless laugh.

“That might be an understatement. Pretty morbid thinking I’ll probably never find my way home.” It was only when you spoke the words that it really hit you that the chances of returning home were slim to none. You’d probably never see the love of your life again, you’d probably have to wave goodbye to any possibility of having a future with your speedster.

Catching onto your miserable train of thought, Wanda leaned over and opened the passenger door for you, motioning for you to get in. Gratefully, you took the stranger up on her offer.

“I’ve lost everything too.” She confessed and you weren’t sure why but you felt the need to comfort her, once again following your instincts, you squeezed her hand and to your surprise, she reciprocated the action.

“My name is Wanda, by the way.” She introduced herself and you responded with a kind smile.

“I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

With a deep breath, Wanda squeezed your hand one last time, then turned to face you. “I have to do something. Will you wait here until I come back? I believe we could be of some help to each other.”

“Of course. Take your time, I’ll wait for as long as you need.” You promised her. Watching as she took another shaky breath and got out of the car and made her way towards the foundation of a house.

After about a minute, Wanda fell to her knees. And then you saw nothing but scarlet.

*

Life in WestView was good. Sure, there were some holes in your memory, but other than that, things were good.

You had a nice house, right next to Wanda’s, your hair seemed to style itself most of the time and the nightmares that plagued you were hardly ever your own. Things were fine.

Being blissfully ignorant was good enough for you for a number of days, until a familiar face caused all of your hopes of living happily unaware to crumble to the ground.

You’d been over at Wanda and Visions house for dinner when he’d knocked on the door. Standing on Wanda’s front porch was the one and only, Peter Maximoff. Your Peter. The person you loved the most and your ticket home.

The second his brown eyes locked on yours you’d been so sure. You would’ve bet your life that the person playing Wanda’s twin was Peter.

Perhaps your fatal flaw was wishful thinking as the hope of your love coming to rescue you, however romantic, was naive.

It hit you like a freight train, that realisation. You were truly and completely alone, for when WestView fell it took all of your hope with it.

He wasn’t Peter and he never had been. Sure, he had his face, his body, his personality and even his superspeed… but he wasn’t him.

When you’d uncovered his true identity with Monica, a part of you shattered on the spot. A familiar, decolate feeling washed over you in the moment and you weren’t sure if you’d even bother to carry on.

It was the kind of gut wrenching feeling of being so disappointed to the point where it physically hurt. It was the pain of truly accepting that he hadn’t actually followed you into another reality, that maybe your love wasn’t strong enough to warrent a visit to another reality and it was the pain of knowing that his life would go on without you.

The X-Men would encourage him to move on and, you had a fair idea of how it would go, he’d fight them relentlessly but eventually he’d cave, he’d let Jean set him up on a date and then he’d go from there, however reluctantly.

And you? You’d simply be a name lost in time. The one they think about, from time to time. You’d be spared nothing more than, “I wonder how she’s doing’ or ‘whatever happened to that girl? Remember the one?”, but life would go on without you.

That sting, you knew, would never leave you. As hope was dangerous and unreliable and painful you made yourself a promise, you wouldn’t hold out for a knight in shining armour to come rescue you. All you could do now was find a way to live. By yourself.

PART 2

[supremeinlilac]

Into the light (I'll hold you)

Pairing: Coven!Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Word Count: 2557

Warnings: Self doubt, angst.

A/n: Canon divergent, H*nk doesn't exist and Delia's acid attack never happened, although she has still had the Sight previously. Was saving this fic but fuck it, I'm posting it now😌

Halloween.

The night of eerie suspense and the lingering sense of being watched. You enjoyed the days festivities when you were younger, skipping excitedly door to door under a white sheet with your friends.

This Halloween would be your second at Miss Robichaux’s, the first you’d all gone out to a party and got a little too drunk, returning to an irritated Ms Goode. It had been the first time you’d kissed her, and she’d rejected you because of the state you’d been in.

Still, it was the night that had started the path of your relationship with the headmistress.

You loved Halloween.

This year, Fiona Goode, reigning Supreme, returned to the academy. You were instantly weary of her, due to the fact Delia never liked to bring her mother up in conversation of her past. When you’d overheard her telling your girlfriend that she was wasted potential in the school, a prickle of icy anger called the hair at the nape of your neck to stand rigid.

You and the rest of the witches had decided to stay in, watch films and play games. It wasn’t often that everyone could get together to celebrate an evening where witches were celebrated, so they wanted to make the most of the friendly atmosphere that surrounded them. It never lasted long in the coven.

Fiona went out to a bar, her witches hat crooked atop her head and you found yourself glaring at her as she left. The woman alit a flame inside you, one that easily spread and engulfed your powers, fire licking hotly at the tips of your fingers and threatened to overpower you.

Cordelia had stayed behind with you, much to her mother protest, to have a quiet night while the rest of the hubbub would be concentrated in the living room. You were both wrong to think that there’d be no disturbances.

The shattering of glass fractured the silence in your shared room with Cordelia. She’d been braiding your hair, an intimacy that the pair of you rarely found time to do together. She hummed the song you were sung as a child, a habit that she’d picked up in your time at the coven, the action now second nature. It no longer only served to soothe you, but now it brought her comfort too.

Her fingers stilled in your hair, head snapping to the door. You heard a couple of loud thuds and shouts, and then her hand was clutching yours protectively.

“Hey Cordelia?” You heard Queenie shout up the stairs, “you best look outside.”

She was off the bed like it had burned her, drawing the curtains back to show the slow advance of the people outside. You heard her shaky inhale, before she fisted her hands in her trousers and turned to you.

“It’s just the locals. Playing tricks on us, you know how Madison likes to irritate them the rest of the year. Lord knows we’re not the best neighbours,” her face looked serious but the waver in her voice betrayed her. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than you.

It had been a blur after that, shouting and running, and Cordelia slipped out of your grasp. You’d been fighting, had a kitchen knife pressed into your hand by, Zoe, maybe? No. It had been one of the other girls.

They wouldn’t die, those zombies, if that’s even what they were. You’d slashed at a part of them that they shouldn’t have been able to get back up from. Yet it did, limbs flailing and reaching spindly towards you.

