#I still love this series! but it now has a bitter aftertaste

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

180 degrees longitude passes through us - Episode 8 (The Final)

Or how I call it: 180 ways of feeling pain...

The finale probably left us all somewhat disturbed, sad, in despair, or even dissatisfied. I, for example, still wonder where exactly the catharsis is supposed to be that was talked about beforehand. In parts, I can see it in Wang. After venting out his pain, anger and sadness, he can now look forward. He is aware that time is on his side. And at the same time, that's one of the most desperate statements I've ever heard. However, as the daughter of a toxic father, I can understand him so well. Sometimes you learn very late in life what you really want and that you should be in charge of your own life. Some people can live this out and others are prevented by social norms or other circumstances from living their own lives. It took me a long time to understand that I was not born to fulfill someone else's demands or expectations. Wang understood this at 22, but still he is trapped in this world. He can't leave Mol because he is trapped by her and can't escape her (yet). Wang has grown up with her, has assimilated her manipulations and the feelings of guilt live very actively in him.

In - a broken character. In was my heart bearer throughout the entire journey. I have seen many posts where he is hated for not responding, for lethargically accepting everything and yes that is frustrating, but even though people can change, it often does not happen overnight. It is a process. In is locked in his own thought prison. He has his internalised homophobia; he hates himself for the wounds he did to Mol and Wang and especially Siam. The guilt is really eating away at him. It has been drilled into him that his love is wrong and not normal. So much that at one point he believed it himself. He couldn't open up to Siam, whom he certainly loved more than anything, and can't change for or because of Wang. He grew up in a generation that was not as open to homosexuality as today's. You see this over and over again in the character of Mol. Her views are outdated and conservative. And you have to remember, In is her generation.

He lives love in theory. He has understood it in theory, but cannot see beyond thinking about it philosophically. But what is the use of love in thought? So In remains lonely. Not able to articulate his feelings for Wang and that, although he otherwise knows something to say about everything. But as before, when he has revealed too much of himself or let Wang get too close, he falls silent. Not only does his mouth go silent, it's as if his entire body falls silent. It becomes incredibly clear how he is trapped in his mind, almost punishing himself for being so close to Wang. A life of self-flagellation. The secluded life he leads is also a form of self-punishment. I find it hard to believe that he has ever felt physical and emotional closeness to anyone. He learned early on that his love is a danger, to himself but even more so to others. His love or love for him brings pain. So he closed himself off to it and that belief is so deeply ingrained in him. Wang may have shown him that he is loved, that he is desired, but on the other shoulder sat Mol with her views and confirmed In in his thinking that he is wrong, that he is not normal and that he is to blame for Siam dying and Wang no longer having a father and her not being able to experience a happy love. In is a deeply desperate character and I feel for him. I don't hate him and the ending came as no surprise. His inability to act or love and forgive himself was made clear early on. I would have liked a better ending for him. I would have at least hoped for him to cross that fucking bridge. If not with Wang waiting at the other end, then at least alone, as a kind of forgiveness and the beginning of healing and self-love. But we were denied that, because that's not how it works most of the time. People remain in their cages, trapped in their spirals of thought and hurt, unable to see beyond their own wounds. And that is human. Wang has made it abundantly clear that there will be no chance for In. He will never be able to talk about his feelings, because to articulate his feelings is to make them real. If you don't articulate something, it doesn't become true. He didn't even express that Siam was in love with him. He could not express it, because then he would not have been able to hide from the truth of those words. However, because of Wang, this illusion was shattered. You saw it in episode 7, how much it took his breath away when Wang spoke the truth, put it on the table like an open wound. If In had spoken out how he felt about Wang, he wouldn't have been able to go back to his little prison. The truth would be out there and his heart would be present as an open wound for all to see. Only by not expressing it he can protect himself and in his mind also Wang. Because as mentioned before, nothing good comes from his love, only sorrow and pain and he can't do that to Wang. Just as he could not do it to Siam without understanding that his love could have been the healing, but that is not the path In has chosen. He has chosen to believe that his love is evil.

Mol. I can't find anything good about her character. Is she a good mother? I think she thinks so. She thinks she is doing everything for her son and knows what is best for him. She projects so much of her feelings and desires onto Wang, which she associates with Siam. Is her love not enough? Can't she be enough for Wang? Why does it have to be In, of all people? Wang is the image of his father. In was overwhelmed by this fact and was once again driven into an emotional spiral of self-loathing and despair. What should Mol do then? She loved Siam and became desperate at his rejection of her. On the one hand, she gave Wang away, pushed him aside, and on the other hand, she made him so dependent on herself and her opinion that he could not get away from her emotionally. Even his brief rebellion she stamps down by making him feel guilty. Alone, Wang cannot win the battle against her. I'm not saying she did everything with full consciousness. Toxic and narcissistic people sometimes act intuitively. They know what buttons to push to get the best result for themselves. Toxic parents do not see their behavior as bad or wrong, because they only see their own point of view. They cannot put themselves in their children's shoes. They are not aware that they are causing pain through their behavior. They also don't realize that this behavior can lead to a rupture in the end until it is too late. And then they themselves are not to blame, because they always wanted only the best for their child. The child is ungrateful or has changed negatively. And Mol has not shown a bit of change during the whole time. Her views towards homosexuals have not changed just because her son is gay. She continues to think In is disgusting. She did give Wang a hug when he broke down, but even that didn't feel right to me. As an emotionally unavailable mother with narcissistic tendencies, she is there when her son is in pain, but not when he tells her he is in love. She can only be there for him when he is sad, when he needs her. If he is happy, there is a danger that he will drift away, that he might leave her. Her greatest fear. But if he is hurt, then she feels needed. Then she can give him the closeness he wants so much. The fact that she is so negative towards his love for In leaves a bitter taste in my mouth in this scene, because she has won. Wang has come to her to cry by her side, to sleep in her bed and not with In. She emerges from the ring as the winner at the expense of everyone else.

I would have so much liked to see a real conversation between the two. One in which Mol at least takes the first step to change her view. Instead, the next day we see the same excited person she was before. She walks the same path as she did before. She simply ignores the giant pink elephant in the room. Ignorance is her greatest strength. Because again, if you don't talk about it, it's no longer true. If you don't accept it, it's not true. Still, the relationship between her and Wang has changed. She may continue to pretend they are a sworn team, she the cool mom and he the obedient son, but Wang is now just waiting until an opportunity presents itself for him to escape her clutches. In was not the way, but time is on Wang's side, his time will come. And Mol will not change. As long as she tries to compare Wang to Siam and lock him up so he won't run away from her, she can't find healing. It's not just that she hasn't gotten over Siam's death, she hasn't gotten over being rejected by him, that her love wasn't accepted. Her love was not enough. And I don't think she can find that healing without professional help. But for that, she would first have to recognize and realize that her actions are unhealthy for herself and for others. And toxic parents with narcissistic dispositions rarely do that. She will not be able to put her past behind her by trying to ignore and repress everything. But that is her path. And on this path, in the end, there is no more room for Wang. She will realize that sooner or later, but then it will be too late and she will be all alone.

Wang. My brave little Wang. He is fighting a desperate battle to be heard. His time will come. But when? When Mol is dead? Can his chains be broken sooner? Until he is ready to break with Mol and escape the cycle of guilt so as not to end up like In, he will remain locked up in Bangkok, by Mol's side. Of course, he goes into the rest of his life with different attitudes than In. Wang has accepted the fact that he loves men and sees it as normal. Something that In cannot do. Wang articulates his needs, he makes things real by expressing them, and he is not afraid to do so. And yet, he is not free. He goes back to Bangkok together with Mol and he doesn't know when he will leave this city again. This is the most desperate thing of the whole series. It lived on Wang dreaming of traveling from north to south, experiencing something, leaving his realms, and yet he's stuck there. So when can Wang be free? In his mind, he already is. And yet his mother's watchful hand hovers over him. Growing up with such a person shapes you. It is indeed realistic for him to return with her and stay with her. One feels responsible for the other person, for their happiness and peace of mind. At least until you realize that you are not responsible for it, that the person only has it in his own hands. Shit, it took me so many years to understand that I'm not responsible for other people's happiness if it means giving myself up in the process. And even then, the process of cutting the cord is far from done. Understanding it still doesn't mean that you can escape the spiral of guilt so easily.

Mol, not realizing that her actions will do more harm than good, will not change. Wang will be permanently hurt by her. And in the end, it's up to him to decide what his relationship with his mother will be. I just hope that he will not stop listening to his intuition. While the older generation try to undermine their intuition and ignore everything that could be, not to speak it out, so not to let it come true, Wang wanted nothing more than to do exactly that. But every fighter has his limits. I hope Mol doesn't destroy Wang further on his way to his true self. Even if Wang is strong, everyone can only take a certain amount of hits before going down. Yes, you have to bleed before it gets better, because you're constantly learning and falling flat on your face, but that doesn't just apply to the younger generation. I can now talk to my father about his toxic behavior. That doesn't mean he'll change it, because it's too ingrained in him, but he understands better that I too have needs and can be hurt by words or actions. I think that's an improvement already. The ending of the series, on the other hand, is so unsatisfying. It makes it seem like there is no hope. Wang can't be free until his mother is dead or he cuts her off so she can no longer imprison him. In will never be free because his wounds are too deep and can't be healed nor does he want to. Mol will not change and will continue to suppress everything that does not suit her.

As mentioned at the beginning, I am still looking for the catharsis.

Realistic or not. The end is devastating and for me so negatively drawn, even if Wang will get over In. For me, that was not the point of this story either. It's the struggle to be yourself, to love freely, to be understood, to be forgiven, to be loved. At least that's what I thought. In the end I remain hopeless.

What remains at the bitter end? I give you the world.

In gives Wang the book on the philosophical theory of love. It is a part of him. The philosophy, the theoretical love, these are parts of In that he will give to Wang (I really had the unrealistic idea for a brief moment that he's going to say bring it back to me when you're done reading, but well....). The book represents the most emotional part of In. He loves philosophy and that is something that will bond the two of them forever.

Wang, on the other hand, gives him the world. If he can't leave his own prison, he should at least be able to hold the world in his hands and dream about it. And that is something that Wang loves more than anything. Not only this little globe in particular as a gift from his father, but also the freedom it embodies. It is Wang's most emotional possession. It is his heart that he leaves with In and at the same time it is a connection to Siam. Since Wang has found his father within himself on this journey, he can pass it on without remorse, and now In has something to remind him of the two big loves of his life.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Four

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors note: I’m here:) finally. It’s been a while, idk how long, not that long but long enough i guess, sorry for the wait! This one is wordy but also has a lot going on, so hope you enjoy!

Ngl, this can probably be read as a standalone if anyone’s seeing this and not started the series, it’s just a bit angsty and mostly smut? But unsure, I said probably! X

Warnings: Arguing, usual Matty and Mouse thinking (feels like it needs its own warning at this point, they’re saddos), smut, unprotected sex, EMOTIONS (because yeah)

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

There was something raw in the bitterness that was love. Like the sour skin of an apple that was first thought to be sweet. Love was deceiving in itself really, but it was never alone. It brought life and light. It wrought anger. It stirred both jealousy and pity. It gave and gave, until all you were left with was that tart tang aftertaste. 

Some people revelled in it.

Others, withered away.

Years before, perhaps maybe not even that long ago now, Matty would have belonged to the former. He had enjoyed the strings he found that could tie him to people, sex and money had given him the ability to do it, to keep them there, to pull them alongside him. And he’d indulged in it all, beyond what most would consider extortionate. 

And still, even after everything, when the fun had ended and the games had been discarded, and he’d just been tossed off somewhere to the side… Alone once more. He had continued on. On and on and on, until he ultimately had lost himself completely.

The last few months had shifted something in him though.

And now here he was, still angry and bitter and resentful. But full of actual love. The raw type. The kind that left you marvelling at the most stupid things— insipid little concepts that held no actual value or any real detail worth getting all starry-eyed over.

It had wormed its way into the hollow shell that was his heart and rebuilt some part of him that he believed he had long since destroyed.

He wanted to scoff at the very thought. The very idea that an emotion could be felt so strongly that it differed the world around you; that, singularly, it could change you. The notion was far too complex, too out there to even begin to fathom, but then again, Matty supposed that emotions were exactly that. Complex.

It sent his mind reeling. Had his entire body aching with a fever to expel the feeling completely, if only so that he could think freely again, so it wouldn’t hurt to merely breathe anymore.

You should have told me.

He knew that. He had admitted as much.

And yet, he still hadn’t told her.

He’d lied.

Why didn’t you tell me?

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he just told her?

Fear, he guessed.

Yet another morbid emotion in which Matty had always been so wary of. Another lost feeling he thought he’d swallowed whole and hidden somewhere deep down. Because there was no fear in a drug induced haze. When you were off partying or chasing some other euphoric high. What the fuck was there to be fearful of? When the chilling buzz which shook you to your very core blanketed over everything else.

When there was always that silence.

That numb quiet he had chased and craved and cherished.

Though, he supposed, it was nothing compared to the fear of losing this.

Of losing her.

Still, Matty could not for the life of him find it in himself to tell her exactly that. Those words lost on him, lodged in the column of his throat and etching themselves a home there.

“Where do we go from here?”

He blinked at the sound of his own voice, looking up at her shadowed expression and at how tired she then seemed. How different she now looked compared to the moment they’d first met. 

She’d been something of a presence even then. Always effortlessly complex. With her soft smile and guarded eyes. Eyes he’d gone and fucking wondered about for hours on end.

Those eyes which were now caught on the far wall stood opposite, the one lined with coloured photo frames and that odd little doodle Teddy had gotten in trouble for only a couple of weeks prior. 

The realisation made Matty mourn the few days they’d spent apart.

After a long moment, she finally shrugged at him and he found himself swallowing tightly at the movement. Startled by her seeming lack of care. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Squeaks.” 

It was honest. As honest as he could be.

She huffed an amused breath in return though, “Not like you’re short on company, Matty.”

He felt his gaze snap up to meet hers then, head shifting with it. 

“What’s that even meant to mean?” He asked her, frowning now, at the way she had crossed her arms over her chest and how her shoulders had hunched on their own accord whilst she casually moved to glance out the window. Matty forced himself up onto his feet, hating the fact she had turned away from him.

“I saw everything, Matty.” Mouse replied tiredly, as though she was fed up, fed up with this, with them. “I saw the articles.”

Matty’s stomach bottomed out at her words, he stepped towards her. “Nothing happened.” He murmured, taking another step closer. “Nothing fucking happened, Squeaks. I swear it.”

She tensed but didn’t quite flinch at his sudden approach, so he kept a little distance between them, even as desperate as he was to hold her. To shake her enough so that she would see sense, that she’d realise how stupid he would have had to have been to have gone near anyone else. That girl was no one, she’d meant nothing. 

“You can swear that, can you?” She mocked him, one corner of her mouth toying with a merciless smile that didn’t quite suit her. “You were gone, Matty. Fucking out of it. That much was clear to see just from the photos alone.”

Matty stared at her helplessly.

She shook her head.

“I’d had a couple drinks. That isn’t a crime!” He stressed, automatically falling onto the defensive, “Didn’t mean I was stupid enough to get with the first person I fucking saw! That girl- she was off her head too. Had mates with her even! But she was just trying to help me, Mouse. That’s all it was.” 

She was shaking her head again now, tongue catching on her incisor; a dead giveaway to how stressed she was, how anxious she was getting. Matty only wished to shoulder it all, that defensiveness of his faltering slightly at the sight of her trying to hide it all. To stay strong. How fucking long had she had to do that?

“I feel like such a fool, Matty.” She finally spoke, her voice trembling with the onslaught of tears that glazed her eyes but she didn’t dare let fall. “A fucking fool. ‘Cause I’d thought that things were okay, that we were okay. That I could finally relax and let you in. But then-“ She paused, a sad huff leaving her, “Then you went and dropped this mess in my lap and somehow expected me to just deal with it. To tell you it’s all fine. That we could make it right.”

Mouse turned then, ever so slowly, looking about as defeated as Matty had ever seen her. He felt his chest burn with the last breath he hadn’t remembered taking let alone hold onto, too afraid to look away, to even move. 

“But you embarrassed me. You’ve made the whole world believe I am that fool. That I was as naive as they’d first made me out to be. As my friends thought me to be.” 

Her smile was shattered and broken, her voice wet and hoarse, but she continued on even as her hands fell limply to her sides and she took a single step closer.

“And to make things worse, you didn’t just hurt me, Matty. You hurt Teddy too.”

–

Hit them where it hurts.

That was the saying, wasn’t it?

But it only left me feeling all the more sour- gutless. As well as a little stupid, I supposed, wondering if Matty even cared for Teddy at all, or how he had felt the last couple days.

Though I shouldn’t have second guessed it, not when the way Matty’s face immediately paled and then fell proved me wrong. 

Deep down, I knew that he cared. In his own odd way he had always cared. But to know it and to see it were two entirely different things.

And although it was true, that Matty had in fact hurt Teddy. It still felt like a shitty thing to say to him then. But he’d hurt me as well, hadn’t he. And even though I’d been hurting most of my life, Matty being the reason for all that hurt pained me in a way I couldn’t even comprehend. 

“I didn’t-”

I scoffed at his attempted reply, but my heart wasn’t in it, breaking all over again. I wondered how long we could drag this out. If we even would.

“Mean to?” I finished for him, shaking my head stupidly. “I know you didn’t mean to, Matty. Doesn’t change the fact that you still did it.”