Knocked to the ground, you think you must have passed out. But not before you’d seen Cordelia trying to defend the house, eyes furious and scared and dark.

You remembered the purr of the chainsaw, the splatter of blood. The silence that hung after.

The next day you found Cordelia sat at her usual bench in the greenhouse, frows furrowed in concentration as she mixed ingredients with the gentle crack of test tubes and vials. You could see the anguish behind hooded eyes, it was clear that she’d been restless last night, down here long past when everyone else slept.

You had seen her from your window as you’d been drawing the curtains the night before, standing over the pile of haphazardly thrown bodies of the zombies. You weren’t sure how long she’d spent there, not wanting to disturb her until now.

She’d also been absent at both breakfast and dinner, with the excuse of paperwork, but you could see through the thinly veiled lie. You brought her a sandwich and a yogurt, setting them down on a bench before pulling a chair up beside her to watch her work.

Cordelia could mix potions and restore plants without thinking, her craft a lovingly perfected dance in which he moved around the greenhouse with practised ease, plucking vials off the shelves and balancing glassware in steady hands.

Her hands shook. Slightly, almost unnoticeable was the small tremor but it indicated her unease. There was blood still crusted under her fingernails.

You softly coaxed her to put the glass down with fingers around her wrists, guiding her to look at you before lazily lacing your fingers together. She whispered a greeting with a small smile, almost as if she hadn’t registered your presence until you’d touched her.

“I feel like I failed everyone. My girls.” Her voice cracked languidly, eyes falling to where your hands joined on her lap, her nails scraping at your skin nervously. “How can I be headmistress when I cannot protect you all?”

“It’s not your job to do it all alone.” You reminded her gently, thumb brushing over whitened knuckles, following the dip and contour of her skin. “Cordelia.”

A single droplet of shimmering water does not sink a ship. A single cloud cannot shield the sun. A single parent could spend years doubting their worth, unaware that it takes a village to raise a child.

No single person can bear the weight of the world’s troubles without crumbling.

Not even Cordelia, whom you thought could harness the sun if she willed it, could do everything herself. It simply was an unrealistic expectation that her mother had used to weigh her down with.

“Look at me, baby. You are not alone, okay?”

When her head lifted slowly, the light caught the water in her eyelashes, diamond tears shimmering and rolling down the curve of reddened cheeks. You were quick to coo at her, hand coming to cradle her face so you could lean to kiss them away, salt on your tongue.

She shook her head, refusing to look at you and you felt hopeless, like a bystander on the site of an accident. As much as you tried to couldn’t get close enough to her to help, to comfort her as she needed. Running in a dream, tripping over a mere breath and wading through syrup as you tried to escape.

“I’m a failure.”

You found yourself shaking your head, the phantom of a protest falling from your lips, how could Cordelia think that.

“Everything that Fiona says is true.” She continued, head falling into her arms on the desk. Your hand rested on her back, a gentle reminder of the comfort you could give her if only she asked for it. If only she would accept it when you would give it to her anyway.

“I don’t belong here.” Whispered from under her hair which hid her.

Cordelia didn’t realise her own worth, and you wondered if anyone ever truly does.

Does the night sky know its beauty? Or does it envy the blue of the day? Does it wait for the sun to kiss its head and grant it eternity. The night sky is rich with light, if it would only look deep enough within itself to find it. Burning stars and planets reflecting the sun, a kaleidoscope of colour on an ebony canvas.

Cordelia would often look at pictures of her absent mother when she believed to be alone. She was secretly envious of Fiona’s effortless graceful command and hold that she had over the whole coven. She believed her own magical abilities to be inferior to that of the Supreme’s, but it was an unfair comparison, for a Supreme would always persist.

She thought that it meant hers weren’t strong enough, scared for eventualities like the previous night, that she would fail at the role of protector. But she hadn’t failed, she’d fought just like you and Zoe, and it was just the luck of the draw that Zoe’s fear would trigger her Power Negation.

But Cordelia held such raw natural, burning potential that you’d habitually find yourself staring as she practised spells. Eyes following the deft flow of her fingers as she’d manipulate movement. She’d had the second sight within her, so at least on a subconscious level she must know her power.

“You belong here. And look around you, look at this place. Yourgreenhouse.”

“You made it into what it’s become. It’s you.” You spoke, letting yourself spin to appreciate all the work she’d put into this place, into herself.

Cordelia lifted her head, hair falling from her eyes and crowning her face as she followed your gaze to the hanging planters, the glass vials. To the floor that she’d swept only days ago, leaves starting to litter the stone again.

She watched you run fingertips over the exposed brick on the wall, your attention solely on her work around you. She could see the adoration in the iris’ of your eyes, alight with your honesty. You gaze returning, always, to her as you walked to her.

Tentatively, you reached out for her. Was she yet ready to accept your help, your love as you wanted to give it to her?

Still unsure, Cordelia shied away from your comforting touch, head returning to her hands.

“You don’t have to live behind Fiona’s words anymore.” You whispered into her temple, as if straight into her mind.

Sometimes it is easier to live in the shadows than to confront those who cast them.

She’d spent her whole life cowering in Fiona’s shadow, growth and development stunted from the lack of light. Self-belief fractured into a gaping crack.

She’d been trapped, dark and alone with a mother figure who didn’t love her in a way she understood how to be loved. They both loved each other then, and ove each other now, but sometimes mere love isn’t enough. It isn’t consistent enough to be safe. You can love someone and still hurt them.

You had spent time working on her confidence, creeping back into the light and into herself again. Breaking down the thoughts that had grown to immobile threatening walls that only served to block the light more.

All it had taken was one night of Fiona being back for all that progress to retreat back to where they’d been hidden. Cordelia had urged you then to back away, to leave her and grow by yourself, that she was only holding you back.

But you gritted your teeth and grinned in the face of the devil. You weren’t scared of the dark. And you’d be damned if you were leaving it without your girlfriend. Even if you had to start right back at the beginning, you’d help her to heal.

“You could be the next Supreme.” You urged, pulling her head from where it rested on the table, forcing her to look in your eyes and see your honesty.

“Don’t say things that aren’t true.” She begged, vision hazed by tears.

“But it is true, Delia. You’re so powerful.” You pressed, eyes conveying your severity like your voice couldn’t. Willing her to believe.

You reached to brush the tears that clung to her eyelashes before they fell and stained her face. A lingering kiss to her lips, the feeling of her lower lip wobbling between your own. In that moment, you could feel her fragility.

You didn’t want to push further, knowing that she may never truly believe in her full potential like you did. Instead, you pushed yourself to feet and bounced in front of her. She looked up in confusion, eyes still full with tears that caught the light, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss them away again. They didn’t deserve to dampen her skin.

“Dance with me?” You asked, standing and offering a hand the way you’d so often seen in movies.

A shy smile formed on the headmistress’ lips, cheeks pink and the tips of her ears flushed as she allowed herself to be pulled from her seat. Into the shine of the moonlight, which shone beams of liquid silver through the glass onto the hard stone and the soft of Cordelia.

Your arms secured themselves around her waist while hers stroked the back of your neck. Moments like this made you wonder if perhaps the cliché’s people told you about love had been true. Maybe this could be forever. It always felt like forever when you were in her arms.

You swayed to phantom music, slow and deliberate, soft touches and kisses on bare shoulders. You felt like even a whisper would shatter the perfect peace you’d enveloped you both in, sending ripples of doubt over the sheer water and to Cordelia again.

The moon felt like perfect company in that moment, like a third person, watching and waiting. A witness to the silent change.

Cordelia pressed her forehead to yours, her fingers splayed through the hair at the back of your head, holding you close. You could see the depth of her eyes, searching for the lie in yours that wasn’t there to find. You truly believed that she was the next Supreme, she had to be.

“Say something.” She breathed, hand on your waist dancing under the hem of your top, cold fingers on warm skin.

“Like what?” You asked, pulling back momentarily so you could smile at her. The hand that was behind your head tucked hair behind your ear and brought your hand from her shoulder so she could press lips to your knuckles. The ridge of bone under the soft of her skin and then she was hugging you again.

“Anything, I just want to hear your voice.”

So you told her about yourself. Stories she’d never heard and memories you’d thought you’d forgotten. Whispers of your past shared with your future.

She nuzzled her chin into the crook of your neck and listened, breathing deep the smell of your perfume that clung, lingering to the collar of your clothes.

A laugh.

Rippling up your throat at reminiscing a memory, vibration muffled against her ear at your jaw, and Cordelia swore that she could feelyour emotions. Truly feel you, and she realised that you couldn’t lie to her. Couldn’t will yourself to say something untrue just to still the aching beat of her heart within her chest.

You couldn’t make yourself want to mend her. You didn’t want that. You wanted to help her heal. Heal from her past that held less joy and laughter than yours did.

You wanted to help her create memories of her own, just like this.

Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Dancing in the dark under the glow of the patient moon.

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @okpaulson @pluied-ete @magnifique-monstre @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @venablemayfairgoode @serawalkerwrites @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft ,, if you want to be added sent me an ask or reply to this post <3

[cranerosalia]

HALO REACH SPOILERS**

I like to think that Halsey brings up Noble Team and their 'failures' at least once and Jun straight up goes off on her. So I wrote it :))

"They all died, and yet you're still here. Is it luck I wonder? Or perhaps it is skills they all lacked-"

"You will not speak of them that way," Jun whipped around, staring Halsey in the face. "If it hadn't been for you and your damned research, maybe they'd be here. Maybe there'd still be a Noble Team."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, Halsey. I'm sure," he hissed. "You didn't see what we were up against. You were too busy boldfacing and making snarky comments about Six to open your eyes and understand."

"I completely understand," Halsey argued, standing from her chair only to flinch back when Jun brought his hand down on the table with a loud thud.

"NO, DOCTOR. NO, YOU COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND." He shouted angrily. His blood was boiling and he was certain that his face was red with anger. He wanted to rip the table apart just to get to the woman who had the audacity to speak down about his teammates. Jorge. Kat. Carter. Emile. Six. All of them gone, and for what. A battle they practically lost anyways. "Can you process it?" he muttered. "Can you understand that we are humans too?! WE ARE NOT JUST ANDROIDS TO BE USED AND DISPOSED OF!"

"Jun," Sarah Palmer's voice said. Her hand touching his shoulder, he loosened up slightly trying to calm himself. But he was too far gone. His body was shaking with a violent rage he had pushed back. That he had refused to let show itself. At their memorials. Well...everyone except Six's.

She never got one.

"She will never know a memorial," Jun looked up at Halsey once more. "Antonia B-312 will never be mourned by anyone. Because all your damn operatives made her out to be was a machine. A robot. A ghost." Halsey's face was stern but it definitely read that she was listening. He watched her for a moment longer as he continued. "You would feel so destroyed if it were her opposing SPARTAN killed, now wouldn't you? Your precious pet project, yes?" Jun stood up straight, adjusting his suit's collar. He turned on his heel, pausing.

"You will never speak ill of Noble Team again, do I make myself clear, Doctor?"

"You don't command me, Chief of Staff."

"You're right. I don't. But so help me, if you continue this bullshit? You'll wish you stopped while you were ahead. Palmer," he nodded to the SPARTAN woman next to him to follow him out, his hands in his pants pockets leaving Halsey in a room of holographic files. Five ghosts haunting the room and watching her every movement. She could feel their gazes on her as she slowly sat down in her chair, staring at the computer before her. She could still feel the table shaking from when Jun brought his hand down on it.

She might have thought he could split it. He could've if he truly wanted to. Slowly she deleted her last notes and started again. This time, leaving her bias in the dark corner, guarded by a rose tattooed Reaper, whose eyes followed Halsey's every motion.

And Halsey knew Noble Six was watching.