His eyes slipped closed just as his lips fell apart, and when he opened them again I was stuck staring into his devastated gaze. 

“If I could take it all back, I would.” He breathed, “I promise you I would.”

I swallowed back my own tears, even as they burned and pricked at my throat and eyes. “But you can’t.”

And it was as simple as that, wasn’t it? He couldn’t ever take it back. 

I don’t want to lose you.

He knew just how to get under my skin, past all that rusted armour of mine.

It was what made this all so much harder. 

“Tell me what to do, Squeaks.” Matty croaked pleadingly, hand reaching out towards me before he looked down at it, blinked, and then let it fall. “I’ll do it, just– tell me.”

What was left that he could do? When it felt like things had so suddenly and so horrifically fallen out from under us.

“I don't know.” I told him honestly, in a barely there whisper, “I just don't know, Matty.”

He stepped even closer then, hand moving to capture my jaw in a determined haste, not restraining himself like he had just moments before. I tried to pull away, titling my chin and looking off to the side as I clenched my teeth, but his thumb was there, luring me back in, forcing me to meet his eye.

“I’m not just gonna give up.” His other hand jumped to cradle my face, a cushion to those heated words. 

I was reluctant in my needless wanting, desperate to be held whilst simultaneously wanting to push him away. So I lifted my hands up to cover his own, unsure of the choice they’d make. To stay, or go.

“It’s not about that, Matty.” I heard myself say pathetically, voice wavering with each word, “You can’t just forget this.”

His dark eyes were trained on me, flickering over every square inch of my scarred face. I’d never felt insecure about them when I was around him, but this moment felt too heated, too high strung. And I’d been burning the candle at both ends the last few days, so with him being this close, this intense, every emotion I’d felt was brimming closer and closer to the surface. 

Instead of facing him, I turned away, hiding once more as I worked my jaw and felt my hands slip down to the backs of his forearms.

A shared breath and then,

“Don’t do that.” Matty whispered in the quiet, almost begging. “Don’t hide from me.”

His thumb smoothed over the skin of my cheek and I was all but putty in hands, looking back at him just as a tear escaped me and slid to meet the pad of it. 

Matty brushed the tear away without thought, before he leant in to rest his forehead against my own. The action forced me to cling tighter to his arms, eyes closing to keep from embarrassing myself any further. I wouldn’t cry. 

I wouldn’t cry.

“Look at me.” He demanded, nose so close that I could practically sense its phantom touch. And foolishly, I did as he asked. “You-” His breath stuttered as his eyes pleaded with me, sounding forced as it broke free from him, his fingers making a home for themselves in my hair. 

“You don’t know what you do to me. How much of a mess I’ve made of myself. How much I have missed you.” Matty confessed, his voice quiet in the small space shared between us, in a place where we were both sheltered and unseen. “And I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. Enough that I’ll keep on repeating it until you fucking believe me. Enough that I’d do just about anything for you to see how much I want this.”

He sucked in a breath, and I blinked back at him, lips tingling with the sensation of his proximity. 

“I know I messed up. I know.” He repeated, eyes flickering back and forth between my own whilst his thumbs trailed the line of my hair. “But all I’m asking for is a chance to make it right. To be better. Squeaks, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if I could.”

His breath was tickling the skin of my cheek as well as the corner of my mouth, it almost made it difficult to think let alone remember how to breathe. I wanted–

Suddenly my eyes were looking down, focused on his parted mouth, on the stubble he’d let grow across the cut of his chin as well as his upper lip. His nose finally brushed past my own, touching ever so carefully as one or both of us pressed nearer, almost there, inching closer but not close enough.

“Tell me no.” 

Instantly, I was thrown back to that first night he kissed me. I hadn’t told him no then, and for some reason I couldn’t find it in me to decline him now. 

So instead I took, all but biting as my hand cradled the back of his neck and closed that short amount of distance between us. My nails dug into the exposed skin of his nape, where the collar of his shirt jumped with each move he made. My teeth nipped at his lower lip, angry in my attempt to swallow him whole, teeth clashing as we both stumbled, moving and moving until Matty’s back hit the nearest wall.

How the roles had reversed, I thought to myself as Matty’s shoulders flexed beneath his shirt and jumped under my ever roaming hands. I hated the desire that it stirred through me, knowing how easily he could take back control with his carefully contained strength. But he didn’t, instead he gave my fury something to latch onto.

My hand lifted to pin one of his wrists somewhere to the left of his head, glare not wavering even as his stubborn gaze met my own. He was as riled up as me.

“You have some nerve.” I all but spat, watching on as his chest rose and fell, questioning how quickly everything had switched.

“Yeah?” Matty bit back, those familiar brown eyes- a colour that had always brought me comfort- were blazing now as they trailed over the flush that I was sure lined my face. “Why’s that? You’re the one with me pinned, darlin’.” 

His heavy gaze traced the bow of my lip, slumping ever slightly in his stance so that his head could fall closer forward. My breath hitched.

That was all he needed apparently, to earn the upper hand here. Because in a moment, the room was spinning and then I was the one being crowded against the wall, fury be damned.

Contrary to my previous endeavour, Matty’s touch was still as careful as ever, making it that much more obvious that I could slip away if I so wanted. But the question was whether or not I did.

“Matty–”

But he just carried on, as though he hadn’t even heard me speak, voice a low breathy murmur. 

“I’ve been stuck in this endless loop. Driving myself mad.” He told me, his knee angled enough so that he could let his head dip towards the juncture of my neck, his mouth pausing by the shell of my ear whilst a finger gently trailed its way up over my hip. “Wonderin’ if I’d lost this for good.”

My heart pounded in my chest as the ghost of his words tickled my skin, tensing when his nose ever so slightly grazed my jaw. 

That finger of his continued to move, working its way up my torso, jumping across my ribs and up to the bone of my collar. My gaze was fixed on the opposing wall, on the mirror that framed my dazed face and the back of his head. My hand worked its way into his unruly curls.

“But you’re as stubborn as me, see.” Matty added, luring me in, “And I’m not the type to give up on a sure thing.” His words held enough bite that I snapped back to meet his stare, he tilted his head at me whilst I scowled.

“Excuse me?”

Matty smiled, lids heavy as his careful hand danced its way back down my front. 

“And this,” He said, almost in a whisper, ignoring my retort as he hooked my leg around his waist, “This is a sure thing.”

A soft breath escaped me even as I batted his hand away, but he simply reached up to grip at my chin, touch tender even with the way his calloused thumb dragged down my lower lip.

I was slowly beginning to imagine that this was all a dream, something my sick mind had gone and conjured up in hopes to ignore all of the hurt he had put me through. Because this couldn’t be right, things couldn’t have fallen back into place this easily. 

“Matty.” I tried again, firmer this time, but was captured by the look his eyes held, probably having understood the expression that must have just crossed my face.

“What did you do, Squeaks?” He asked me almost hurriedly, shaking my chin between his forefinger and thumb, my previous anger and doubt melting slightly as I leaned further into his touch. “Did you want me to hurt, too?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question, his swift change in topic. Baffled by the fact that he was now trying to pin this back on me. 

Was that really what this was? I wanted to ask.

Matty didn’t give me the opportunity to say a thing though. My surprise had stalled me briefly, but it had evidently been long enough to allow him to simply carry on.

“What did you do, eh? Tell me.” He breathed before he pressed his mouth to my jaw, once and then twice, pulling away just as I tilted my head to accommodate him, “Did you go out, baby? Find somebody else? Or did you just stay here, waiting for me?”

I reeled back, anger spiking again. “Fuck you.”

Matty’s eyes flickered back and forth between mine. 

“I’m trying to get you to.” He said, always so brazen and snarky, even in the moments where I hated him most. The hand I had previously slapped away went back to the leg he still had draped over his hip, snaking up over my knee and to my thigh. 

My glare didn’t waiver, even as my breathing picked up at the pressure his fingertips wrought on my skin. 

“Tell me no.” He finally repeated, eyes failing to meet mine. And how was I supposed to? When having him this close brought back that fire he’d put out in me, when he was kissing my neck so sweetly?

“We’ll regret it.” It was as close to a no as I could get, enough to have him pause. Matty looked to me then, his hold loosening on my body but still holding. Hoping.

“Do you care?”

I marvelled at the question, did I care?

I cared so much it pained me.

But he hadn’t meant it like that. That much I knew.

Do you care if you regret it? Because, what if you don’t? 

With Matty there was always chance– he was the type to play the odds, to push his luck.

What if.

What if, what if, what if?

Shaking my head, I was forced to question if he understood me as much as I did him. If he could see each of my thoughts just as they dawned on me, flashing across my face like a story being told. 

Then I wondered whether or not I even wanted him to understand. This, this thing we were doing would only further complicate things between us, but perhaps this could be a goodbye.

But, if this was a goodbye, why was he looking at me like that? Watching and waiting for me to truly answer.

Tell me no, he’d said.

Matty’s gaze swept over my face, as though trying to read me, maybe in hopes to find what it was he was really searching for. 

Tell me no.

“Please.”

And my resolve broke at the word.

“Okay.” I heard myself say in reply, nodding quickly, and that was seemingly all the permission he needed before Matty was wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me towards him fully.

My hands floundered momentarily before they were back on his shoulders, his teeth nipping at my neck. 

I moaned, eyes falling shut as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down my skin, teeth scraping before his tongue swirled to soothe their angry ambush. I could smell him everywhere now, the shampoo I was so used to stealing, as well as the only aftershave he’d ever claimed to like.

His hips rolled into mine, pressing himself right against the fabric of my trousers and the underwear which had grown damp during our heated argument. 

I didn’t want to linger too long on the thought of my body’s obvious betrayal, too caught up in him to think about how wrong this should all feel.

“Shit.” Matty groaned, breath catching with it as he continued to grind against me.

I gasped back, grabbing at him harder as he bit down on the curve of my neck. I nipped at his jaw in retaliation, nails digging into the skin of his back, hoping to leave a mark.

“I knew you’d miss me.” He grunted into the base of my throat, the hands which held my waist dipping beneath the hem of my shirt to explore further. “Even when you’re angry you’ll wait. ‘Cause no one else can touch like me.”

A whine bypassed my lips almost involuntarily as he continued to rut against me, I wanted to be angry- no, in fact, I was angry. But all emotion other than want was blurring at the edges of my mind now, being pushed further and further back by each eager kiss he peppered along my jaw.

“You really–” I jerked in surprise, cutting myself off with a short gasp when his hand slipped past the hem of my trousers, fingers pressing against the damp fabric he found there. 

“What was that?” He provoked, and I could hear the smirk in his voice as he trailed over my covered clit, causing me to whimper before I was biting down on my lower lip. Matty didn’t like that much. “Come on, I wanna hear you.” He muttered, pressing a little harder, wanting a reaction. “Tell me.”

“You’re such a bastard.” I panted, head falling against his shoulder as my hips pushed further into his touch, seeking more.

Matty laughed, all breathy and lovely, mouth catching on the lobe of my ear before he hissed, “Yeah, but you like that about me.”

His hand was gone with that and I was almost tempted to ask, to even plead with him for its return, aching all the more now, enough that all I could think about was riding his fingers until I couldn’t think at all. 

But then Matty was grabbing my waist again, his grip hard, firm, and I swallowed when he whispered into my ear once more.

“Jump.”

Without thinking, I jumped. 

We collided, his mouth on mine and the two of us moving as though it was second nature. And in a way, it was. But it shouldn’t have been. I knew that. I tried to remind myself of it. 

He shouldn’t be here.

But he was. Walking his way through my flat with ease, effortlessly missing each sharp corner and the miniscule step which led back into the hallway. He was blind, my hands in his hair as he manoeuvred us into my bedroom, throwing me down onto sheets that he’d never seen, let alone slept in. 

I tugged him down with me, his hands moving to unbutton those fucking jeans he always wore as he worked his way back into my mouth. 

He hovered over me after kicking them off, my head pressed to the pillows as his eyes roamed every inch of my face. “Beautiful.” He whispered, as though he hadn’t really meant to say the word aloud.

My breath hitched anyway but Matty paid it no mind, leaning in closer to kiss me again, slower this time around, though his hands were still quick, tugging at the hem of my top enough so that I got the hint. I lifted myself up, breaking away to take it off and toss it to the side. 

Matty kissed his way down my neck again, following the trail of scars down my torso until his fingers paused to hook around the top of my trousers. I nodded at his silent ask, planting my feet a little firmer on the mattress so that they could follow my tee.

Matty stopped then, kneeling between my parted thighs, eyes caught on the panties I was wearing, and I could swear something in his gaze shifted as he stared down at me. 

“Lace?” He murmured, fingers curling around my thighs tight enough to bruise as he pushed forward, closer to my face. “Really?”

It was a loaded question. Almost felt like an accusation.

I shrugged– I hadn’t meant to end up here, but it hadn’t been subconscious when I’d picked them out of the pile this morning. He liked the way they looked, had told me so one night spent at his when he’d talked me into smoking a couple joints with him sprawled out on his living room floor. 

I opened my mouth to reply but Matty didn’t quite catch the motion, already busying himself with the task of pulling the lace down my thighs. His fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar, dragged alongside the black material rolling down my legs. I tensed at the feeling, zeroing in on the slow motion, then listened to him groan at the sight before they were gone completely.

I watched him pull away, balling the damp fabric up in a fist before leaning over the side of the bed to drop them on top of his jeans. 

“A souvenir?” I couldn’t help but question, mostly out of mirth, but humour helped deflect from the weight I felt at having him here.

Matty hummed, fingers already back on me, trailing the length of my right leg before he was stretching his way back up again, head stopping between my parted thighs and nosing at a crease sat at the very top. He didn’t answer me though, instead choosing to shut me up with another gasp by dragging his thumb across my folds.

“Matty.”

“Hm?” He hummed again, having sat back on his heels to watch me squirm as he continued on. I shot him a rather annoyed glare.

“Take off your shirt and fuck me.” 

His brows rose languidly when he flicked his eyes back up to meet mine, then tilted his head. “But I’m having so much fun.”

With a swift kick to his side, Matty’s hand fell away and he shook his head around the beginnings of a smile. “Always so demanding.” He tutted and before I could spit something back– probably about him being the biggest hypocrite I knew– he was placing his hands either side of my head and leaning forward so that his lips were right beside my ear, his breath fanning the shell of it. “You gonna beg for it?”

My breathing grew heavy as I watched him pull away, dragging a finger up the inside of my thigh before stilling ever so briefly and venturing on, up over my hip and then my ribs. He pressed a slow kiss to my chest, eyes flicking up to find mine as his tongue swirled over the skin, there and then gone.

“Come on–”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the force of it lighting goosebumps over my exposed flesh. “Come on, baby. Beg.”

I rolled my eyes, reaching up to grab at his neck but he was already dancing out of my reach. He jutted his chin. 

“Matty.” I huffed.

“Yeah?”

I really wanted to throttle him, “Fuck me. I’m not asking.”

The corner of his mouth tugged itself up into a small smirk, “Good enough.”

A disbelieving chuckle escaped me, one which was quickly cut short by his wandering hands finding purchase on my hips once more, before he dragged me down the length of the bed, his mouth finding purchase on the swell of my breast.

He pressed fast kisses along the curve of it until his tongue flicked out over the nipple, causing me to gasp. My hands flew out to tangle themselves in his hair when he lapped it into his mouth to suck and I groaned at the weight of his hands cradling the curve of my back. 

“Matty.”

He hummed and the sound sent vibrations rippling out across my skin, I fisted my hands into his curls harder.

Shifting until my hips found his whilst he lavished at my chest, I pressed up into him, both annoyed by the fact he was still clad in his boxers and pleased by the very visible wet patch I could see. I ground against him and the sensation elicited moans from the pair of us, his hands flying down to hold my hips steady.

“Patience.” He murmured, but I was having none of it, lifting a leg against his arse to spur him closer. Matty’s head jerked up at the surprise before he looked down at me and stared. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“You better hope not.” I replied, hands finding the hem of his shirt and dragging it off before he could fight me on it. “I’ll make it painful.”

“Counting on it.” Matty murmured back, hair now a mess, either from the clutch I’d had on it moments before or from the way I’d all but yanked his top over his head. “On all fours,” He said roughly, tapping my outer thigh twice. My already flushed skin heated further at the understanding of how he wanted to take me but– contrary to popular belief– I didn’t argue and rolled onto my stomach.

Palms to the sheets, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, eyes trained on the headboard. I grinned to myself when I heard Matty groan at the sight, looking back over my shoulder only briefly to see him palming himself through his boxers.

“Don’t have all day, Healy.” I prompted after a moment passed, just before the mattress shifted beneath his weight. I heard something drop to the floor a second later before he was right up behind me.

I jolted a tad at his sudden touch, then was forced to focus on the way his hands slid over my hips with that same familiarity they’d always done, moving up to the swell of my arse to squeeze it before dropping back down to spread my legs further apart.

A moment passed and I was forced to wait in the silence he then gifted me, waiting and waiting until I finally went to say something. It was then that I felt a finger glide down my spine, dragging ever so slowly over my jumping muscles. 

“Hands,” Matty then reminded and I was forced to blink away the haze I had drifted into, reaching up to grab onto the headboard just as I felt him swipe his dick between my thighs, guiding himself up over my folds, pushing past them so he rested at my entrance. 

I let go of a rush of air, splaying my hands further against the headboard before he slammed into me without any warning at all, all the way up to the hilt whilst I cried out at the sudden fullness. “Fuck.” I hissed, head falling between my shoulders as I winced. 