[jadedxrealityw]

-Penmanship- Cedric Diggory x Female Reader

    ☼-☪-☼

   Kody: I- i love this request. I’m also hella confused by half of it so imma guess? Also i’m putting Lupin in this story because in my dr hes the defense against the dark arts professor and i do what i want really so like-

  Request: Okay so listen honey. A cedric diggory imagine where he constantly gets love letters every now and then from a secret admirer aka the reader. Not so secret though because she has the prettiest handwriting ever and it was very obvious. One day, Cedric like asks for her notes because he needed it??? She mindlessly gave it away because that's her long-time crush okay- and then after, Cedric gives it back and says she has a beautiful penmanship and reader just blushes, thinking about what she had done and- Gdjshdhxbhshgs so she tried like avoiding him because embarrassing really wow and then some days after, Cedric asks her what was the answer. She was like???? Was there a question????? Ced was like look at your notes???? And tHEN SHE RUMMAGES THROUGH HER NOTES AND SAW CEDRIC'S LETTER ASKING HER OUT.I've always been that freak in class with a pretty handwriting 😭 - 💐

  House: Hufflepuff

  Possible Triggers / Warnings: the fluff, Cedric being a cheeky bastard, cursing because i have a foul mouth

   ☼-☪-☼

  Cedric Diggory, 7th year Hufflepuff, quidditch captain/seeker, handsome, charming as a prince,  and one of the most popular guys at hogwarts along with Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, George and Fred Weasley, Blaise Zabini, etc. Anyway, like most girls and boys in Hogwarts, you fell for him. Hard.

  i mean- how couldn’t you, you shared almost every class him and he just seemed so kind and caring. He did have his smug side though that you rarely saw, but it was surely there. In layman’s terms: he was perfect in your eyes, and in your mind, you didn’t deserve him or his weird perfection thing he had.

  so you came up with a strange and somewhat coward way of confessing your feelings. Better than being embarrassed, normally guys and gals would get the young lad alone and confess there undying attraction to him and well- they’d get rejected. Everytime. It was almost as if Cedric had an attraction for no one.

  you decided to send love letters of sorts, but not really. They were more like letters of encouragement and it certainly wasn’t going to be a constant thing, just when you noticed a negative change in his attitude or anything like that. You would write him sweet compliments that you hoped weren’t to creepy as well.

  you just hoped that the letters brought Cedric some sort of happiness whenever he was low.

   ☼-☪-☼

  the Hufflepuff house had quite a grim aura this afternoon. The quidditch team had just lost a match against Gryffindor and even though Hufflepuffs were no sore losers, losing just sucked in general to anyone. It was sad to see your fellow housemates on the quidditch team so upset.

  the worst part was that Cedric had took the lose quite harshly since it would have gotten them a place in the quidditch finals of that semester. Now he would have to wait until next term to assure his team a spot. You noticed Cedric’s pained expression during the end of the game and left early.

  this was one of the moments where you could write something sweet and kind to lift his spirits and write you shall. You snuck back into your common room and quickly gathered up some parchment, ink, and a quill. You sat on the yellow loveseat as you wrote.

  ‘Dear Cedric, I’m sorry that you don’t get to participate in the quidditch finals, but don’t see this has a huge lose. You are still the most amazing quidditch captain and seeker i have ever seen. You should be proud of what you have accomplished so far. I just know you will do much better next term because your the kind of person to grow from your failures and such. It has inspired me to do the same with myself. Have a good rest of your day Cedric.’

  after writing what you needed to say you quickly make your way back to the quidditch field to see Cedric and his team slowly making there way to the changing rooms. Oh no. You needed to think fast. In a rushed state you slip into the boys changing room, no doubt feeling like a bit of a perv while doing so.

  it smelt like pure testosterone. you gaze around until your E/c eyes land on a small locker that had Cedric’s name on the front. Boom. With haste, you rush over and open the locker. The smell of fresh sage filling your nose. Odd. Anyway, you fold the letter and place it gently on on his clothes.

  after that you left.

   ☼-☪-☼

  as Cedric walked into the changing room he sighed deeply, running a hand through his golden brown hair that by then had collected sweat. His male teammates were quiet as they began to strip themselves of their protective padding.

  as the seeker opened up his locker to grab his regular clothes he spotted a folded up piece of parchment. By now he had been receiving letters for a bout a month now, so he instantly knew. He reaches in and grabs it from the locker. Opening it, he spotted the unique handwriting as always.

  as he read the words a wide smile grew on his face. He honestly looked like a lovestruck idiot who had just been kissed by an angel. After a month of receiving these letters, he now had a want for them. They always came when he needed them the most and always brought the brightest smile on his face.

  even after reading the kind words you had wrote for him, Cedric couldn’t help but wonder who was writing the letters with the unique penmanship. He had fallen for the anonymous writer and longed to know who there identity was, so he could say those feelings in person.

  but not once had they mentioned any descriptors that could lead him anywhere, no hair color, eye color, not even there gender. Cedric could less about any of those, but he needed those clues to find them, to find you. All he had was a stack of letters with unique handwriting.  

   ☼-☪-☼

  a week later

  one of the many classes you shared with Cedric was defence against the dark arts with professor Lupin, which was where you were walking into at this current moment. Oh yeah, you were deskmates (assigned) with him as well, which was totally not nerve wracking in the slightest.

  Lupin stood up from his chair in the front of the class as most of his students had taken their seats “Welcome, welcome everyone. Once your seated please pull out your textbooks and turn to-” before he could get another word in Hermione Granger’s hand had shot up in the air.

  professor Lupin gave her a small smile before nodding once towards her direction “Yes, Ms. Granger?” he asked. Hermione’s arm fell and she folded her hands across the wooden desk she sat at “You told us last week there’d be a exam today on the Chameleon Ghoul?”

  as groans fell from your classmates you heard the chair next to you slide across the floor “I haven’t missed anything important, have i?” that deep melodic voice you had grown to enjoy spoke. You turn your head to face the browned haired boy who wore a kind smile and questioning eyes.

  you manage to muster up a reply “Uh- Granger reminded Lupin that we have a exam today” you said cracking a quiet chuckle. He rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a seat in the chair, all while pulling out a couple pieces of parchment with his handwriting on it. You assumed it was his notes.

  “Of course she did. What’s the exam for?” he asks. You sit back in your seat to make yourself look less tense then you actually were. “Chameleon Ghouls” you say, watching the golden brown hair boy search through his notes. A frown formed on his face, one you noticed “Are uh- you alright there?”

  Cedric turns his head to face you, his frown replaced with a sheepish smile “I was at quidditch practice during that lesson. You wouldn’t mind me borrowing yours would you? I- I mean if it’s not to much of a hassle?” he asked. You shook your head quickly, not wanting him to be nervous.

  “Oh no it’s alright. I usually write two sets of notes for my friend Hannah who usually sleeps through her lessons” you say, making him chuckle a bit. You reach into your bag and pull out both pages of notes, handing him one. Cedric gently takes the notes from your hand, his finger grazing yours.

  it affected you more than you’d like to admit. You pull your hand away and place it back in your lap. Cedric smiles kindly before looking at the parchment you gave him. His brown eyes scan the handwriting, a smug grin plastered on his face. It took him a couple minutes to read the whole page.

   “Your penmanship” he spoke

  at this point you were looking at your own notes and for once not paying so much attention to him. You raise a brown in confusion before looking up at him “My penmanship?” you question. Cedric nods towards the parchment he held in his hand

  “The way you write is so unique, i could spot it in instantly among others. I could never forget it” he said sending you a wink. You were confused at first by his choice of words before it finally hit you. The letters. He had seen your handwriting so many times before, so much so that he couldn’t forget it.

  and you had so willingly, so stupidly given away something with your distinct penmanship on it. Oh merlin, you were so screwed. Your E/c eyes widen, opening your mouth to force out some answer but professor Lupin speaks instead. “Now notes away while i pass out the exam”

  Cedric casually faces forward in his seat once again as he slides over the notes you handed him minutes ago. You quickly snatch them and stuff it into your bag as a red hue tinted your cheeks. You felt so embarrassed at the moment and wanted the earth to swallow you up.

   ☼-☪-☼

  “Aright, leave your exams on the table and you may leave” Lupin spoke, while kids stood up from their desks to leave the classroom. In a haste, you sling your bag over your shoulder and make a beeline towards the door, not wanting to even risk Cedric questioning you about the letters. Your heart couldn’t handle it.

  for the next couple days you spent most of your time avoiding the hufflepuff boy who seemed to now show up everywhere you went. Almost like the universe was punishing you for being such an idiot in giving him those notes and you did feel like a total idiot. You really hoped he would just forget you existed.

   ☼-☪-☼

  a couple days later, friday

   you couldn’t avoid him forever though.

  back in professor Lupin’s classroom you had been quietly sitting next to Cedric almost the whole class period. What were you supposed to say to him anyway “We seemed to have finished early, talk amongst yourselves quietly for the rest of the remaining time if you so desire”

  well shit

  you lean back into your chair and sigh deeply. He wouldn’t talk to you right? He should of taken the hit that you were avoiding him, RIGHT? No of course not. You felt a tap on your shoulder and slowly turned your head to face Cedric “Yes?” you say, trying to keep your calm composure.

  “You still haven’t given me an answer, your cutting it pretty close there Y/n” he snickers, leaning in close to you since he spoke in a hushed tone. You instinctively lean back, cause like- boundaries. “I’m sorry, i don’t understand?” you spoke, a confused expression on your face.

   Cedric studies your expression for a moment before chuckling again “I guess i don’t leave letters as skillfully as you do” he says making your face go bright red “Check the notes that you gave me” he adds. You mumble an okay before opening your bag to grab the crumpled parchment. 

   when you unfolded it another piece of parchment had fallen into your lap. It was small and looked like it had been ripped off the sheet and folded up like a note you would pass to a friend during class. You reach down and collect, gently unfolding the top flap to read the words. 

   ‘It’s my turn to write you something my secret admirer or should i say Y/n L/n. Would you do me the honor of going out with me this saturday- Cedric’ 

   you must have read those couple sentences three times before you believed your eyes weren’t defective of some sort. You slowly place the note down on your lap once again, biting your bottom lip out of nervousness. Slowly looking over to your right you saw Cedric with a questioning glance “So?”

   a smile grew on your face before nodding “Yeah i’d love to”

   the date went great, you walked around the school talking about anything you or Cedric could think of. He did question you on why you had sent the letters anonymously and you told him the truth, you didn’t want to be embarrassed. He thought it was funny the way he found out and you though to.   

    ☼-☪-☼

   a month later (bonus stuff)

   you were wearing a yellow sweater with black sleeves and collar, a short denim overall dress over that and black leggings with matching black boots as you tapped your fingers against the wood of Cedric’s chest at the foot of his bed. You were waiting for your now boyfriend to come back from the shower.

   Cedric had been at quidditch practice all afternoon and you knew he went to wash up right after, so it was the waiting game now. What you didn’t expect was what would happen next. The door suddenly opened to reveal Cedric with damp hair and only wearing a towel around his waist.

   you yelp and cover your eyes with both of your hands instantly “Cedric! What the hell!?” you shout. Cedric gives you a weird look all though you couldn’t see it “Your in my dorm! I didn’t think you be in here!” he shouts back, you can hear shuffling of clothes and his walking.

   “Did you walk through the common room like that?! What if somebody saw you!?” you exclaim. You didn’t want prying eyes on him in such a state since you knew almost everyone in your house and others hand the biggest crush on him. The thought made you frown knowing full well he could have anyone he wanted.

   you feel his large hand over yours as he pulls them from your face, his brown eyes studying your expression like always “Who cares if anyone saw?” he questions, your face not changing “Because everyone likes you, what if someone more good looking than me saw you and- eh”

   you look away from him. Cedric exhaled and let go of one of your hands to gently force your chin towards him so you were looking at him once again. “I don’t really care about anyone else Y/n. I’m your boyfriend aren’t i?” he asked, tilting his head with an amused smile. You nod slowly “Yeah” 

   “Y/n i fell for you the first time i read your letters, don’t doubt yourself because your the only girl who has ever caught my attention” Cedric smiles and leans up since he was crouching in front of you to kiss your lips gently. It was like he was sealing his statement with the kiss. 

   you smile against his lips. He pulls away after a couple seconds with a smug smirk “Now my secret admirer, want to cuddle?”

   “I’m never getting over that am i?”