I breathed through the bit of pain that came with the thrust, acknowledging that Matty didn’t move an inch and instead keeping still, hands holding my hips even as he leaned over to whisper, “You good?”

His voice was surprisingly soft in the quietness that encased the flat, reminding me of other times we’d spent here, both like this and in other odd moments. It made my chest ache.

I took another moment to adjust to him before I nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He hummed in turn but didn’t question it, just waited, thumbs circling the skin on my hips for a moment in a manner so gentle and yet so very Matty, before finally, he moved. 

His thrusts were shallow and slow at first, his thumbs keeping the same steady tempo as they continued to soothe the tops of my hips. I moaned at the feel of him, before I managed to roll my hips back to meet his own, enjoying the sound that escaped him.

“So good.” He said, hand sliding further up my side and towards my ribs before I was titling my head back and Matty was holding a fistful of my hair. He just held it for a bit, forearm pressed against the skin of my back before his thrusts began to grow harder, tugging more and more.

The room was quickly filled with the sounds of our groans along with the bedframe rocking against the wall and I praised all the Gods above for the fact that there were currently no neighbours residing in the flat beyond it, before I was quickly swept up once more in the thick scent of sweat and sex. Matty fucking into me with a desperation I’d never quite experienced from him before.

I panted beneath him, nails digging into the wood of my headboard whilst he picked up the pace.

I couldn’t quite focus on anything but him. His breathy whispers, his fingertips which dotted my skin, the feel of him rocking in and out of me. It was almost as though nothing else existed but this moment, even if I knew it would soon end. His thrusts getting sloppier, his grip tightening, his murmured praises increasing by a tenfold. 

“Come on, baby.”

I liked when he called me that.

Made me feel special. 

But that thought soon soured. Because, was I really? 

How could I be anything special when my whole life I’d been nothing but a doormat for people to walk all over? I couldn’t help but think that Matty would be the same, like he’d gotten too close and finally seen what everybody else already had.

“Squeaks, baby. What do you need?”

I whimpered at his ask, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. “I–”

What the fuck did I need? It wasn’t meant to feel so loaded, that question. But it felt as though the walls were now closing in. Because was this it? Was this the end?

“I–” I tried, feeling Matty’s fingers slip from the ends of my hair before a gentle palm laid itself flat on the small of my back.

“So good for me.” I heard him say and I moaned at the slight praise, breathing harder as he continued to mumble mostly to himself, “So pretty. So good.”

I was almost there, back arching under his palm as the other moved away from the right grasp it held on my hip, fingers finally finding my clit, knowing exactly what I needed.

“Yes.” I panted as the combination of his hard thrusts and steady hand sent my head into a dizzying pool of water, “God, yes. I–”

I think I screamed as I came, his fingers working deftly whilst mine clung to the headboard, body trembling as I fought to keep myself up. But Matty was there, holding me long enough so that he could reach his high and pull out with a loud grunt, coating my inner thighs. 

We stayed there for, I don’t know how long, until he finally released me, falling away whilst I slumped forward onto the pillows before us. He followed a second later, still catching his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. I watched him, eyes hidden behind my forearm and a sprawl of hair that had fallen over my face, content to soak in what I could of him. What I had left.

Then Matty shifted beside me, I half expected him to get up and leave with some half-arsed excuse on the tip of his tongue, but he paused when he caught my heavy gaze. I let my eyes trail over the side of face, on the tired circles settled beneath his lash line and the slope of his nose.

He looked back towards the ceiling.

“You got your souvenir, remember?” I found myself saying, stupidly, voice just above a croaked murmur, “Don’t let me keep you.”

Quiet. And then, “Do you want me to?”

I knew what he meant, but still I asked, “Want what?”

Matty’s head slowly turned towards me, eyes guarded and peering over at my devastated form. I wondered what he made of me right then, if he thought anything at all. 

When he offered me no words, I refused to add anything either and felt what was left of my heart crumple up into a pitiful bundle when he pushed himself to the edge of a bed with a barely there sigh.

The air in my lungs caught as I watched and waited, eyes trailing after him as he rounded the bed frame to pick up his discarded boxers. I let them slip closed again, not wanting to watch him leave. 

I listened to his feet pad across the hardwood floors and out of the room. My chest ached with every step but I didn’t dare stop him, burying my face further into my pillow. 

I laid in wait for the front door to open, for there to be a clue to his evident departure, but then the footsteps returned. I didn’t dare give myself false hope, knowing he must have forgotten something to have come back. But the padding continued, closer and closer until they were back by the bed and I held my breath as it creaked, my eyes stinging just as I felt a warm damp cloth press against my inner thighs, wiping me clean.

I choked on the sob that wanted to escape me and the cloth paused for a split second before venturing on. I waited, wondering why he was doing this, why he was dragging it out.

Just leave already.

But then the cloth was pulling away again, and the bed was creaking again, and the tears, they wouldn’t stop. 

Stay. 

Please just stay.

I gasped into the pillowcase, stomach tensing with the strength to keep quiet. To let him leave quietly. 

I wouldn’t cry.

And then there was quiet, at least for a moment or two, before the bed dipped once more and there was a hand in my hair, combing the strands from out of my face and tucking them behind my ear.

When I opened my eyes, he was still there. Dressed and ready to go, but still sitting there beside me. Whilst I laid bare, curled up into a ball to better protect myself from his knowing gaze.

Suddenly everything hurt. Suddenly I felt exhausted and was falling apart at the seams.

Matty moved carefully, stretching toward the foot of the bed before returning with the sheet to cover me up, laying it gently over my trembling shoulders. He leaned in to press a slow kiss to my forehead and then went to move away again.

My hand caught his wrist.

And then I was flat out sobbing. Hysterical even. Crying into the pillow almost soundlessly as I gasped to try and catch my breath. Because I wanted him to stay. I needed him to stay.

Not just for me. But for Teddy. And for the life he brought into my dreary flat. To the kindness he never failed to gift me.

I needed him to stay.

I needed him.

I opened my mouth to ask, to let him know. But I could hardly even bear to look at him, blurred as he was through my onslaught of tears, Matty still held the key to all but destroying what little I had left.

His hand returned to my hair, fingers tangling themselves in it, a sudden contrast to the rough grip they’d held there earlier. And then he settled further onto the bed, back pressed against the headboard whilst he continued to run his fingers through my hair.

The tears still flowed but the sobs came less and less, until I was blinking at his shadowed figure in the dark, holding out hope that somehow he’d just know and he’d stay. 

[killeroos]

Now, VK will have to show his immense sportsmanship xD.

wait and watch 😏

***

the first ball vk faces whistles past his ear. he has to lean back to avoid it, nearly toppling over as he does so.

pat sneers at him. "what you thought i'd go easy on you because you have fever?"

"huh?" it takes vk a moment to recollect the excuse rohit had cooked up on his behalf.

"that fever addled your brains too?" pat snarks, clearly enjoying himself. "not that you had much of them to begin with."

vk's eyes narrow. "go and bowl."

"how original," pat comments silkily, returning to his mark.

the next ball goes all the way to the fence for a cracking boundary. it's vk's turn to smirk. the ball after that clears the ropes and lands among the audience. vk laughs airily. "go and fetch," he tells pat as he runs past him.

"cunt," pat spits at him, incensed, and vk blinks, taken aback. pat is glaring at him, his blue eyes brimming with utter, undisguised hatred. vk actually feels light-headed for a moment. were these the same eyes that had looked at him with so much love not half an hour past? was this even the same man?

vk shakes his head to clear his thoughts. he'll deal with that later. he has a match to win right now. he taps gloves with shubman tersely.

it's amazing to see how pat and him slip into their old routine after that, snapping and shouting and swearing at each other. the language used on that field would have made sailors proud. through it all, vk just feels so completely confused and disconcerted. there's no way that the man on-field who's calling him a cunt, a bastard and a fucking bitch, all in one breath, is the same man that had called him babe, or love, or sweetheart for the past month.

even when vk raises his bat to the air and takes off his helmet to celebrate his century, he's unable to soak in the moment fully. "fucker," pat hisses at him as he celebrates.

"sore loser," vk hisses back, a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. how could one man be so infuriating? how on earth had he fallen in love with this guy"

India wins the match by 8 wickets, courtesy of a brilliant 125 not out from vk, and a sublime 150 from shubman; an innings which had required a superhuman catch to end. the top three had scored most of the runs between them, kl had been required only to contribute 10 runs to the mammoth total.

"well played," pat says sullenly as he grasps vk's hand, and to his own shame, vk feels a thrill shoot through him. "I'll get you out the next time though."

vk rolls his eyes. "sure, whatever."

the post match presentations happen afterwards, shubman winning the potm and jasprit winning the pott. India win the series 2-1. once the trophy has been presented, and the photos been clicked, both team members proceed to their dressing rooms. vk has just entered the indian dressing room when he freezes, realizing that nick is supposed to be waiting for pat in the aussie dressing room. oh damn.

swearing under his breath, vk does an about turn, making for the aussie dressing room, until he realizes that he left his disguise there. how the fuck was he supposed to go inside now? he turns around again.

"what are you doing?" gambhir snaps at him. "running around in circles like a dog chasing it's own tail!"

vk simply wails out loud as an answer.

"are you okay?" rohit looks at him in concern.

"no!" vk wails and proceeds to explain his dilemma. rohit holds his head in his hands. "this is a disaster," he groans, voice muffled. "why don't you ever think before speaking or promising?"

as if on cue, vk's phone rings with a text from maxi. "where tf are you? pat's freaking out because you're not here! i barely managed to hide that stupid wig of yours!"

"shit, shit, shit!" vk swears frantically under his breath. "okay, it's not that bad, you can still make something of it..." as soon as he says those words aloud, a new brainwave strikes him.

"what are you going to do now?" rohit has witnessed vk's eyes light up and he knows that expression too well to assume it means anything good.

"something stupid," vk says breathlessly. he texts glenn. "get my disguise and meet me outside of your hotel within fifteen minutes. don't ask any questions."

true to his word, glenn shows up at the allotted place at the given time. "you are in so deep," he giggles, by virtue of greeting.

"shut up," vk snaps. "did anyone notice you leaving?"

"i lied and told them i was going to catch up with a friend here." glenn waves a dismissive hand. "they didn't suspect a thing." his brows furry, anxious. "what are you planning to do? pat's nearly crazy with worry, he thinks someone kidnapped you."

"i know, he's blowing my phone up." vk groans, putting on his disguise. "can you talk to the hotel managers and let me into his room?"

"sure, but i still don't understand--" glenn begins bewildered, but vk grabs his arm and drags him into the hotel anyways.

inside pat's room, vk takes a deep breath, before texting pat. "hey there handsome 😘"

pat texts back immediately. "nick wtf? don't play games with me. tell me where you are right now! why did you disappear so suddenly?"

"to prepare a lovely surprise for you 🥰" vk replies.

"what are you on about? where are you, nick?"

"in your hotel room, lying on your bed 😏" vk replies seductively. "are you going to join me?"

glenn whistles lowly at the exchange. "you don't know what you signed up for." he snickers. vk responds by kicking him out and locking the door behind him.

pat arrives within twenty minutes. he presses vk against the wall as soon as he enters, devouring his mouth in a kiss. vk gasps against his mouth, just like that forgetting the insults this same mouth had uttered an hour ago.

"god, i needed this," pat moans, his teeth grazing relentlessly across vk's neck, leaving bruises in their wake.

"that's what im here for," vk pants, trapped between pat and the wall. "for you to take out your frustrations on."

pat's eyes darken, and a smirk curls his lips. vk looks up at him, biting his lip in a seductive manner. "I'm sure it mustn't have felt nice, virat hitting you for all those sixes." he dares to say.

pat's face clouds with devastating rage. "don't even take his name, nick," he growls, his fingers like flint against vk's ribs.

vk decides to push his luck. "why not?" he asks boldly.

"because I hate him!" pat says at the top of his voice. "and the only name I want to hear from your smart mouth this night is mine!"

vk shivers, but he's still not done. "I mean, he is a great player. you can't deny that. that cover drive he hit you for.. it was so bloody gorgeous.. and that straight drive in your sixth over? magnificent. and that six over covers was just--"

the rest of vk's sentence disappears into a squeal as pat picks him up and throws him onto the bed. he grunts, winded with the force of his fall.

"brat," pat glowers at him, gripping his jaw, nails digging into skin. vk gasps, turning red, but still holds pat's gaze smirking. "if you wanted me to throw you around, you could have asked. no need to take that bastard's name to get me all fired up. well, you brought this onto yourself, pretty boy. don't blame me if you can't walk tomorrow."

vk soon discovers that pat really wasn't lying when he said that the only name he wanted to hear from "nick's" mouth that night was his own. he's sure that the other residents of the hotel will have a complaint to make about the screams coming from pats room tomorrow. vk's sure he's going to end up with a really sore throat and an even sorer arse by the time pat's done with him.

***

in the morning, vk wakes up feeling worn out but also toasty warm. the warmth comes from pat, he realises. he is cuddled up in the taller man's arms, his head resting on his chest, a firm hand on his hip holding him in place.

"morning, love," pat places a chaste kiss to his neck in greeting. the tenderness of the action nearly brings tears to vk's eyes. how could the same man be so gentle and yet so snide and vicious at the same time?

vk rolls over to peck pat on the lips. the movement elicits a whimper and a wince as pain lances through his entire body. damn. he's half convinced pat has actually broken his back. and walking was out of the question for at least the next week. also, he'll need to buy more concealer to hide the hickeys all over his neck.

pat gets up to order some breakfast for them. vk sits up, grimacing, a hand pressed to his aching back. he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

the minute he opens up his messages, any and all lingering sleepiness disappears.

a slew of angry messages from rohit pop up in his notifications.

"where the fuck are you?" the most recent one reads, from half an hour ago. "the flight leaves in five minutes! we still have the t20 leg of the tour to play!"

he's missed his flight, he realizes, with dawning horror. then he also realizes that the first t20 is tomorrow. he has a day to get from delhi to mumbai. that's manageable, he consoles himself. what's less manageable is explaining to rohit the reason behind missing his flight. what's even less manageable is the prospect of playing a match in his current state. he's barely able to move, playing a match is a long shot.

oh bloody hell.

when had his life turned into such a soap opera?

hahaha god i love vk winding patty up 😏 i do want to smack him on the back of the head and tell him to stop getting himself into these situations though 😆

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐈𝐈.]

summary: “In this vast, terrible universe, you’re the only permanent I have.”

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 2.4k+

warnings: angsty, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: you guys remain superior. thank you so much for your love and comments, that inspo goes straight to the vein. enjoy part 3!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART THREE: YEAR 304

Eternity comes with a bitter aftertaste. 

Or, rather, your particular brand of it does. Over three hundred years would wear on anyone. Being cursed to wander for eternity is another matter altogether. It’s not the first time things have gone wrong, of course. Your life since the curse has been a series of trials and errors, dos and redos. The Dreaming became an escape because it’s the first and only place you’ve found that has given you rest. Provided the slightest reprieve from running, hiding, and being spat on. 

Forever sounds like a wonderful deal until you start breaking it apart. Everyone else dying, bringing misfortune on those you care about, being sick or hurt but never succumbing to these afflictions. Being thrown from one edge of this universe to another with nothing in your pocket. No name, no safe place to sleep, no currency to get by, no friendly face or a helping hand. 

Eternity is a lonely and cold affair. Intercut only with nuggets of happiness that come with flapping butterfly wings found in Fiddler's Green. In the trails, rivers, lakes and mountains dotted across the Dreaming, stretching for the only eternity you care to taste. It's found in Lucienne's rustling books and how light bloats and crawls across the marble floor in Dream's throne room. 

You’ve gotten stuck in the past. Caught on snags and tears in the world—the type that devours humans and never returns them. There’s a reason so many vanish seemingly without a trace, lost forever. There is no escaping time, though. When caught, every day stretches for eternity that was promised to you, that was cursed upon you. On those days, even that hardened hope, the resilience you’ve honed with decades, becomes no more than brittle bones and dust. 

You’ve been stuck in the past, but never for five years. 

And never in Hell. 

.

Lucienne’s face makes you want to cry. She sits with a book in her lap, her head lowered, her glasses slanted on her nose. When she’s focused, like now, she doesn’t notice them slip down the bridge or how her nose curls as she tries to nudge them back up. She hasn’t changed one bit. She’s still the same Lucienne you’ve spent countless nights and days shadowing in the library, helping her catalogue books while chatting about anything and everything. Seeing her here, now, replacing the fire, smoke and torrid ash, stinging sulfur still coating your throat and lungs, is a miracle—a blessing. 

The room you’re in is sprawling, bright, and peaceful. Pale stone and lacquered wood everywhere your gaze travels. A bed that’s a cloud beneath your worn body, big enough for three; a dresser and vanity; a small couch and some chairs. For company, no doubt, though you can’t imagine anyone caring enough to visit. 

“Wanderer.”

Lucienne’s call resonates through the room, stark with relief and all at once, your defences crumble. Your eyes sting, and you reach for her hand blindly, cradling it in your own. Your hands are shaking, comes the distant realisation, but you can’t find it in yourself to care or to let go. The weight from the last five years squeezes you, wriggling free every suppressed pain and laying it bare. 

“What happened?” Lucienne asks, leaning closer, her word hushed and troubled. “What befell you out there?”

When you don’t respond, trembling so badly your jaw sits rigidly beneath your skin, she adds a firm, “You are safe now. Lord Morpheus would never permit anyone under his protection to be harmed.”