   “Nope, now in the bed”

    ☼-☪-☼

   Taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @sonbelleame @dracosathenaeum @pxroxide-prinxcesss 

    ☼-☪-☼

   Kody: this is shi for how long it took me lmao. Anyway, requests and taglist are open so like- yeahhh.

[ktheist]

min yoongi have seen it all. tasted them all. and fucked more women - humans, nymphs, succubus and whatnot - than the years his past lives have lived.

and to be quite frank, he’s getting tired of it all.

that is, until he met you.

corny, but true.

you were nothing but a human child. weak with too short of legs that always begged him to ‘wait! hey, mister!’ until his ears would almost bleed and he’d still hear your pitter patter of steps and heart racing from running after him.

then he decided he was done with trying to lose you - or so he’d liked to believe. but he literally lived in the same neighborhood as you.

which was also why you’d been keen on following him around - because on one careless night, just as he’d lost the hunters, he’d landed in front of your house instead of his because he was out of energy to even fly there. he thought he’d walk but instead he obtained a parasitic human child that latched onto him like a leech the next day and the day after the the day after that day.

either way, he now opened the door for you when he heard the ring of a bell everyday at around 2 in the afternoon which was around the time you’d come back from school.

“mister, what else can you do?” you’d been five and waddling around his rather ordinary house - to which he could just feel the disappointment roll off you.

“hey, mister, can you shoot fire balls from your hands?” you’d been seven when he’d heard the bell ring at an ungodly hour of eight in the morning.

“mister, mister! look! i got all A’s for my exams!” you’d flashed the report card to his face at the age of ten with eyes brimming with pride.

“hey mister, can you make someone disappear?” at the age of thirteen, you’d asked an odd question as you’d hid away from his gaze - to which yoongi was no fool to.

the person ended up with a broken arm the next day and moved schools the week after.

“mister, i bought some food since i always get hungry when i come over! don’t touch them!” you’d said at the age of sixteen while you’d stored the stacks of snacks and drinks into his empty cupboard - the light in your eyes came back when you entered high school.

yoongi didn’t have to worry about making anyone disappear for a while.

or so he thought.

“it’s nothing,” you’d mumbled at the age of seventeen, the opened chips still full even though you’d usually inhale them within minutes but then you’d turned to him with knitted eyebrows, “it’s just that- there’s this boy and he’s so infuriating!”

“ugh, who needs boyfriends when they have their own blood sucking recluse!” you’d declared, at the age of nineteen, the day after you came knocking on yoongi’s door with tears streaming down your face and snot running down your nose.

“hey, yoongi,” you’d taken to calling him by his name at the age of twenty-one and you’d only come around during the short intervals of your break in uni, “have you ever thought about having kids of your own?”

it was then that he actually looked at you - truly looked at you. and he realized that your legs were definitely much longer but they still wouldn’t be able to run after him even if you tried with all your might. and you’d lost most of the fat in your cheek as well as the childlike wonder in your eyes. and you’d reached a tad bit higher than his hips.

okay, maybe a whole lot, he noted as you’d gathered your phone and purse and bade him farewell after said phone rang.

“i know it’s too sudden but,” you’d flashed him a diamond ring that sat prettily on your fourth finger like you did with your report card at the age of twenty-five, “i’m getting married!”

“fuck men,” you’d huffed with cans of beers littered all over his coffee table at the age of thirty-one. the ring lied underneath his sofa where it’d rolled over after you’d yanked it off your finger, “seriously fuck men.”

he didn’t see you for a while after that and for once, life felt as if it was normal again - or hollow.

“why?” you’d looked at him as if you were about to break at the age of thirty-three, “why did you kiss me just to push me away?”

“not you,” yoongi had held your face like it was made of porcelain, “i’m not going to do this to you.”

“mirae is getting into fights with her classmate because the other girl said that her mother called me a failure - apparently keeping a man is the greatest achievement in a woman’s life,” at the age thirty-six you’d sighed, glancing over at the little girl that looked so much alike to the one who used to follow him around.

“yoongi, if anything happens to me, can you please take care of my kid?” at the age of forty-one, you’d uttered your first ‘please’ and he could smell the cancer off your skin.

“i’m so ugly,” you’d survived a year, lost your hair and most of your body weight from the lack of appetite but it’s been a week after your surgery and he could barely smell the parasitic disease.

“his name is jimin and he has two kids of his own,” at the age of forty-six, you’d invited him to your second wedding but your eyes had lingered on him as you’d danced together on the dance floor.

“mirae’s growing up and eating so well,” at the age of fifty, he’d visited you at your house when your family had gone out to the grocery and you’d stayed back to meet your deadline, “i don’t know why i was ever worried about her hanging out with the wrong crowd - but she doesn’t really hang out with anyone besides her brothers,” you’d sighed, “they’re gonna be her future boyfriend’s greatest hurdle.”

then you’d turned to him, there’d been a different light in your eyes - something like content and peace, “i hope you get to find a girlfriend too someday, yoongi.”

at the age of sixty-six, you’d told him something that would stay with him for a lifetime - and he had a few more centuries of that, “yoongi, i love you most.”

the sky was as bright as the day you’d first followed him with your waddly little legs. he could almost hear you calling after him with a sort of foolish determination that only a child could possess. they buried you six feet under but he’d encased you in his heart forever.

nothing had been the same - he couldn’t sell the house but he couldn’t stay in it either. he’d roam the world and met more species that he would have fucked it it was him a hundred years ago - or had it been three hundred since you left him? since he’d felt a deeper hollowness that latched onto him like a parasite? times change and buildings got higher but he never did. no matter how many humans he’d watched lived and died - if only to get a semblance of what life was when you were alive and the things you offered, the feelings you brought out of him and the loneliness that you’d taken away throughout your lives only to give back twice as much.

“hey mister,” it was a bright summer day and yoongi was suckling on a popsicle he’d bought outside a convenience store - human food weren’t that bad - when a girl no older than twenty-five came up to him and by god, he felt his heart dropped straight to the ground as a smile curled on your lips, “it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 2: Buried Deep

Mortal Kombat 2021: Liu Kang x Reader

Some more angst with this delightful broken version of Liu Kang I've created here Lol. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. They're a fuckin' mess. Obviously, still spoilers from the movie <3 thanks for reading. love u. This one is going to update Wednes/Sun cause I'm goin out of town on wednesday~~

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The ride to the reservation was about as bad as you expected it to be. Silent and awkward. You wouldn’t even look at each other. You had no idea which reason it was that had brought you to that level of awkwardness. Kung Lao’s death? Your grief? The straight up pornography you’d lived while you were drunk last night? Hell, it could have just been your upset stomachs. Or all of the above. When you got out of the car, you had never been more thankful to breathe fresh air. Even the driver had felt your tension.

The walk around the reservation together hadn’t been great either. Liu Kang had almost nothing to say and when he did, it was in a grumpy low tone that you had barely understood and you didn’t dare ask him to repeat himself in a mood like that. You had started with the shops and had purchased a blanket and incense. Then you’d asked around about Nightwolf and the legend he was known for.

When the shop had yielded no results, you had argued about where to go and how to approach your search. You couldn’t agree on anything. Liu seemed to be interested in taking shortcuts which seemed very unlike him. You tried not to worry about him and now considered that Raiden sent you together because Liu was not himself. You wanted him to find peace. You wanted that for all of them.

At least he didn’t bring up the night before so maybe he was ready to forget it as much as you were. Maybe you’d blacked out and that had been it. Not likely but your brain kept making excuses so you could try to cope with your bad behavior. There was still a chance that he’d forgotten what had happened. That he’d blacked out and woken up sore, naked, and with scratches down his back and couldn’t remember how.

You forced away the mental image of how you’d likely given him those marks in the heat of the moment. Oof. That was not helping your ability to look at Liu Kang. You decided to split up which had helped the tension considerably.

But even alone you’d had little luck. No one would acknowledge what you were talking about. You’d gotten a half-assed response here and there out of a handful of people who had been bad at lying and hadn’t expected you to bring it up. You still refused to talk about Nightwolf or where you might find anyone with a dragon marking. You had even showed the one on you back as an example but got nothing in response.

You met back up in front of the big store where you’d gotten the blanket. “Now what?” Liu Kang approached you as you sipped on a tea that you’d bought. Another pathetic attempt to kill the hangover headache. He leaned against the wall next to him and you offered him a second tea that you’d bought. He turned it down. “Feels like we hit a dead end.”

“They know something. They just won’t tell us. I can’t blame them. We’re strangers.”

“We should…” He began, bite in his voice that you knew would end up in you snapping at each other for the twentieth time that day. Why had you slept with him again? Other than that he was incredibly attractive? You hadn’t had anything nice to say to each other since Kung Lao died. A young woman approached you and so he silenced. The woman took your hand and slipped a folded piece of paper just within.

“You seem very nice but you two should be on your way.” The woman scolded them but looked to your hand with significance before heading into the shop.

“Interesting.” You walked away from the shop and toward the road where you’d been dropped off. Liu took the piece of paper from your hands as you began to unfold it. You resisted the urge to snap at him for doing so and instead waited for him to unfold the secret message. With the way that day had gone you’d half-expected it to be a nasty note.

It wasn’t.

“A map.” He showed it to you, and it was, indeed, a map. Your current location was circled in blue and a path led up a crudely drawn mountain and was marked out for you with the words ‘be careful’ scribbled at the bottom. That was more than you’d gotten from anyone else so it was the best lead you had. Daylight was quickly fading. You walked back to the shop and asked to use the phone which got you looks since everyone there was holding a smartphone. You called a car to come and take you back to the motel.

Liu had pocketed the map and was waiting for you by the side of the road. The sky was overcast, and you stood next to him to wait. “The car should be here in a few minutes. We should find somewhere that I can pick up a phone. Everyone here has them and I’m getting looks for asking to use theirs.”

“That’s fine. We need a map and some supplies for hiking anyway.”

Silence followed and it was more than awkward. It was painful.

You missed Kung Lao. He never would have let the silence be this awkward. Even when you’d fought, he’d filled the silence with noise until either you laughed, or you fought again. You’d take the fighting over silence, gladly. Then again, you were afraid of the kind of fight you’d have with Liu Kang.

The car arrived and you muttered ‘thank god’ under your breath. It took you back to the motel which was within walking distance of a nearby strip mall on the same road. You picked up a prepaid smartphone to make your lives a little bit more convenient while you were in America. The man behind the counter taught you how to use it. You were adaptable enough but had appreciated the head start.

Liu had purchased a map and hiking supplies while you’d been getting the phone. Then you’d gone together to grab takeout from a Mediterranean place in the same strip mall before you returned to the motel. Liu laid the map on the little table by the couch and you setup the food. This was less awkward and more nostalgic. You’d spent most of your time with Liu after coming to Raiden’s Temple. There’d been an attack in your hometown and while protecting your home, you’d killed a man with the dragon mark. Liu Kang had eventually convinced you to come and stay and fight for earthrealm. He’d been a comfort to you back then and you had become fast friends. You’d shared and instant connection and attraction that you hadn’t even bothered trying to resist.

You’d had fun back then.

This was not fun even if it was nostalgic.

Liu used the drawing you’d been given to pinpoint a trail on the map which hadn’t been easy since the drawing wasn’t accurate to the map that you’d bought. You poked around at your food offering insight that he’d rejected time and again. Your stomach was too upset to eat much of what you’d bought.

“That’s quite the hike.” You tried to sound friendly even if he kept arguing with you about the path.

“If we have to hike then we have to hike.”

“I wasn’t trying to argue.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him. It didn’t make sense for you to set out tonight. The sun had already set. “In the morning then?”

“Yeah. Rest will be good.” He sounded as tired as you did and avoided your eyes as he folded up the map and tucked it in his bag for tomorrow. You sat silently, poking at your food. Then he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “How are you holding up?” You were taken aback. You hadn’t had a civil discussion about even the weather and now he was asking about your feelings? Now to play the game of whether it was about the night before or about Kung Lao. It was most likely about Kung Lao. That was the first thing everyone asked you about these days.

“I’m… okay.” You shrugged, poking at your food again. “Some days are better than others.” That was vague but true. It was what you said to almost everyone who asked. Today had not been your best day. Then you spoke without thinking. “I miss him. All the time.”