She’s soothing in her own way, a presence so dearly missed, but you only grip her hand tighter in yours. All your remaining strength has been funnelled into this singular task. Few stray tears drip from the corner of your eye and down the bridge of your nose, hitting the covers beneath. 

Lucienne hesitates, her mouth parted as if to insist further, but she stops herself. Whatever horrors she glimpses on your face must be severe enough that she understands how fragile you are. How delicate your state is—and how easy it would be to shatter it completely. 

“It’s been five years,” she states, but not in accusation, a mere reflection. “Let me catch you up on all you’ve missed…”

.

“Admit it, you’ve missed me,” Corinthian drawls, smooth and self-assured, nothing in his countenance evincing diffidence. “I’m the only one in this realm you can have fun with.”

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.”

You walk side by side, your arms linked at the elbows. Corinthian enjoys a spectacle and all the uneasy, leery stares that follow you two. It’s the first time you’ve gathered the strength to leave your room in three days. You’ve never had a room in the Dreaming until now. All this time, flower fields and private nooks have been your bedrooms. It’s a significant improvement to most places you’ve frequented over the decades and far safer even with nightmares roaming freely about. 

You didn’t question it initially, but it has since become clear that being granted a room here, in the castle, is a big deal.

Maybe it’s lingering remorse. Dream didn’t notice your absence. What are five years for someone like him? And if he did notice, he certainly didn’t do anything about it, caught up in his duties as he is. Corinthian was all too happy to inform you of this. But you hadn’t expected Dream to go ripping through realms in search of you, certainly not after how you two parted ways last time, but it had…

It stings just a little to be reminded how inconsequential you are to him or his kingdom, but it also serves as a great reminder. 

You have no home. The Dreaming is a pit stop, no more. 

“Somebody has to.”

Corinthian’s words jerk you from your thoughts, your head lifting. “Corinthian—”

“Don’t bother.” He pats your hand with guileful ease, all smiles and teeth and shadows. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m simply not interested in hearing it.”

Sun glows and weaves through his golden hair, which, perhaps, is what makes him such an effective nightmare. He’s nothing like one until he is. 

“Dream is not shunning you,” you defend, ignoring how his stride has become more rigid. “Everyone abides by the same rules.”

Corinthian tuts, turning his head from side to side as if he can physically shake your words off. “Now you sound just like him.” He sounds every bit disappointed, clicking his tongue. “Rules, rules, rules. You wander all you please. No one takes issue with that.”

Hellfire, ash, burning and peeling, screams and muffled moans of the damned—

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.” Words tumble from your mouth in a rush, strained and choked, and it catches him off-guard, however briefly. You can tell by the simple way Corinthian turns entirely in your direction; something he does for sparse few because he simply doesn’t care to hear anyone else. “I don’t go frolicking through flower fields, Corinthian. I’m cursed. It hurts. Every time. I’ve gotten better, but…”

The nightmare leans closer, his voice low against the shell of your ear, “Then you, better than most, should understand.”

The need to escape, to be free, to be more than your preordained purpose. 

Sighing, you slow to a stop, unliking your arms to lean your palm onto the cool stone bridge instead. Jaggy stone cuts into your sensitive skin while you twist your palm, sparking immediate, tingling friction in the motion’s wake. Memories from Hell come crawling back, dark and insidious, unending, and you stop at once, swallowing. 

“I do. I really do,” you stress, clearing your throat. Forcing a smile, you nudge Corinthian’s side with your elbow when you spot the downwards slant his mouth rests in. “And you’re right. I have missed you.”

His blonde head slants backwards, bright sun reflecting in his darkened glasses. A lazy smile curls across his mouth, canines on casual display. “Sweet talking me, huh?” His brows creep upwards, playful. “It might work.”

Turning, you lean into the bridge, halfway between the castle and beyond it, the Dreaming. In all its breathless, beguiling glory. You seek the sun, five years yearning for it sitting heavy in your chest. Warming under its rays, you let a slight, humorous smile creep across your face. 

“Careful. I might start to think the big, bad nightmare actually likes little old me.”

Corinthian follows your example, leaning back against the bridge, his arms crossing over his chest. “You like nightmares too much.” He inclines closer, nudging your side this time, his tone honeyed and arch, “Haven’t you heard? We’re devious.”

It wasn’t a lie. You have missed him. There’s an odd, often biting, yet near amiable dynamic between you. He entertains you because he’s no doubt bored and prickly about the invisible leash he believes Dream is collaring him with. You’re the closest he can come to humanity without outright breaking rules. Such an act would no doubt evoke Dream’s wrath unlike anything else. You hope you never see the day. 

Corinthian indulges in his digs and bites, snide or otherwise, but in the moments in between, like now, it’s nice. A friendship that’s entirely one-sided, no doubt—you’re not as naive as he might believe you to be—but it’s still a bond you can rely on. Others don’t like him and make no secret of hiding it. You’re perhaps the only one who willingly seeks him out. Two misfits. 

Or perhaps, even to someone as dark and twisted as him, it means something to open his eyes for the first time and not have the one gazing back flinch away from him. Perhaps, sometimes, even a monster dreams of being something other than a monster. 

You shrug, dismissive. “Eh, like is a strong word—”

Black catches your eye. You perk up immediately, pushing away from the bridge. 

“Dream!”

The Dream King stands tall and dreary on the opposite side of the bridge, jaw set and features stony. He’s utterly out of place in an otherwise sunlit and syrupy vista. You raise your hand in a cheery wave. 

“Aw, such a friendly greeting for someone who didn’t miss you much.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing Corinthian again.

But the nightmare keeps his attention focused on the Dream Lord; a faint, sneering smile perfectly in place. 

“Ooh, look at that frown.” He couldn’t sound more quietly pleased if he tried. Corinthian straightens, smoothing invisible creases in his pale clothes. He taps your nose with a charming, cutting grin as he veers to go, “I’ll see you around, Wanderer.”

“Hate you,” you call sweetly after him.

He doesn’t turn, raising his hand to wriggle his fingers in the air, the amused smirk cutting into his cheeks still visible at this angle. 

You approach Dream unhurriedly, basking in the fresh air, unsure how to read him, if one even could. He’s unequivocally closed off, and you hoard those sporadic softenings you do glimpse with greedy delight. 

“You’re back.”

His guarded gaze flicks behind you, towards the castle, where Corinthian must have long since disappeared inside. “You have a strange affinity with my nightmares.”

It’s an anomalous observation coming from him but rather pointed. Jessamy caws from a nearby tree in a vocal agreement. Your lips pursue, humming under your breath as you halt several paces away from him. Crossing your arms at the wrists, you let them hang loosely over the bridge. 

“You taught me they have a purpose. I like seeing beyond it.”

You examine the crystal clear water. Dream’s stare burns into one side of your head. It’s peaceful. Quiet. His presence alone relaxes some clenched nerve still throbbing inside you. 

“Thank you, by the way,” you add quietly. “For the room.”

Not many stay at the castle, and fewer still can say they have a room granted solely for them. It’s a precious privilege, and even if it comes with an expiry date, it’s not one you plan to waste. 

“You are my guest, and you were injured,” Dream replies. Deep, rumbling words, practical words—something in your chest deflates with them. “It would have been bad manners to leave you outside.”

Right, of course. Ever the pragmatist. 

Scrubbing any emotion from your face, you bend over the bridge, letting your chin dig into your folded wrists as you observe the water below. Your distorted reflection splits and bobs, rippling. Fitting, oddly painful. 

“I did not realise it… hurts.”

It takes a long moment to understand his meaning, to stop yourself from deciphering why he sounds so grave about it.

“Hm? Oh, you heard that, huh?” You give him a non-committal shrug, retreating inwards, burying deep. “It’s… uh, it’s nothing. The first few times were pretty terrible, I’ll admit, but after that, well. Practice.”

He doesn’t accept your flimsy attempt at nonchalance. Soft-spoken, but a tendril of power vibrates through his voice, “Where were you, Wanderer?”

Your throat parched, your skin crawling, you whisper a splintering, “Hell.”

For the first time in three hundred years, Dream goes as still as stone beside you. Birds, wind—even fluffy, large clouds floating leisurely through the hazy sky all settle into unnatural, bone-chilling stillness. You attempt to draw a steadying breath and find oxygen thin in your lungs. 

“That cannot be.” Dream Lord’s voice is a silken caress, unshakable in his conviction. “No one leaves the netherworld unless it is through the Gate itself or by Lightbringer’s own will. Even the Endless require permission to enter.”

“I think… that was the point. To suffer. I couldn’t get out. I tried. I really did, Dream.” Your voice cracks. Forcing yourself to straighten, you inhale deeply through your nose, injecting levity in your voice, “Anyway, it took a while, but I managed. Sorry you had to see me like that.”

A beat. “You came here.”

“Not by choice,” you admit. Realising how that might sound, you hastily add, “I figured you’re still angry. But…”

Dream’s hand settles on the bridge, not too far from your own. “But?” he prompts. 

Your smile might be small this time, but it’s genuine and fond. You slant your chin towards him, giving him your first toothy grin in five years. “In this vast, terrible universe, you’re the only permanent I have. I wasn’t strong enough to choose, Dream. The Dreaming is safe. You’re safe.”

And you wonder what it means that the King of Dreams and Nightmare Realms has no response to that. 

an: woweee, that's another wrap. thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts!!!

[ltbarnes]

One Look, Dark Room

[Stark U #4]

Summary: A nightmare that forces you to face what happened to you all those months ago leads you to Steve’s doorway, searching for the kind of comfort only he can give you. But you’re not the only one who craves the soothing timber of Steve’s voice, and that knowledge might just dig up things you aren’t ready to accept.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: mentions of previous sexual assault, language, nightmares, a little more Steve-heavy in this one and he is so soft

A/N: Back after another two months with another fic with my fave friend group! Honestly, the love on this series means so much and has really kept me going when it comes to writing. Thank you <3

Also, I recommend reading With a Little Help From Your Friends before this one if you haven’t already. It touches on really important events from that part!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

With a painful gasp, desperate to breathe in air into your aching lungs, your eyes are forced open wide. You're on the verge of shooting up to a seat, just like in all the movies but never experienced yourself. The nightmare was suffocating and you couldn't stand another second.

An onslaught of air draws raspy coughs from your chest, springing tears to your eyes that accompany the ones already running down your cheeks. It's never felt this way before, has it? It's never been this bad, never clogged your throat with fear, never left your skin shivering with the pictures of the nightmare leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

You haven't thought about what happened in the kitchen ever since the day it occurred. The memory got shoved down, buried under the school work and injuries and lazy nights on the couch. Buried underneath the constant attention from your friends. You've barely been alone for the past months.

It was almost forgotten, in a way. The feeling of his hands digging into your skin, his mouth drawing red marks on your collarbone, his warm breath on your neck was left to gain dust in the back of your mind. Your dream drew every trace of his offense up to the surface.

You've held no resentment towards Natasha for bringing that guy into your collective apartment. She could have never foreseen him sneaking out in the middle of the night to ambush you in the kitchen, but you've noticed her silent guilt in moments when she's reminded. It seems like it happens more often for her. But now, god, now it's crashing into you in insurmountable waves, waves that you can't ride past by yourself.

In the middle of your bed, sheets bunched around your waist, you're crying to the point where you're heaving. The nightmare left such a vivid picture of his assault, of what could have happened if Sam hadn't barged in just at the right moment. And despite the memory of him lingering on your skin, you crave someone else's comforting touch. Someone who isn't that man.

It's entirely dark as you step inside the quiet room, with the only proof of living being Steve's soft snores that escape his lips every few seconds. Though the darkness impairs your vision completely, you still feel the presence of another.

It's an unwelcome feeling, but mostly unexpected, when your throat tightens just a little further as you stare at the bed. The thought of another person laying in Steve's arms at night feels wrong. Maybe it has a lot more to do with the rareness of it rather than your own feelings. Steve is so dedicated and loyal to the group of people you've managed to pull together that each time you find him spending time with someone else, it leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

You're stuck in the doorway, staring out into the dark room as your eyes slowly, piece by piece, begin to adjust. You can't leave. God, you want to. You want to head back to your room and continue your reclusive crying session, but you need the comfort and reassurance only Steve can bring even more. Your feet are stuck to the ground, forcing you to torture yourself by staying long enough to make out the shape of the person laying in the bed beside Steve.

"Y/n?"

The soft and sleep-affected voice brings you back to reality, drawing your eyes to the now awake and confused Steve. His head still rests on the pillow, tiredly watching your tense figure in the doorway.

"You okay?" he asks, confusion turning into concern.

With a gulp you force yourself to open your mouth, desperately trying to keep down the thickness of your voice that's been building up ever since you woke up with a panicked gasp.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I'm not gonna bother you. Go back to sleep, Steve," you mumble, nearly whispering to avoid revealing the obvious urge to cry.

Steve sits up in his bed, letting the thin sheet fall down until it drapes over his hips, baring his chest to the cold night air that creates goosebumps on your skin. You slowly turn around, your hand brushing the doorframe as you step over the threshold.

"Hey, wait," Steve calls out so quietly you wouldn't be able to hear it if it weren't for the lack of any other sound in the room. "You're not bothering me. What happened?" he says as he slips off the bed, standing up hesitantly. You stop in your tracks, shaking your head lightly.

"It's nothing. Jus' had a nightmare, that's all," you whisper, still facing the hallway. The gaze of Steve is evident as it burns into your back. "But you have company. I'm just gonna leave." You furrow your brows, biting your lip to stop a shaky breath of air from escaping your mouth.

"It's just Bucky," Steve says softly. "Got a nightmare himself. Couldn't sleep," he explains.

The relief in your body is immediate, letting your tense shoulders fall down and breathing go back to normal. However close Steve and Bucky have been for their whole lives, you didn't realize they trusted each other enough to comfort each other like this. It's beautiful.

You nearly flinch as Steve's warm hand touches your shoulder, gently turning you around to meet his eyes.

"You've been crying," he says to himself as he observes your face. How he can see that in the darkness is beyond you, and still it's so very Steve. You nod, casting your gaze down to the floor.

"C'mere," Steve whispers, glancing back towards the bed. You shake your head softly, letting out a small breath through your mouth.

"But Bucky's there—"

"Bucky will be fine. You need to sleep," Steve says, leading you towards his enormous bed that could easily fit two more if he wanted to. "You're here for a reason, aren't you?"

The floor creaks underneath your feet as you reluctantly walk over to his enormous bed. How he afforded it, let alone fit it into the apartment, is a mystery that you have no energy to solve. Crying is much more draining than you remember it being. Your head is aching, mouth is dry, your skin cold to the touch.

Steve drapes his comforter over your shivering figure before climbing back into the bed. Even the thought of Bucky waking up, upset over the new addition in the bed he's laying in, doesn't hinder your heavy eyes from growing shut as you press yourself down further into the warm sheet. Your back is facing both of them, body scooted as close to the edge as you can, but only the presence of Steve a feet away from you is calming your erratic nerves down.

"We'll talk about what's bothering you when you've gotten some sleep," Steve tells you, his deep, husky voice sending shivers down your skin. "I know you don't usually have them. Nightmares, I mean."

"I don't," you answer him softly.

"Just—I...you know. You can always come here if you want to," he adds. "I don't mind. Having you here."

Whatever answer you could have for his words doesn't seem good enough for the kindness he shows you each time you lay eyes on him. His friendship is a blessing you could not fathom taking for granted, not when he invites you to intrude on his space like this when he doesn't even know what the reason is for your tears. It's nice to know that someone loves you like that.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

09:23. Friday morning. No classes. Much too quiet and much too empty in the loft. Both Sam and Natasha can agree on that as they lock eyes in the living room with raised eyebrows. By this time at least 4 out of 5 residents should have dragged their sleep deprived bodies out of their beds. The coffee machine should be on a constant loop. The TV should be buzzing in the background. Not a single sound can be heard except for their own breaths.

"Where the fuck is everybody?" Natasha seethes.

"Why are you asking me for?" Sam tells her, raising his coffee cup to his lips. "Don't know what they're up to. Sleeping in, probably."

"You know just as well as I that Steve doesn't wake up a minute past 7:00 if he can help it," she answers accusingly.

"You're looking at me like I did something. Why are you looking at me like that?" Sam asks, an amused glint in his eyes that only Sam Wilson can muster up in the morning.

Natasha scoffs, turning on her heel towards your room. If you slept in, it wouldn't surprise her in the least. It's just that she demands your company and if that means dragging you out of your cave of blankets and pillows, it will be done despite the risks. It just happens to be everyone's day off and it's raining outside and she wants you to bake her scones for breakfast.

Fucking empty. Your sheets are thrown to the floor, dimmed morning light pushing in through the gap between your curtains and the window. Natasha isn't one to fuss over things, not at all. She rarely even does so when there's a reason for it either. But your absence is quite unusual, after all. Especially this early in the morning, defined by your standards, of course.

"She's not here, Sam!" she shouts over her shoulder.

"Okay," he answers indifferently from the couch.

Natasha strolls into the living room again, running her hand through her red strands.

"She sleeping over somewhere secret, do you think?"

"Y/n?" Sam asks, as if the subject isn't obvious. "No. Bucky'd sing on fucking stage before that happens."

"Have a little faith in her, will you? It's not like she's entirely celibate," she scoffs.

"I know she isn't. Jus' that she's too scared to stay at some stranger's place. It's not like the three of you wouldn't text her every hour like overbearing parents if she did, either."

She scowls at him, picking up a pillow from the armchair to throw at his unsuspecting figure. Sam lets out an offended breath of air, flipping both of his fingers towards the redhead as he nods towards the coffee cup a few inches away from him.