“Me too.” He leaned back on the couch, arms folded over his chest. This food had been a complete waste of money. Your stomachs were just too sick from your foray into liquor the night before. You remembered him reluctantly joining you to have a drink now after the other monks had encouraged it.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real still.” You stole a glance at him, and he seemed surprised that you kept talking to him. This was the most you had talked, after all. You were surprised too. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it happen.”

“I’m glad that you weren’t there. I’m glad you didn’t see it. I still have nightmares about.” Liu adjusted himself onto the edge of the couch and then cleared his throat, as though he were about to begin a difficult conversation. You panicked. He couldn’t possibly be wildly shifting from your grief over Kung Lao and your broken heart to what you’d done the night before. “Y/N, we should probably talk about…”

“What we should do is get some rest.” You shut that down and stood abruptly. “Long day tomorrow.” Your voice was too loud and you were awkward. But you grabbed your bag and rushed into the bathroom without so much as a second glance back at him. He may have been ready to talk about it but you couldn’t handle the hurt. Not on top of all the other hurt. You couldn’t handle more rejection or failure. Not now. The panic was overwhelming, and you were in the bathroom with the door locked just in time.

You sank against the door to the ground and held the bag in your lap and pulled your knees to your chest, breathing shakily and trying to resist the urge to sob. It didn’t occur to you until your heart had stopped pounding in your ears that maybe he hadn’t meant to talk about the night before but now you would never know. You were sure he was mad that you’d interrupted him and ran off but your fight or flight sense had kicked into high gear.

You could have smacked Raiden for sending Liu Kang with you. What was this? Some kind of horrible test? You had been waiting for a break! A distraction! But now all the things that you’d been avoiding were sharing a room with you. Liu Kang was at the center of them all. You whispered apologies to Kung Lao with your face buried against your bag.

When you had collected yourself, you’d then washed up for the night, changed, and finally left the bathroom. Liu Kang was lying on the couch with his back to you, resting. You were grateful not to have to fight over who would sleep where. You had the feeling that he was pretending to be asleep to avoid you and you were okay with that. You’d earned it.

You kicked off your shoes and then curled up in bed. You stared at the wall and hoped that sleep would eventually come for you. The bag was cradled tightly in your arms, fingers brushing over the cool, jade circlet, soothing you.

Your first trip with Kung Lao had led them all across Indonesia in search of ancient texts that Raiden had sought out in reference to a prophecy. You’d had a blast together and had gotten in more scrapes than you had ever been in before that. You’d bonded over martial arts movies and bad jokes. It’d taken nearly a month and he’d become one of your best friends by the end of it.

When you’d returned to the temple, he’d asked you out on a date. A real date, not the kind where you would just go sit in the temple or get laid. You’d been flattered. Kung Lao had been trouble, but he was also sweet and confident in a way that was just plain sexy. You’d been flustered when he’d asked. Not because you weren’t attracted to him but because you’d had a complicated little physical thing going on with Liu Kang over the months prior.

You’d joke around or practice and one thing inevitably led to another and you’d wind up in his bed or he’d be crawling into yours. Your attraction to each other had been sparks from the get go. But you’d also never talked about it directly. Instead, you’d just kept sleeping together which had been dangerous and stupid as you remembered it. Yet, you remembered it fondly and had even missed it over the years.

You’d decided that you’d have to talk to Liu before you could even consider Kung Lao’s proposal. If Liu had wanted to pursue what you’d had then you would have seriously considered it. Your attraction was too intense for you not to give it a shot. It was beyond your control. You were attracted to Kung Lao too, but it had been different. No less important, just different.

You’d met up later that night with Liu Kang to talk about it. He’d had other ideas and you couldn’t blame him considering your track record and that you hadn’t seen him for a month. You’d been very direct- had even rehearsed it in your head a dozen times before saying it.

“What is this… that we’re doing?” You had been nervous and sounded it which had made it immediately awkward.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Liu.”

“Why?” His sigh had been so heavy that you’d instantly been on edge.

“Kung Lao asked me out. I wanted to know what you thought about that and… all of this.” You gestured between you. Liu was immediately distant and different than you had ever known him to be.

“Kung Lao is a good man. Trouble but so are you. He’d be good for you.”

That was not what you had expected him to say. He avoided your eyes, face full of indifference. You hadn’t expected him to encourage you to date Kung Lao, not when you’d spent so many hot and sweaty nights in his arms. You must have looked surprised because he kept talking.

“You two have a lot in common. Both stubborn. Similar interests.”

“But what about… this?” You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to say the actual words.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N.” He had said this in a way that made it feel like you sleeping together had been a transaction. A means to an end. Had you misinterpreted everything? You felt, for lack of a better word, dirty.

“Well, if I’m going to date Kung Lao then we have to stop this.” You’d said that with far more venom than you’d meant to, but he had earned it.

“That’s fine. It wasn’t like it meant anything.”

You’d sat silently in awe and trying to hide the slow shattering of your heart. It had crushed you. One short conversation had completely destroyed your relationship. “Well, that made this decision an easy one.”

“Good.”

“Good.” You’d marched off without another word.

Just like you had tonight. Then you’d never talked about it again. It had taken time for your friendship to recover after that. You were still hurt thinking about it. Days later, when you’d thought about it, you’d agreed to go on a date with Kung Lao and it had been the best decision you’d made in a long time. You’d clicked quickly and naturally. He’d been a wonderful boyfriend and you’d gone from cute and flirty to serious and romantic very quickly. You had always struggled with commitment, and you’d had your fair share of fights but for the most part you’d been happy. Liu Kang had eventually come around and you’d been friends again, as if nothing had ever happened.

You hadn’t been one on one with him for more than a few minutes since back then. Not until now. Kung Lao had always made sure that didn’t happen, even if he had never said why. You’d never told him that you’d slept together. Why cause Liu more grief than you needed to? Besides, if he had asked you if you were still attracted to Liu, you would have had to lie. Your fingers brushed along the jade circlet and your eyes blurred with tears.

This was too much. You were emotionally drained.

You fell asleep cradling your bag to your chest.

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