"Don't talk like you wouldn't be all over it too. It's not our fault the girl's got no survival skills."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam sighs. "Go look for Bucky or something instead. I don't wanna talk to you anymore."

Sometimes there comes a moment when Natasha forgets why she is friends with Sam. Those moments also coincide with the urge to whack him in the head. Maybe break a bone or two. This moment is one of those.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Despite the blinds being shut, like each night before Steve goes to bed, the gloomy light still trickles into the room and casts shadows across the space. Some of them have reached you, dancing over your hair as the stray locks stick out from underneath the comforter. Another streak has landed on Bucky's arm, reflecting the light until it concentrates onto the wall opposite of him.

Somehow in his sleep, Steve has maneuvered you over his entire figure. He's certain you were perched onto the utmost corner of the bed when you fell asleep a few hours earlier. It did look like you were bound to fall off sooner or later during the night—maybe his subconscious knew that even in his sleep. At least that's the best reason he has for it, now that you're laying squeezed in between his and Bucky's bodies, both of their arms holding you tightly like you might slip away if their grip was any looser.

Normally Steve would shy away from the kind of intimacy this situation brings, having his friend so closely pressed to his figure. But it feels right. It feels right that you're laying in between him and Bucky, finding some peace after your nightmare left you thinking it was better to stay awake than to face whatever you saw in your sleep.

With Bucky he's used to the frantic fear in his eyes after a grueling flashback leaves him unable to rest his eyes again. It's been like that for years. Despite how sad it feels to say that he's become all too accompanied with his friend's pain, he was reminded of the near indifference he's developed against it when your tear-streaked face turned up in his doorway last night.

Steve was almost scared you had been hurt again. It feels like you've been it much too often these past few months. His absence during those moments still guilts him, keeps him awake for too long during those sleepless nights. Maybe he's overthinking it too much, because he knows it's not something you dwell on. It's not like you're holding any resentment against him for not being there, not at all, but that doesn't mean he will refrain from it himself.

He leans his head over his shoulder, squinting, as the door creaks open slowly. Strands of red hair peek through the cracks before he sees her face, but it's not hard to figure out that Natasha's the one with her fingers on the door handle. Her eyes flicker over the scene, rather suspiciously, before she even notices that Steve is looking at her just as curiously as well.

But she does feel the weight of his stare eventually, gaining eye contact with the blue-eyed gaze while raising questioning eyebrows herself.

"What are you doing?" she whispers through a seethe, eyes once more drawn to where Bucky has his arm draped over your waist. If it weren't for Steve's nearly supernatural hearing it would be hard to hear her whispers over Bucky's snoring.

Steve rubs his eyes, groaning quietly to himself, while glancing back at the two people behind him again. "They had nightmares," he answers huskily, voice still hoarse from the lack of use.

"Both of them?" she asks, a soft smirk on her lips that tells him she's not really believing it. Natasha often has theories or what not about feelings and crushes and things like that around the loft. But then again, she just as often pairs people up with strangers based on imaginary long glances or a smile thrown over their shoulders. It's not always true.

"Yes. Both of them," Steve repeats, flopping down onto the mattress once more. He is a patient person, but in the morning it takes a while for it to come to life. Having Nat interrogate him is not his ideal start to the day. "Now, please, Natasha. Let them sleep."

Another head pops inside, leans his hands against the doorway while stretching his torso until he towers over Nat. Sam's indifferent face turns into a smug grin, nodding towards Steve in approval.

"Looks like you got lucky. Twice."

"Lower your voice, please," Steve mutters, running his palm over his face.

"Nu-Uh," the man says, shaking his head in amusement while searching for Nat's gaze for what could only be approval. A 'you see this too, right?'

"Steven Grant Rogers." Sam flashes the gap in between his front teeth. "You saucy little minx!"

Even Natasha turns her head, sending a soft glare his way. It's still you he's talking about, still his friends.

"And Y/n too? I always thought Buck and you had something going on—"

"Samuel."

It's that tone—the one Steve uses whenever he's serious. Real serious. The one that carries such authority that it tells people he must have been a high-ranking military officer in a previous life. It never fails to shut Sam up. Sometimes even Bucky listens to it.

"Get out. I mean it—both of you."

Steve has resorted to sitting up, nodding towards the doorway with a cold stare and clenched jaw. It leaves the two of them nodding, wide-eyed, before scurrying out. The door is left open and abandoned for only a few seconds before a pale hand reaches for it, closing it as gently as she possibly can.

A loud sigh, hands running over his face, accompanied by a groan is what wakes you. Or you might have noticed some commotion  during the awakening of your conscious mind, but the overbearing warmth you're surrounded with hasn't registered until now. Neither has Steve's half-naked body in the space you previously occupied, you were sure of it, or the feeling of Bucky's arm draped tightly over your waist. Everything is too hot and sweaty and close and, god, Bucky's entire front is pressed against your back.

The images from your nightmare flashes, attacks your sight, taunts you with what really is a memory. You thought it would help sleeping here, having the presence of Steve—your endlessly kind, strong, overbearing mother hen—right by your side. No one can corner you into the kitchen counter, put their hands on your skin and make you bleed when Steve is near. But it's still there, still making your ears ring with the thought of him. You need to leave.

Tangling Bucky's metal arm away from you, and the sheets, is suddenly the hardest thing ever and you're certain a minute passes by before you're crawling off the bed with rushed motions that must be as ungracious as it possibly can be.

"Morning. I'm sorry abo—what are you doing? Y/n?" Steve starts off with a tired yawn, rubbing his eyes awake, before his voice quickly falters into confusion while watching you scramble off in a hurry.

You run your hands over your face, feet meeting the cold surface of Steve's mat-less floors. How incredibly humiliating all of this is, coming to Steve's room after a nightmare for consolation like a child. Curling up to an unknowing Bucky in his sleep—he'd positively panic if he woke to your figure pressed against him right now—and most definitely Steve as well. Oh god, did you roll over him in your sleep? Did he wake up while you did so? And Nat and Sam saw you too. You feel like you might cry again.

"Hi. I'm—I have to go," you force out of yourself as you hastily walk towards the door, lacking the courage or dignity to look him in the eye. "Good night. Morning."

And he sits there, all silent and stunned and half-tempted to go after you. Only a few hours earlier, when you'd come into his room with soft steps and a just as gentle voice, he thought he'd made it clear there was nothing to be ashamed about. He thought he had made that clear about everything in your friendship.

But now he sees your figure disappear out into the hallway. The t-shirt he's pretty sure you stole from someone in this loft is old and disheveled and exposes the delicate lace of your underwear. Your hair is messy in the way it always is after you've had a particularly good night of sleep. And maybe that is some sort of comfort, to know that you've at least slept good while you laid in his bed, but your obvious discomfort now overshadows it.

Steve's not really sure what to do except attempt to rub his eyes awake, letting the cool autumn air engulf his exposed skin. He's still acutely aware of Bucky's sleeping presence next to him. The poor guy must have been traumatized by the dream—he never sleeps this long. But maybe the addition of you next to him lulled him into a deeper sleep.

Steve's not sure and he's conflicted and he's also scared. Because he's not supposed to feel this way, like the bed is so, so empty when you're not there anymore. And his heart feels much too big for his chest while it simultaneously feels a little cracked, seeing you so evidently broken from whatever happened in your subconscious last night.

When he looks at the clock, six minutes have passed since you left. He's sure he spent at least half an hour pondering. The floor is cold as it meets his bare feet, creaking underneath the weight of him while he makes his way out of his room. He tugs at his pants, trying to rid himself of his half-hard dick he always wakes up with. It's not something he wants to confront you with.

Sam and Natasha sit quietly in the kitchen over their breakfast, giving each other glances that tell a conversation on their own. They don't even have to say it out loud, what they're speculating over. Steve feels their stares even as he passes by within a second.

He doesn't bother knocking on your door, even if it makes him feel like a douchebag. The voice of his mother nags at him in the back of his mind as he steps inside of your dark room. You've buried yourself underneath two blankets and a comforter, and mostly Steve thinks that he would combust by the heat if he did the same.

The remaining space in his thoughts is taken up by the sound of your sobs. Muffled by the thick layers of fabric around you, but Steve hears them all the same. And he sighs—not because he's disappointed or annoyed or tired, but because it's heartbreaking.

Your bed dips underneath the weight of Steve, a safe distance between you that alerts you to his presence softly. You knew he'd come after you. It's just the way Steve is.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart. It's okay, 's just me," Steve says softly, reaching out for you by unwrapping the layers.

You let him. How could you not? You cry even harder. It's too hard keeping it all in.

"Come here, honey."

His arms effortlessly lift you up, forces you to sit before brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your face. There's probably snot running down your nose and hulking noises making their way out of your mouth. All you can focus on is that your head pounds and throat aches.

"Come back to my room, will you? Please, Y/n?" he speaks into your hair, holding you to his chest while letting your tears soak his skin.

You nod in answer. Stupid, convincing Steve. So perfect. It makes you mad. Why couldn't he just be an idiot enough to let you be? Why does he have to make things better just by saying a few words, holding you to his stupidly muscly chest? It almost makes you sob harder.

"You're so annoying," you say through your tears, clinging onto him as he lifts you with an ease that doesn't scare you anymore. You don't know why he's this strong.

"That's right, sweetheart," he says, hands under your thighs and eyes on the path in front of him.

Steve feels more at ease as soon as he enters his own room. Even if it only took half a minute to walk through the hallway, past the kitchen and his friends' curios stares, your sobs have died down into sniffles.

You're a stubborn person. But only sometimes—in some cases it only takes two tries, two encouragements to make you budge. You fled earlier, embarrassed by your own emotions, but now you're curled up in Steve's arms in his bed again.

"Listen or help?" Steve whispers, his nose buried in your hair as you sit with your back to his chest.

Those words alone make the thickness in your throat grow. "Listen. Just listen this time."

Steve strokes your hair, runs his fingers over your scalp. How did he become such a good man? Who taught him to be like this?

"What made you this upset, Y/n?"

A big intake of breath and two sniffles. "I'm angry," you tell him. "I'm so fucking angry that he—he did that me. That guy just thought he had some right to...I said no so many times."

Steve tightens his hold on you. He didn't know you still thought about it this much. He does, all the time. It happened just a few rooms away from him and he didn't notice. It's not his fault, he repeats to himself in his head.

"And right after he had been with Nat too! Couldn't he just have stayed with her a few hours? She deserves better than that. I know she was the best sex of that fucking guy's poor life." A hiccup. Sniffle again. "I must be irresistible or something..."

"Sure are," Steve whispers, a smile sneaking up on his face. You sink into him even further, allowing him to bury you in his touch.

"I want to cut off his balls, or something. Or—or send an angry letter to his mom so she won't invite him to the family gatherings anymore. Won't give him any presents on Christmas."

A silent snort escapes Steve's nose. It manages to crack the smallest smile on your lips, even though the tears have yet to dry on your cheeks.

"Actually, I hope that he'll become a worm in his next life and that some three-year old drives over him with their tricycle. No, wait! I—god, I'm being so loud right now."

You sigh, burying your face into Steve's bare chest with a tired giggle as you feel it vibrate along with his own silent laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm gonna wake him up if I'll—he's gonna panic." The giggles fade out into a frown as you sit up straight, creating distance between you and Steve. "I should—"

"C'mere and shut up, will you?" the newly woken voice of Bucky mutters, face down in the pillows and eyes closed.

You nearly flinch, head turning so abruptly you could have broken your neck. Almost. Bucky's left arm reaches out, fumbles for your waist while Steve looks down fondly at the two of you.

"Shit," you breathe out. "I'm so sorry, Bucky. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Sweets, haven't slept this long in forever. Why'd you think that is, huh?" Bucky mumbles, to the point where you can't make the words out until you've gone over them a few times in your head. And then he has the nerve to use that effortless strength he possesses to pull you down. Right next to him.

Bucky doesn't talk like this, doesn't act like this—at least not nowadays. Not with you. It scares you almost as much as it warms you, sends tingles into your anxious stomach. Sometimes you think about that letter he wrote you. I can whisk you off into the sunset if that's what you want. As long as I don't have to wait fifteen years for it. Now is one of those moments.

He's so warm against you, actually both of them are so warm. And you don't like warmth very much but it's something you'll withstand in moments like these. You can't remember now why you panicked when you woke up with Steve and Bucky around you.

For Bucky, the truth is that he's too tired to filter his thoughts before they make it out of his mouth. He hasn't slept in days, and that over eight hours of peacefulness have passed now is not a coincidence. Bucky heard you come in, heard you even before you stepped inside Steve's room. He'd only been laying with his eyes closed until the bed sunk underneath your weight. Went out like a baby only a few minutes after.

It bothered him too much for his own good when you left in a hurry before. Because he had just woken up, just noticed the feeling of your body pressed up against his. And he felt the tremble in your voice in his very bones as you fled away.

"You don't have to hide your feelings, y'know?" he mumbles, nose pressed against your shoulder. He feels the stare of Steve on him. "Not with us."

"You hold so much in, Y/n. It's not healthy," Steve adds, fingers still fiddling with your hair. "Just let us do the hard work this time. It's been long enough of you tending to everyone else."

Those words—you haven't heard them before. You haven't believed them before. That you're a caretaker is not something that is obvious to you. You don't even see how much time you spend on making things good for everyone in this apartment.

"You’re my best friends. You know that, right?" you whisper with your hoarse voice.

Bucky holds you a little tighter to him. Steve bends down, much too low to be comfortable, and presses a kiss to your head. He's an old soul. So is Bucky, in a way.

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky mutters, but you can almost feel the smile he's hiding. You know he cares.

"Buck," Steve chastises, but he doesn't really know what for. Maybe because the jerk never knows how to process someone showing affection towards him. "You should take it easy today. Let us take care of you. Can you do that for us, Y/n?"

There's this special way Steve says your name. It holds kindness in it, kindness in a way that you've never allowed yourself to feel except for when the syllables of your name is uttered from his mouth.

So you close your eyes, humming lightly in answer while letting the mattress encompass you, claim you as its captive and hold you there for eternity. Or at least until your back starts to hurt or your legs start to tingle from their lack of use.

"Go back to sleep, sweets. 'M here. Won't let anyone hurt you," Bucky says under his breath, almost like the words are a subconscious afterthought more than a choice. From his very bones, on the verge of sleep.

It's quick—your descent into a sleep once more. The faint sound of Steve's breathing echoes through the room, lulls you further into unconsciousness. But you want him too. Not just sitting there, watching you and Bucky sleep. Steve deserves rest just as much, if not more, for sacrificing his own bed for the sake of your comfort.

"Steve," you whisper. "Steve."

Your hand fumbles for him blindly. A few seconds is all it takes before rough fingers clasp around yours.

"Lie down with us, Stevie."

The straws of his blonde hair tickle your cheek as he settles himself, glides down from his seat until he's face to face with you. You don't have the courage to open your eyes.

It's different. Has been for a while. None of you wants to acknowledge it, barely even to yourselves, even as you all lie together in the same bed.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"They're doing it, right?"

"They're so doing it. A month, tops."

"20 on three weeks."

"Deal."

Sam and Natasha shake hands over the breakfast table, solidifying their own suspicion into a bet they both will shamelessly try to affect. It's ridiculously obvious. Idiots, the three of you.

[imaginesandideas]

lime

a second installment of the favourite flavour mini-series that nobody asked for

also this one’s slightly longer (over 1k words), has some innuendos in it, and dad Hassan is the only thing that matters and i take no criticism 😭

~~~~~

Hassan can be bitter. About many things.

 It goes without saying that the days in NYPD have left a permanent mark on his personality. It took him a lot of courage and patience to survive, to finally start standing up for himself in a workplace where his voice was being continuously silenced. The very place that was supposed to protect the oppressed, the silenced. And yet he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe freely.

 But in the middle of all this chaos, there was his family, his only son that he swore to protect over everything else on the day of his birth. 

And so, he fled, leaving the corrupted environment behind, taking his heart and Ali with him. But the bitter aftertaste packed itself into his luggage too.

Sometimes he mockingly says that moving here only minimised the potential damage...

 Oh yes, he can be bitter, even harsh. Whether it was gravity of everyday life experiences, or just ordinary fatigue - most frequently you couldn’t say. Especially on some days.

Like this one.

 Hassan is rambling. You know he needs it, that he needs to let it out or it’ll be eating him for days. And so you listen, leaning against the counter as he winds up above the sink full of dishes. Since he started he must’ve washed like 2 plates and a cup, that’s how disturbed he is.

“And then she said that I’m ‘doing nothing anyway’ so I was THIS fucking close to blowing up. See? Like inches!”

You just nod along, a small smile creeping up on your face. 

“But I’m a professional. So I told her, that I will check the decks again. For the 4th time. And I did. And most likely she’ll ask me to do the same thing tomorrow... “

He’s such a good person it just kind of blows your mind sometimes. Ever so considerate and patient. A man of his word.

“… Like a damn fool I am. Locked up on an Island where everyone laughs behind my back either way.”

“Hassan…”

You’re frowning now and he looks into your eyes. He knows what you will say, knows you all to well by now to know that’ll prove him wrong, that you’ll scold him for how he speaks about himself. 

 But he likes honesty. And to know what you think, likes hearing your voice and watching the truth shining in your eyes. How they glow when you speak to him. And he likes you, most likely more than anything else in this damn town. 

“If you really need to know, I only laugh behind your back with Ali. And it’s called - bonding.” Your smile earns you a scoff and a shake of his head as he chuckles. Finally. 

 Then it reaches you. That sour but savoury scent. Fresh like a herb, but sweeter.

Like his beard when it gently scratches your jaw, moves over your skin. Or when you kiss the top of his head in a silent prayer, with gratitude. 

As he bends down to peck your lips after he’s had a shower. Fresh, sour, sweet. With a bitter aftertaste.

The thought itself makes your insides flutter.  

You keep forgetting what it is, he’s told you so many times by now and you still lose it somehow.

“What is that?”

“Bonding? Well you should know more about it than me, why?” Hassan frowns, still smiling. But you shake your head and he grows more serious.

“No no, I forgot it again. What is that... smell?”

His frown grows deeper only for a brief moment before he catches it.

“The chicken!” His eyes widen at an instant and he’s rapidly turning away from you as he runs towards the stove.

Quickly, he grabs the mittens you brought him once from the mainland cause you know how much he likes to cook.

Also cause you love him in them. 

A tall, mostly serious lawkeeper, grounded in reality and all things dirty… with a pair of soft, checkered mittens. 

And he’s so worried about the state of your dish, that it makes your heart melt, just a little bit more.

“Okay, so it’s not burnt actually. But it was the last call.” He breathes out a little easier now, a classic Hassan stance, with hands on his hips. Only now there’s also a towel loosely draped over his left shoulder. Mittens rest on the counter. The situation is under control. And he looks so cool and composed you could quite literally jump his bones but- “Now... how about we finally eat something?”

 The evening passes by slowly, there’s no rush, nowhere to attend. With Ali at a sleepover there’s just two of you, exchanging remarks, ideas and thoughts. Laughs. And touches. Both the gentle, and the more playful. You like Hassan even more when he’s laid back, than when he’s all stressed and grumpy, rigid like a limestone-

There it is.

“Oh! Damn it, I remember it know!”

 You burst out so suddenly that Hassan finds himself jumping in his seat, your rapid motion distrupting the peacful nest of your bodies on his sofa. “I know what it is! Lime!” 

It takes him a second or 2 to put the pieces together, but once he does, it’s all question marks, especially on his poor, tensed forhead.

“What do you mean? The kaffir leaves from the dish? Or the zest?”

 And although you shake your head, you should probably agree. After all, you only realized it now because of his absolutely phenomenal sauce. Also the unmistakable scent of his shampoo bar emanating from his hairline...

“That taste, but the smell as well… It’s both sour and sweet, with a hint of something peppery but it’s like nothing I can describe... And it’s just like you.” By the end of the sentence you look directly into his eyes and you notice a glint of mischief. 

 Soon enough you watch him raise an eyebrow slowly, while he leans back away from you ever so slightly, just to get a better look a you. Arms crossed over his chest, he looks like a true fucking detective and it makes you feral.

“Am I now, huh? Do I give off a…refined taste too?” He teases with a hint of smile at the end of the sentence. Oh it’s a game for both of you now.

“Well I certainly can’t speak for everyone, but personally, Hassan, you’re very much in my taste.”

[highsviolets]

do you ever see javi and analyst having a child?

hi nonnie!

what a lovely question 🥺

series masterlist

***

Laredo, Texas. 1997.

Two years has a funny habit of feeling like two months. Two days, even, when timing’s right — that’s usually somewhere between beers one and two and Javi’s pulling you into his lap as though he’s never tasted you before.

He remembers what that was like. Before you knew each other. Christ, he’s not young by any stretch of the imagination but he feels young. Eager. Renewed in the way that life has redeveloped its brightness again; if not shiny, it’s been inked in different hues than he remembers.

The colors of Laredo are still not home, but they are different than Colombia, another place that is not-home-yet-lived-in. Everything in Texas languishes, saturated in consumerism and childhood and a faintly bitter aftertaste of long-forgotten regret to keep the cloying overload of tangibility at bay.

Two years. Two years since he pushed you — you pushed him? — onto yourselves and kissed against his desk.

You’re looking over at him, now (in this youthful present), reflexively reaching out to the nearest person as a child rushes by, brushing the seam of your jeans and rocking you off-balance. Anomalies you both in this hometown of his (him for leaving; you, for coming), but somehow there’s an ease around children that neither of you expect.

Finishing his beer (just the one, he had promised to you cheekily, I gotta keep up with you for a long time coming, baby), Javi nods to whoever is his companion — he doesn’t remember, they’re all related from the same great aunt or their son when to high school with his cousin — and deftly makes his way to you, authority subconsciously straining at his shoulders.

“You okay?” he murmurs in your ear, laughing a little as his startling greeting causes you jump backwards into his ready embrace.

“I was just admiring the kids,” you reply, leaning so your head rests against his strong chest. “They seem so content here.” He shifts; you don’t need to see his frown to see it. “Not here, physically,” you hastily amend. “Here, surrounded by people they trust. Other kids.” A sigh leaks out, a happy one, Javi thinks. “It’s real nice, Javi.”

There a million things to think about. His job isn’t mobile; yours moves all too frequently. Laredo isn’t even where either of you live. Your first career, and his second. Money. The past.

But you don’t need to live somewhere to look love in the face. And money is decent enough for now, and he can get a new job anywhere, and maybe the parenting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Maybe, just maybe, Javi’s lips tell you wordlessly as he presses them to yours, we could be that, too. Somehow.

[hacked-by-jake]

Hey Ho! :D

You will always find this post in my blog description.🥰

(Well, since there’s not really much information about me, here’s a post of things you’ve been interested in and some facts about me.)

(Thanks to the Anon for the motivation to do this here! <3)

-----

So, Hi! You can call me HBJ! I don’t want to mention my real name and age here. 😁

I started publishing my fanfictions here on Tumblr a little over a year ago and haven’t left since. xD

My mother tongue is not English, I am from Germany. So if you find some mistakes, please excuse it, I’m doing my best and still learning. <3

I honestly have no idea what to write here so, have fun, if anyone reads through this here. 😂 At least that’s a little bit of me. :D

>The Ask Box is always open. So feel free to ask a question if you are interested (but I want to warn you, I am not answering everything, but I will let you know in this case) < <3

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

Let's start! ❤️🌹🎭

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

First of all 10 Random Facts about me. This was asked by an anon. Here is the original post.

I’m a giant nerd, there’s no place in my room that’s not full of merchandise.

I prefer to read stories that are self-published, for example here on Tumblr or on other sites, rather than real books.

I have a problem with jackets, I have tons of them.

I usually dye my hair according to the colors of characters I like.It all started with green/purple - because of the Joker. And the last color I have at the moment is all green because of Joker / Loki from Marvel (Oups)

Almost all tattoos I have are about fictional characters (also Oups)

No one, really nobody knows what books/stories I read because that’s something very private to me.

I listen to music 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Also, it’s hard for me / I don’t like to talk about the music I listen to because this is very intimate for me for some reason.

When I watch a series, it’s at least 2 times behind each other, sometimes more often. But never just once.

Films that I watch for the first time and that excite me, I watch every second that I have time. When the movie is over, I start again unless there are several parts. But then I always watch my favorite one 500 times.

-----

Random questions from you.

(Asked by @procrastinatingrobin) -One place that you'd like to travel at least once in your life?

---- One of my biggest wishes is (what a cliché xD) New York. For example the “Joker Stairs”, which is one of my biggest dreams. *-*

I would love to travel to a lot of locations from my favorite movies/series.🤭

America in general is a dream for me (a German potato 😂😅).

But there are so many beautiful places to which I want to go. For example, I would love to travel to Tenerife. I know someone who lives there and every time I see pictures I get very jealous. xD

Unfortunately, I’m incredibly afraid of flying, so if that doesn’t improve, I’ll never get anywhere near these places.😫😂😂

---

(Asked by Anon) How many tattoos do you have?😄

I love tattoo questions. 😂🤭At the moment I have eleven tattoos🥰

---

(Asked by Anon) -What's your favorite animal?

Hmmm I don’t really know, I think they are dogs because I have a dog now. *-* But to be honest, turtles are so cool.🤔 My brother has a turtle named: Schiggy (based on Pokémon)🤭

---

(Asked by Anon) -The stupidest thing that ever happened to you?

Ohhh hahaha there I have something good!😅Story Time with Hbj xD

Okay: As some might know, I’m a big fan of The Joker by DC.🃏Well, in 2019, the Joker movie with Joaquin Phoenix came to the cinemas and I was at the cinema premiere with my best friend. And the movie was absolutely amazing. I really wanted to watch the movie again..Aaaaand I was lucky because my best friend’s boyfriend also wanted to see the movie in the cinema so I went back to the cinema 5 days later to watch the movie again. I was so excited and so extremely happy that I trembled and could not stand still. xD And for these two reasons, I accidentally dropped my not really old phone. It just fell straight down on the stones in front of the cinema and the display was completely broken..Well, what can I say? I needed a new one.. 😂😅But the movie was still fantastic!😍🤭This is actually one of the stupidest things that ever happened to me. xD

---

(Asked by @kyras-things) What are the little things that make your day happiest?

Oh that’s a really nice question! *-*Well, I have really little things that can make me happy. :)-It is enough for me when I wake up tomorrow and see my merchandise shelf😅 (This is right in front of my bed)This is for most something really small but for me really great and makes me happy. <3Other things are music, stroking my dog, messages on my phone, my hair color, my tattoos, when the sun is shining in the morning, coffee, riding longboard and of course (yes this is my absolute serious and not only so therefore said) tumblr and thus at the same time Duskwood. 💕I think these are the most important things. 🤭All I need is to see something that matters to me.😅🥰

---

(Asked by @leetjep) Seriously....Do you ever sleep?

Very rarely😂 Last time I slept was in fall.😂

---

(Asked by Anon) Ios or android?

Only related to the phone: Android.Yes, I stand by it!😂

---

(Asked by @booklover-01040) Hello!I was wondering have you got any paranormal or creepy experiences? If no, then a nightmare that you will never forget.

Hey Ho! In fact, I haven’t experienced any paranormal things. Which is probably also because I don’t believe in that and I’ve found a rational cause for everything so far. (Important: I don’t believe in it, but I don’t say it doesn’t exist, I don’t want anyone to feel attacked)

And a nightmare I’ll never forget? In fact, I can’t think of any one. There’s a dream I’ve have since I was a kid: It’s about two little wolves trying to eat me. xD And I can even tell where that came from.

The movie to blame for this is: Twilight xD

Yep… When I first watched this movie, I was way too young, and as a child I was always very anxious. Just such things and horror movies in general were terrible for me (today it is actually no longer so) (Even the dream is no longer bad today and yet it has a bitter aftertaste of childhood.)

In any case, I was much too young and that did not let me go back then. xD But a really unsettling dream I had was: Well.. Do you know the Pink Panther? 😂

I once dreamed that the Panther “chased” me through an endless long corridor. It was an endless corridor in pink with countless doors. He sang the theme song and threw clocks at me…😅 And that went on all night until I woke up.

(This, by the way, had a trigger too. A German song (the rapper only took the melody of the title music and wrote his own lyrics. The text isn’t really cool though and that’s the reason)

----

(Asked by @dreamer-writer-fangirl) What color is your hair?

Well, at the moment my hair is green🤭

Check HERE and HERE for pictures.

----

(Asked by Anon) Is your brother younger or older than you?🤗

My brother is older than me.🥰

----

(Asked by Anon) Do you have a nickname?

Yes, actually I have one. I can even say it because it has nothing to do with my real name. :D But please don’t laugh at me. 😂Well, I have the loving nickname: Little Onion. yep…My mom gave me that name for some reasons. 😂

----

(Asked by Anon) some information about your dancing?😄 you mentioned it a few days ago💃

Yeah, well, I danced for 13 years, in different groups, also several groups at the same time. :D It was the hip hop/breakdance direction. But at some point I stopped because I didn’t enjoy it in the groups anymore and time was getting tighter. :/ Unfortunately, there was and is no real other groups here, which is why I stopped completely and now only dance for myself and just for fun.🤭

--

(Asked by Anon) What's your favourite food ?

Uhhhm, I think everything with pasta is my favorite food.😂 I can eat noodles all day. 🤭🍝🍜Well, and of course, Pizza!🍕Pizza is adorable. 😂

----

(Asked by Anon) What type of video games do you like to play?

I don’t really have a favorite type / genre, I don’t play video games that often. I’m actually playing what looks exciting to me without any particular genre or type. 😁🤭

But if I do, I guess I’m the most Nintendo type. So most of the games I play are related to Nintendo. <3

--

(Asked by @mirajane01040-duskwoodmemes) Do you play... Minecraft?

I used to play a lot of Minecraft, but nowadays not so much, and if so, then only the mobile version. This is fun for in between and dispels the boredom. I even started building Duskwood several times, but never finished it. xD Well, yes, sometimes I play Minecraft.

Answer a few days later: Yes, I do!

---

(Asked by Anon) If you could be a fictional character, who would it be and why?

Oh, there are a few. xDBut the three main characters for me: Evey Hammond because of V for Vendetta. Harley Quinn because of The Joker. And, of course, my MC because of Jake. 🤭I know, very superficial reasons but I hope they are enough for you, because these are the main reasons xD 😅🤭

---

(Asked by Anon) Hey hbj i'm curiousFamily or a career? 😋

I choose the career.🤭 After that, there is still enough time, and who says that not both work?😉

---

(Asked by Anon) do you like alcohol?🍷

No, absolutely no. Not a little bit.

---

(Asked by Anon) What is your favorite drink?

If I don’t drink coffee, I only drink sparkling water, my entire life. I very rarely drink something different. Water for life! 🧊

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

Either/or questions from you.

(Asked by @duskwood-legacies) -What would you rather see, Northern Lights or sky lanterns?

That’s easy for me🤭 Northern Lights! If you ask me.. that is magical! *-* (Well, unless it’s like “Tangled” and I get a Flynn Rider.. then sky lanterns xD)

---

(Asked by @duskwood-legacies) -Strawberries or raspberries?

Definitely: Strawberries🍓 *-*

---

(Asked by@duskwood-legacies) Do you prefer angst or fluff?

I think it depends on the general mood I’m in.🤔 I think the best is angst with happy ending.😁

---

(Asked by@duskwood-legacies) Milk or cereal first?

Obviously: Cereal first! 😂🥣

---

(Asked by @justubi) Would you rather have a nosy neighbor pr noisy neighbor?

Unfortunately, I have both. xD But if I could choose, I would opt for the noisy neighbor as I wear headphones all day anyway.😂

---

(Asked by @justubi) Would you rather be poor but love your job or rich but absolutely hate your job?

One hundred percent and without having to think about: poor and love my job!I could never have a job I don’t like. This is a real horror imagination for me😂

---

(Asked by @kyras-things ) Prefer to write fanfics or read them?

Oh that’s a really hard question for me! 🤔 I can’t really make up my mind, but I think I’d rather read than write myself. With stories of others I can better dive into another world and relax. 🤭Because when I write, five hundred other thoughts always fly around in my head and I have to decide how to write something etc.I love writing but sometimes I wish I only had to think about a story and it would be written on a sheet right away. xD <3

---

(Asked by @leetjep) Would you rather have one eye in the middle of your head or two noses?

I take the eye in the middle of my head. 😂Then I would make the Jake eye as a tattoo around it, which would be really cool.🤭

---

(Continues on new asks)

[feliix]

soulmate scribbles  ↠ hwang hyunjin

↠ Hyunjin x Reader

↠ genre: soulmate!au, angst, like 2 seconds of fluff

↠ rating: pg ↠ word count: 587

↠ warnings: explicit language

↠ summary: in a world where the words your soulmate writes on their skin appear on yours, you meet your not-so prince charming through a series of math-related messages.

↠ A/N: unedited again oops!

“Hey, that equation is showing up on your arm again.” Your best friend points out as black ink begins to rise to the surface of your skin. Everything from your soulmate has been radio silent until your semester started this year, and ever since the Pythagorean theorem has shown up on your arm every Wednesday afternoon at around 3 pm.

“Ugh, how do they not remember it by now?” Your annoyance is present in your seething tone. Just because your soulmate can't find a piece of paper to take his algebra notes on means that you have to suffer. 

“You should write something back to them, see if they respond,” she suggests, raising her eyebrows as she admires the darkened ink now on your arm.

It's a clever idea, deciding to follow through with it by pulling out a pen of your own and beginning to write on the bare space on your arm.

Haven’t you learned the pythagorean theorem by now?

After tracing over the words a few times for good measure, you click the end of your pen closed,  “That should do it.” 

Only a few minutes have passed by, but your eyes still have not left your arm hoping that a new message would appear. Time ticks by slowly as you wait and your fingers trace gently over the small equation in the penmanship of your soulmate.

“I wonder if he’s smart.”

Your words are aloud but aren’t intended for anyone to hear. Thoughts of what your soulmate could be like the swirl in your mind. A daydreaming state consumes you, mind picturing what they could like like, what they sound like, what kind of things they like. But the only thing that you know is they always do algebra at 3 PM every Wednesday. 

In the blink of an eye a new phrase appears on your skin:

obviously not if I’m still writing it down

A scoff leaves your mouth once your eyes scan over the message. Nice, so he’s bad at math and kind of an asshole. Without a second thought, your hand is reaching for your pen to scribble something down.

you don’t have to be a jerk about it, it’s on my skin too

It’s hard to tell if you’re more disappointed or angry. But knowing you’ll have to walk around for at least the next few hours with a subtle argument traced on your arm doesn't sit well with you. The bright idea to remove your own penmanship with a wet wipe comes to mind, getting you out of your slump and pacing yourself over to the bathroom to get it off. 

The ink comes off in just a few wipes, leaving only your unknown soulmate’s responses behind. It was painful to look at, honestly. After dreaming about some kind of prince charming that leaves little love notes on your skin for you to wake up to, this is quite a rude awakening. But for some reason, you can’t stop looking at it. 

You can’t believe your eyes when small letters begin to appear in the now-vacant space on your arm. The font is neater than before like the author had taken their time with this one rather than scribbling it down like the last. But once all the words rise to the surface your jaw drops.

I’m sorry - Hyunjin

“Hyunjin.”

The name feels funny coming off your tongue – oddly sweet but with a bitter aftertaste. Unfortunate that your first interaction with your soulmate was a sour one.

‘Soulmate Scribbles’ is copyright 2020 @chaangbin​​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (4)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.8k warnings: torture, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

T W O  W E E K S  E A R L I E R

You couldn’t hear Bucky when he called your name or when he had begged you leave without him. His voice was muffled and muted by the barrier between you and you would have given just about anything to hear his voice once last time, to hold him, to touch him and brush his hair from his eyes, to remind him that he was so incredibly adored and that none of this was his fault, but you wouldn’t get the chance.

Harsh hands gripped at your arms until bruises formed under the thin layer of your suit as Hydra agents dragged you down the hallway. You watched helplessly as Bucky struggled to break through the impenetrable wall, fist colliding to the glass only for it to remain unmarked.

You tried to fight the men, digging your heels to the concrete and flailing in their arms, but there were too many of them. From the distance, you could still make out the desolation in the blue of Bucky’s eyes, the pain and guilt you had helped him work so hard to let out go of rushing back to the surface; the unbridled shock on his face when you said the one thing you had been trying to tell him for years, when you told him you loved him.

On some level you were sure that he knew, but watching the genuine surprise on his face mixed with the devastation of what was about to happen was something else entirely; knowing he had you and lost you all at once.

The agents dragged you around the corner, Bucky disappearing from view, and with one sharp hit to the side of your head, you were pulled to the darkness.

When you woke again, it was to ice cold water and a hard burning in your lungs. Shocked back to consciousness, you struggled to find your breath amongst the pour of the water on your face. When it finally let up, your chest was heaving in throbbing pants, hands curling into the arm rests of the chair you had been bound to, as beads of water ran down your back, your face, and dripped from the ends of your hair.

In front of you stood three men, all dressed in military style uniforms. The two in the back held automatic assault weapons aimed in your direction, safety released, despite the fact that you were currently cuffed in place.

The man at the center stood with his arms crossed; dark hair, scruff along his jaw line, and a jagged scar running from his left temple to the bridge of his nose, crossing over his eye and leaving a clouded, damaged orb in its place he didn’t bother to cover. He wasn’t one you recognized. None of them were.

He nodded to the man standing on your right who held the now empty bucket in his hands. Then, Scarface dismissed the three men, leaving you alone with him. 

He began to circle you, studying you from every angle and you did your best to keep your breathing steady despite the rage boiling in your chest. When he came back around to your front, a slow smirk drew up the right corner of his lips.

“Agent Y/l/n, it is such a pleasure to have you in our company,” he drawled, voice thick, deep, and with an American accent. “My name is Alex Cainning. But you can call me Cain.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, unwilling to provide even an ounce of reaction. Cain shrugged, unbothered.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we went through the trouble of setting up false intel just to lure you to our base and provide us with the prime opportunity to take hostage one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” He chuckled, unable to even get the term passed his lips before he started laughing. “That title always irked me. Sure, I get the science experiments and egotistical billionaire with the super suit and the literal God of Thunder, but you? What do you possibly have to offer to a team like that? You're human. Weak. Just like the arrow guy and the soviet whore.”

You gritted your teeth. “So why take me? Why bother if I’m so... uninteresting?”

“Even despite your failings, your arrogance is astounding.” Cain smiled, running his tongue over the white of his teeth. “You make the mistake in thinking this is even about you.”

A flash of surprised grazed your features and before you could restrain it. Cain had clearly noticed. A satisfaction curved up his lips as he turned towards the door. He paused, knocked several times and the locks began to unclick. You counted eight.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Agent Y/l/n,” Cain said as he stepped through the door, the dim lighting behind him making it impossible to make out the layout beyond the four walls to the cell they had dropped you in. “Make yourself comfortable. You won’t be leaving.”

The door slammed shut and the metal clasps binding your wrists to the chair snapped open. Sprinting up, you raced to the door, shoving your shoulder against it though you knew it would do no use. You pounded your fists to the metal frame, shouting for them to let you go, to face you like the grimy cowards they were, and you only stepped away when your arms had grown sore and an ache throbbed in your hands.

You panted, turning back to look around the room. Concrete walls by concrete floor with a single twin mattress sitting upon the ground in the left corner. It was stained and warped with use, springs puncturing the surface and a dark red discoloring on the ground beside it.

Head pulsing, you brought your hand to the source to find a sticky substance on your head. A heavy sigh as you lowered your hand to examine it further to find blood coating your fingertips. You must have sustained the injury when they knocked you out.

Feeling dizzy, you slowly made your way to the mattress, grabbing a hold of the corner and dragged it to the right side of the room, away from the blood stain on the floor. You flipped the mattress over, somewhat relieved to find the underside minimally less repulsive, and collapsed down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried not to think about what Cain had meant, about why they chose to take you of everyone who had stormed that base.

Bucky was just as trapped on the other side of that wall, if not more so because he didn’t have access to the exit the way you did. But they left him alone, didn’t even attempt to injure or subdue him. They just left him to watch. It didn’t make any sense.

Why bother taking you if it wasn’t you they wanted?

***

Five days later and you learned their routine.

With no windows in your room, it was impossible to keep track of time, but these men, these soldiers, had schedules, and they came barreling into your cell with the smell of coffee on their breath and crumbs in their beards enough to tell you that morning broke. They’d strap you into the chair, ask you some questions about the security at the compound to which you’d give them jack-shit, and they’d return the favor with a few cuts to your arms, a punch to the gut, or a damp washcloth pressed over your nose and mouth until you couldn’t breathe.

You’d been trained by the best, which meant you could withstand torture on par with Navy Seals. It frustrated Cain to no end, though he still had yet to explicitly tell you what they had captured you for. You assumed part of it was to obtain information on the Avenger’s compound, on the Avenger’s habits and schedules, perhaps on SHIELD’s strike strategies or their weapon’s base, but that was information he’d be able to get from any agent, even a rookie. It didn’t explain why they needed you.

After a few bruises to your ribs, reopening the split in your lip, and coming up empty handed again, they’d leave you alone for a few hours.

Then, they’d return a second time and once you overheard one of them grumbling about the choices of food in the dining hall, which lead you to believe their second visit took place around dinner time. It was around then that they’d bring you a tray of three slices of bread, a wrinkling apple with brown spots on the sides, and a cup of water that had flecks in it and a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t touch it for the first three days, but caved on the fourth from the awful pangs in your stomach.

So, for five days, you knew what to expect. Torture and interrogation on the first visit in the morning. Food on the second visit. Aimless silence and solitude in between.

That was, until you were no longer alone.

Halfway through your fifth day in captivity, mid-way between the waterboarding you endured earlier that morning over your refusal to provide information on the layout of the compound and your only meal of the day, you heard a muffled groan through the wall beside you.

Propping yourself up on your elbows on the lumpy mattress, you narrowed your eyes on the wall next to you. A sharp crack in the foundation of the concrete ran along the surface, ending in an impossibly small opening by the corner of the walls. A shuffling came through, this time followed by the sharp close of a door.

You leaned closer to the hole in the wall in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond it, but then the twist in your stomach sent a stabbing pain through you ribs and you let out a yelp, collapsing back down onto the mattress that provided no relief. You grumbled under your breath, frustrated with the state of your weakened body.

“Hello?” a voice called through the wall, male, American. Midwestern, maybe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you huffed, pressing your hand to your side to help alleviate the pain from where Cain had given a rather rough beating to your ribs the day before.

“Where-- Where are we?” the voice asked, trembling almost, and it surprised you.

“Not sure,” you replied truthfully, staring up at the ceiling. “Hydra base for sure. Location... Don’t have a clue. Nationalities of the soldiers seem to be all over the place so getting a sense of the country has been difficult. My best guess is western Asia, maybe Middle East. Couldn’t have been more than a few hours plane from where they took me in Russia.”

There was a long pause before the voice spoke.

“Sounds like you, uh, you know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

You shrugged, hulling yourself up to sit on the mattress with your back pressed to the wall. The crack wasn’t wide enough to get a good look at him but you could make out the blur of him sitting just a foot away from the shared wall, knees tucked to his chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of my job to know that kind of stuff,” you said, surprised when a breath of a laugh passed through you. When he didn’t reply, you took a deep breath. “So, what got you landed in this dump, anyway?”

“Oh-- I um, I was stationed in Iran with my unit and... it was so stupid, I wandered off base to help this guy whose car broke down,” he replied and you could hear him tap his head against the wall in frustration.

“Army?”

“First tour, actually,” he confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t even make it three weeks.”

He sounded young. Too young to be signing his life over to a military that would offer him no favors and leave him defenseless and traumatized when and if he eventually returned back to the states. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

“Listen kid,” you started, pressing your hand to the wall as if he could see you. “I’m with SHIELD and I guarantee there’s some pretty pissed off people looking for me. We’ll get you out of here, okay?”

“SHIELD? Shit, you must be pretty important,” he chuckled softly and it was nice to hear the fear slipping out of his voice.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied, though the smile fell from your face rather quickly. An image of Bucky on the other side of the glass barrier flashed behind your eyes, the panic, the desperation, the last words you saw on his lips as you were dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. “My team, they’re like my family. They’ll find me.”

“Sounds nice. My unit just rags on each other all day and I’m pretty sure my Sergeant straight up hates me.”

You laughed, listening to his stories from the base. Once he started talking, it was difficult to get him to stop, not that you much wanted to. It was a nice alternative to being alone with your thoughts, getting caught up in wondering what Bucky was doing or if he was losing himself again to the guilt and shame he worked so hard to overcome.

Over the next few hours, you learned the kid’s name was Danny and he grew up in some town in Indiana with a total of two gas stations and a single grocery store. He told you he thought joining the army was his shot to make something of himself when he dropped out of community college a year in and couldn’t find a decent paying job to make it work back home.

Danny was a sweet kid. Young. Naïve. The kind of person that would disobey orders to help a stranger start their car a mile off base, only to find out it was a trap set by Hydra agents.

The hours seemed to go by faster now that you had Danny. He only put the pieces together about who you really were when you gave him your first name.

“Y/n? Wait--” Danny paused, a soft shuffling as he repositioned himself on the other side of the wall. “As in Agent Y/n Y/L/n of the Avengers?”

You chuckled at that, a slight nod before you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy shit! How did you not lead with that!?” Danny shouted excitedly, though a muffled breath alerted you that he had clapped his hand to his mouth to keep his voice down. “You were all over the news before I got taken...”

“Oh--”

“So, the team you were talking about? Your family... is the Avengers?” Danny asked, seeking confirmation he didn’t quite need as he started to answer it all on his own. “That’s nuts! What’s it like working for Captain America? Or, or Iron Man? Is Tony Stark as cool as he seems?”

“Well first off, I don’t work for Rogers. I work with him,” you laughed, enjoying his amusement, “and Stark is a massive dork. Don’t believe the garbage in the papers about him. He’s a good guy and definitely way cooler than he seems.”

Danny asked you about a hundred different questions about what it was like working with the Avengers, about your friends, and how you came to be part of the team.

You wondered if he had chosen a different path, if maybe there were more opportunities presented to him, he would have done well as an Agent, or a technical analyst, or even doing crew work because he had the kind of excitement so many of the rookies were lacking these days.

Hours later, your stomach was starting growl, more so than it usually did, and it was getting close to your second visit of the day. You were laying down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, hand propped under your head as you did your best to get comfortable.

You told Danny of the schedule you had come to learn and warned him that they might try and hurt him for information he won’t know the answers to. That scared him a bit, but you promised you’d be here for him, that if he could just hold on a little while longer, you were certain Buc-- your team would get the two of you out of here soon.

***

You started keeping track of the days in scratched lines under the top right corner of the mattress. Nine marks in the concrete. Nine days you’d been held in captivity.

You kept your eyes closed long after you woke from your restless sleep, muscles aching from the lumps in the hard mattress and goosebumps littering your skin from the chill in the room. The dream you had had been a decent one, one absent of nightmares and horrors from your past or the fear of your impending future. No, this dream was about the first time you got Bucky to leave the compound and venture out into Brooklyn.

You decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars after some serious convincing and a few concessions to opt for his team over Steve’s in the next full team mission and to bring him back a cold pizza from a specific shop in Queens. Tony was always a bit of a negotiator and he took a quick liking to you after you joined the team a few years back. He had a hard time saying no to you.

Bucky was apprehensive the entire walk down the garage. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, navy blue bomber hiding the reflection of his left arm, and a baseball cap to shield his eyes. He was still in covert mode and you were determined to shake him of that. He didn’t need to be so guarded. He was an Avenger now, not a criminal, and he had every right to enjoy a day in the city as the next guy.

You told him so and he just waved you off with a shrug. He didn’t believe it just yet. 

He stared at the red paint on Stark’s convertible as you jumped into the driver’s seat for a solid three minutes before he eventually opened the door and slumped into the seat next to you. 

“There’s no turning back now, Barnes,” you grinned over at him as you roared the engine to life. It was an older model, vintage, and the engine had that kind of purr that reminded Bucky of cars from his youth. He let a smile slip before he could suppress it.

He had only been living at the compound for a few months and while he had started coming on those early runs with you and would only occasionally mumble a few things under his breath, he had still agreed to go with you into the city. It surprised you when he said yes right away. You thought you would have needed to threaten his coffee supply before he caved, though you didn’t complain.

You parked Tony’s car outside of the city limits at a train station that was largely unoccupied and purchased tickets to the heart of Brooklyn from the woman at the counter. Bucky stood a careful distance behind you, silently observing the few commuters standing by the platform from under the bridge of his cap.

“Hey,” you said softly, noticing the way he was suspiciously eyeing a man reading a newspaper on a bench by the tracks, taking a step further away, “you’re safe, Bucky. No one here is a threat.”

Without thinking, you ran your hand up his arm in hopes to ease his tension, but in that shiver that traces up his spine, he flinched away instantly, almost repulsively and he gritted his teeth, embarrassed at his own reaction. He hadn’t meant to, but he wasn’t used to touch like that. Soft. Gentle. Without cruel intent. 

You quickly muttered an apology and stepped away from him, giving him a few feet of space. You didn’t notice the way he glanced back over at you, sad blue eyes wishing for you to try again, knowing if he had just been prepared for it, if he’d known it was coming from you, he'd lean into it. It would be welcomed, maybe. He hoped. 

When the train rolled up at the platform, you ushered for Bucky to follow you inside. At the rear of the car, you spotted two open seats far away from the crowd, though you did warn him it would fill up before you made it to Brooklyn. Bucky nodded at that, though he still insisted on sitting in the aisle seat. Quickest escape. Easiest to protect you.

He did better on the train than you expected, even with the crowds and with the unpleasant memories of the fall, though you did have to stare daggers into a teenager who had set his sights on Bucky. Some cocky little prick who recognized the former winter soldier and was snickering something to his snide little friends. It was the last thing Bucky needed. So, you scooted just an inch closer to him and didn’t take your eyes off the kid the entire way to Brooklyn. If Bucky noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Once you got to your stop, Bucky had exhaled a heavy sigh of relief the moment he stepped out of the train. The sun was warm on your skin, even in shorts and a t-shirt, so you couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling under all those layers. 

You tried to convince him to take the jacket off, but he just pressed out a thin smile and said, “I’m good, doll.”

It was the first time he called you one of those names, those terms of endearment he never seemed to give to anyone else, and it made your stomach twist. He said it so casually, just rolling off his tongue, and you wondered if he realized the effect it had.

You had your sights on bringing him to a bookstore that claimed to be around since the ‘20s, but the architecture seemed too recent and if you were honest, you wanted to prove to those gentrifying hipsters that you saw right through their round framed glasses, ankle pants, and expertly groomed facial hair. Regardless, you needed to get Bucky caught up on the literary masterpieces he missed in the last few decades.

Bucky kept a careful stride by your side, though you noticed he swerved out of the way of on-comers despite being much larger of anyone he encountered. It was endearing almost, and though you knew he was nervous, he still came with you anyway. It made you smile.

“Oh! Bucky, there it is!” you yelped, pointing to the bookshop across the street. You grabbed his left hand from his jacket pocket without thinking much of it and dragged him across the street. 

He jogged behind you, trying to keep up as you pushed through a sea of pedestrians, and you didn’t let go of his hand even as you stepped into the cool air conditioning of the bookshop.

“This wasn’t here in the forties, was it?” you prodded from Bucky, eyes catching on the hipster you often found yourself feuding with. The owner, characteristically wearing suspenders he clearly didn’t need, rolled his eyes.

Bucky cleared his throat and you narrowed your eyes on him, confused, until he glanced down between you to your hands, still wrapped together with yours clutching solid metal. Your eyes widened and you stepped away from him, dropping his hand in an instant. 

“Shit, I’m-- I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you apologized nervously, scratching at the back of your neck. “I don’t always think when I get excited and-- I’m sorry I should have paid more attention. I know you don’t like it when people touch--”

“It’s okay,” Bucky replied sincerely, cutting you off with the sweet, kind smile you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. 

He glanced around the bookshop, stepping further inside, and to your surprise, he removed his hat. The hairs at the nape of his neck were damp with sweat and while you knew there wasn’t a chance he’d go as far to remove his jacket, it was a step. He raked his fingers through his hair to put shape back to it.

“I don’t know for sure, but I definitely don’t recognize this place,” Bucky offered and before he could tell you that he almost swore there used to be a tailor in this spot, you had already started gloating to the thirty-something-year-old owner. 

By the time you turned around again, Bucky was chuckling under his breath and it made something swell behind your chest. 

Now, lying in the cold, dimly lit cell at a Hydra facility, you kept that image of Bucky as long as you could. Not daring to open your eyes in fear of losing the picture of the crinkles up by his eyes, the incredibly kind blue of his irises, the freckles under the thin layer of scruff on his cheeks and the wonder with which he carried as you explored the rest of Brooklyn together.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold back the well of tears when suddenly, the sharp clicks of your door began to unlock.

“Y/n...?” Danny’s voice called for you nervously, recognizing the sound himself.

“Don’t let them know you can hear what goes on, okay?” you said quickly, watching the door for when it opens. “No matter what happens, I’ll be fine, you hear me? Just don’t let them know. They’ll move one of us if they do.”

Danny didn’t have time to reply before the door to your room slammed open with a sharp bang! and Cain strolled inside, pushing his sleeves up his arms. His eyes settled on you as two of his men rushed towards you, grabbing a tight hold of your arms and yanking you to your feet. They shoved you into the chair deadbolted to the center of the room and locked your wrists into the metal cuffs.

“It’s going to be a good day, Y/n,” Cain smirked, leaning over you and running his fingers down the side of your face. You stretched your neck away from him, revolted by his touch. Cain only snickered, unbothered, as he straightened his back.

“Yeah?” you grumbled. “Why’s that?”

“Because today is the day you’re going to tell me about what our... mutual friend,” Cain sneered and the men behind him started to laugh. You narrowed your eyes, a dread forming in your stomach, as Cain cracked his knuckles. “How’s the asset adjusting to the ivory tower? He still twitchy if he hears a certain set of words?”

You clenched your jaw tight enough to draw blood from the bite of your cheek. Face as stoic as you could manage, you didn’t dare meet Cain’s eye. Even hearing Bucky referred to as ‘the asset’ set a rage firing in your stomach.

“Touchy subject?” Cain taunted and he threw a nauseating smirk at the soldiers behind him, all too amused by your attempts to ignore him. “Tell me, what exactly is your relationship to the soldier? Can’t imagine he actually has feelings under all that mush in his brain. I do have to be honest, though. I am exceptionally curious... can he even get it up?”

You let a heavy breath exhale through your nose as you kept you stare at the door. You jaw ached from how tight to was clamped down. He snickered with the guards behind him and your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

“Listen princess,” Cain started, pacing back and forth along the small room, “we can go through this day by day and I can keep torturing you, but when is it going to end? Huh? It ends with you telling me what I want to know. And I want to know about that insufferable, botched experiment of a traitor!”

Cain’s fist hit the side of your face before you could quite prepare for it. It stung, burned, and you met his eye as you spat blood onto the floor.

He groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “Did that... teenager in Wakanda get the trigger words out of the asset's head or not?”

“His name is Bucky, you piece of shit,” you growled and a flash of shock flash over Cain’s face, only to be replaced by an unsettling rage as his upper lip began to twitch, a heat in his face built entirely from fury.

He held his hand out behind him and one of the soldiers placed a brass ring in the center of his palm. You took in a steady breath, heart pounding, and in a fruitless attempt to prepare yourself. Cain slipped the ring onto his fingers, admiring it as it reflected in the dim lighting.

“One last time before this gets ugly. Have your docs cleared the trigger words from the asset’s head? Answer me, bitch, or you’ll regret it.”

“Fuck. You,” you spat, your hands curling into the arm rests, ready for what came next. He was a fool if he thought you’d turn on Bucky before you turned on SHIELD. You’d give up everything before you gave up Bucky.

It didn’t matter why they needed to know if Shuri had been successful in clearing the trigger words from his mind. You weren’t telling them shit, even if the words had been removed years ago. Bucky was free from these assholes and it wasn’t information they should even had the privilege of knowing.

Then, in one swift movement, Cain’s hand curled into a fist and he let out a ragged shout as the brass metal of the ring came in contact with the side of your face. A sharp crack! sounded through the room and your vision began to double. Cain swayed in front of you, two of him, four of the men behind him, and he shook the blood from his knuckles.

You struggled to keep your head up, eyes falling heavy as the menacing sound of his laugh echoed through the room. The last thing you saw was his hand raising up again, ready to strike, before darkness consumed you.

***

“Y/n?”

You groaned, rolling over onto your back and your cheek stung as your skin pealed from the concrete. Dried blood caked against the ground as you struggled to push yourself up. You didn’t know how you ended up on the floor or when they had released you from the chair, but the splitting ache in your head was enough to know you’d been knocked out cold.

“Come on, Y/n, wake up... you better still be alive over there...”

“M’alive,” you muttered out, using most of your energy to do so. Your arms collapsed beneath you and the concrete was cool on your skin.

“You sure?” Danny called nervously. “It didn’t sound good over there... What do they want with the Winter Soldier anyway?”

“Bucky,” you choked out as you crawled to the mattress in the corner of the room.

“What?”

“His name is Bucky,” you repeated, determined for at least one other person in this hell hole to know Bucky as the man you did, not just as the weapon Hydra designed him to be.

Danny paused and you could vaguely hear him scratching at his head. “Right, of course. Sorry. Do you think they’ll go after Bucky, too?”

You sighed, a slight swell of relief as you curled up onto the mattress, resting your head against the thin layer of cushion, thought it was stiff and prodded you with metal springs.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you admitted, eyes falling heavy again. “If they want to know about the trigger words, they’re probably looking to activate the soldier again or... I don’t know...” your eyes closed, head starting to feel dizzy again and you struggled to talk, “...make new ones or... restart... restart the program with someone else... make it so they can’t take the words out of... of...”

Danny cursed under his breath and you didn’t hear him call your name again, lost again to the cold embrace of your mind.

***

Fourteen marks hidden under your mattress and it had been two weeks since you’d been taken hostage. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t questioning whether the team would ever find you. You held onto that image of Bucky, the one of him from your day in Brooklyn with the smile that etched up into his eyes, because it was the only thing keeping you from giving in to the hopelessness Cain worked so hard to instill in you.

“You doing okay, kid?” you asked through the wall after Danny groaned for the third time in as many minutes.

Turned out, Hydra had a use for the young soldier because they started to take him from his cell mid-way between the two visits they paid to your room. Danny was quiet about what they did when he was taken away. All he’d tell you was that they beat him and asked a few questions he didn’t know the answers to. You left it alone.

“Yeah,” Danny sighed, mattress squeaking as he turned over. “Better than you seem to be.”

Cain had grown increasingly frustrated with you and your refusal to give him any information on the team or on Bucky. He broke your nose the day prior and had yet to allow the doctor on site to attend to the infected open wound on your cheekbone from the brass ring. It oozed and smelled and ached like nothing else, like it had a pulse all its own.

Not only that, but Cain had decided to withhold your meals for the last three days as punishment for when you spat on his face after he taunted you about Bucky’s history as the soldier, how they had conditioned him and broke him. Despite the three punches to your gut that followed, it had been worth it. At least, until you started to feel so weak you could hardly hold your head up.

“I told you, Danny, I’m a survivor. It’s what I’m trained for,” you replied, leaning against the wall to get some relief from the fever flushing your skin.

“Yeah, but--”

The clicks echoed through your room and Danny silenced immediately. You closed your eyes, a heavy exhale in your lungs as you prepared for the devil to walk through. Cain stepped in through the frame with two lackies behind him. Only bothering to watch from the corner of your eye as you kept yourself slumped against the wall, too tired and too feverish to even produce the effort to glare at him.

“Come on, princess, we’ve got a show to do,” Cain sneered, his hand snaking around your forearm painfully tight and he yanked you to your feet. Your knees buckled under you and Cain let out a frustrated groan and tossed you into the arms of one of his men. “Get her to the holding room.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in a thick Australian accent. His grip was no kinder as he hulled you through the door.

As they dragged you through the hallways, you tried to memorize the layout of the building, but were met with too much stimulation, blinding white lights, chatter of the agents, and an influx of various sounds you hadn’t been exposed to in weeks and it was all too much. You clamped your eyes shut and the dizziness in your head kept you from following his pattern through the halls.

Then, you were thrown to the ground, cold concrete under your body and a sigh of relief was only short lived before you were yanked up again, shoved into a chair and wrists locked to the arm rests.

You licked at the split on your lip, seeking moisture to alleviate the dryness there, only for it to burn. You winced, trying to find your strength as you watched Cain pace around the room. It was then you noticed the camera standing upon a tripod just a few feet from you. You swallowed back the bile in your throat at the steady realization of what they were going to attempt.

A woman walked into the room; someone Cain must have been waiting for because he stopped pacing the moment she stepped through the frame. Blonde hair tied up away from her face and dressed in jeans and a black, long sleeve t-shirt; she made her way to the camera, standing behind it and adjusting the specs.

“Listen up, princess,” Cain growled, grabbing a tight hold of your chin and forcing you to look in his direction. “You’re going to read from the cue cards and that’s it, do you hear me? No cute little quips or secret messages, because we’ll just start over and you won’t like what happens when we do.”

Cain’s grip grew tighter and you couldn’t stop the whimper the came out. Cain smirked at that, releasing you and your jaw ached even as he stepped away. He moved to stand behind the blonde woman he addressed as ‘Moira’ and nodded for one of his henchmen to hold the card up.

The red light appeared on the side of the camera, blinking. You stared at it for a moment, the thought occurring to you that your friends would see this, Bucky would see this, and you didn’t want to imagine the look on their faces when they did. If anything, it gave them proof you were still alive. You knew the SHIELD protocol was to presume an agent dead after ten days missing behind enemy lines. It was an efficient system, a largely accurate one. Hydra didn’t usually keep their prisoners alive for this long.

“Read,” Cain seethed from behind the camera and you thought of Bucky, of Nat, of Steve, Tony, Sam, everyone back at the compound and you wondered what they would do, if they would give in to these demands so easily.

So, with a defiance, you looked straight into the camera and spat, “Fuck Hydra.”

It was a mistake.

Cain rushed at you, unclipped your restraints and slammed you so hard against the wall, you were certain your head cracked. Vision blurring as his hand wrapped around your neck, spitting words into your ear you couldn’t quite hear as his fingers dug into your jugular. You scratched at him, nails too frail to make any bit of difference, and you struggled to breathe.

Gasping for breaths, kicking the air beneath you and Cain pushed you higher up the wall, and an immeasurable pressure built in your lungs, in your head, and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Enough, Cain! I need her to actually be able to speak for this to be effective,” Moira groaned and Cain released his grip on you. You slumped down to the floor, barely able to catch your breath. “I’ll just keep rolling. Get her in the chair and we’ll go again.”

This time, it was Cain’s men that strapped you down to the chair, masks covering their faces for the sake of the camera. You stared at the blinking red light, then to the center of the lens, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky, would be on the other side watching this soon enough. You didn’t dare wonder how he’d react.

For a brief moment, unsure, your eyes flicked to Cain. Without much of a warning, his fist barreled against your jaw, just for the hesitation, and you spit a glob of blood off the side of the chair.

It took every ounce of energy you had to glare in his direction, though when Cain’s hand curled back into a fist and his upper lip twitched at you, you dropped your gaze.

Then, looking back to the cue cards placed just under the camera’s lens, you read, “My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n. I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

Your voice was raspy, broken, from Cain’s grip on your neck.

Moira grabbed a newspaper from the floor and put it in front of the camera, focusing on the date. Then, she tossed it aside. You swallowed back the excess blood in your throat. You glanced down at the cue cards, narrowing your eyes upon the words. Your heart dropped.

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw as you turned to Cain. “I’m not reading that.”

Another hit to your jaw and blood splattered from your lips. A heavy pant in your lungs and a blinding pulse in your head, you turned back to the camera. There was no fighting this. Your body couldn’t take any more. You straightened your back, hardening your features so it was clear, without a doubt, that these words were not your own.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant. “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eye flashing at Cain before your turned back to the camera and thought of Bucky. You knew he’d take your words to heart, that he’d latch onto any excuse to blame himself for this, and you spoke the words anyway, even if you hated yourself for it. “They can’t even protect their own.”

The cue cards fell to the ground and Cain nodded, pleased as you bit down on your tongue to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“You will hear from us again,” Cain announced off camera and you couldn’t stop the look of blatant detest as you glared at him.

Moira moved to turn off the camera and your breath hitched. It was your last connection to Bucky, to your family. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lens, imagining that it was Bucky you were staring at; deep blue ocean eyes and a kind smile that warmed a sense of relief in your chest.

Then, the red dot vanished and he was lost to you.

--

ok fam if you thought this was tough... just you wait 

feedback is always appreciated 💖

tags 🎥 @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes​ / @mywinterwolf​ / @breatheeagainnnn​ / @jewelofwinter​ / @panic-naran​ / @fairislesheets​ / @kaliforniacoastalteens​ / @captain-hammer-of-asgard​ / @daydreamsquad​ / @deanssweetheart​ / @maybesomedaytho​ / @montypythonsholysnail​ / @saharzek​ / @jillybeaner13​ / @chubby-dumplin​ / @searchingforbucky​ / @alohafromhell1​ / @tabalugax​ / @shesalatesh​ / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp​ / @aliensbecameourstyle​ / @bucksgoat​ / @serpensortiaaa​ / @trash-rats-unite​ / @hungry-pasta​ / @nervosaa​ / @lbuck121​/ @get0verit​ / @obama-mia​ / @imsoft-barnes​ / @this-broken-band-girl​ / @michelehansel​ / @itz-kira​ / @forever157​ / @grey-water-colors​ / @sebastianstan-posts​ / @sarcastic-and-cool​ / @sweetheartbarnes

[sadaurorasandprose]

vengeful by v.e. schwab

I want to ask Victoria Schwab: How could you do this to me? How? You knew I would suffer. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this book and hurting over it. I was genuinely terrified of this book. I loved Vicious with all my soul and I knew it was originally meant to be a standalone, so I was afraid of what a sequel would mean. And when I read the first chapter, I knew I would love it. Victoria has an amazing way to make characters painfully flawed, undoubtably human. This was no exception. I already knew I loved Victor Vale and would excuse murder for him. All my heart has belonged to Sydney Clarke since the dawn of time. Mitch is the father figure she deserved. And Eli was always complex and something I had trouble wrapping my head around, yet I liked him. But this book introduces two amazing characters. Marcella was powerful, she had doubtful morals but then again they all do. She was tired of being seen as a pretty object that could never be powerful. She wanted to take over the mob. Take over the city. Be the fucking golden queen. Everything about her screamed fear and power. “People looked at her and assumed a whole lot. That a pretty face meant an empty head, that a girl like her was only after an easy life, that she would be satisfied with luxury, instead of power—as if you couldn’t want both.” June has the coolest power of the whole series. A living voodoo doll? That is game changing. She definitely has a violent past, but I am glad to see her be so independent and strong. She was not Marcella's sidekick. She was simply entertaining herself. And I would be very interesting to know more about her in the future. I need to know more about her. Where is she now? Sydney's character development here is great. I still think she should be protected at all costs. And I do mean at all costs, Victoria Schwab. Do not harm her. I am ready to read a third book where everything revolves around her. I crave it. The last 100 pages or so in this book gave me a near heart attack. I was shaking and jumping on the couch and my jaw was open the whole time. I couldn't believe what I was reading. And I was listening to "Game of Survival - Ruelle" which added a spooky thriller ambiance to what already was a crazy game of catch-me-if-you-can. I hate superheroes, but supervillains are definitely my shit. This is amazing. It was amazing. Like, it was so amazing. But I have the most bitter aftertaste from that ending. And knowing V.E. Schwab said it would take her 5 years to write another one is just the cherry on top of my pain. I need more and I need more now. I am left with a void on my chest. I just cannot wait to read more about these characters. Finally, is this a 5 stars? No. Vicious is. But this is a 4.25 stars for me. Simply because it was very long and at the beginning I wished it would go by a bit faster. But the pace quickly picked up back to that addictive, snappy pace that I had known and loved in Vicious. This sequel is worth it, to me. I know many have different opinions but I sincerely do believe that this is worth it. It's a crazy, wild, cardiac experience. I loved it. "So it wasn't a matter of force, but feeling. That was fine. Marcella had quite a lot of feelings."

[theartofimaginaryfriends]

A Pretty Drei-dull Holiday (Part 5)

Fic series: Hanukkah Oneshots

Characters: Jewish!Percy x Jewish!Reader, Jewish!Sally, Paul Blofis, Estelle

Premise: The Jackson’s have a tense Hanukkah dinner with Y/N’s family.

Masterlist

taglist: @pjsolympians

Word count: 949

A/N: this fic isn’t ~happy~ but the holidays aren’t always. I’ve been to a couple tense Jewish dinners (different scenario than this, but still) where it was uncomfy. And I recognize that realistically, Sally wouldn’t fight with another parent, but when her son is involved I imagine she could be set off. Three more days and three more fics :) hope you enjoy this one!

For the fifth day: the fifth light is the light of Holiness. Purity of thought, nobility of action make all of life sacred. From the Prophet Isaiah, these words have been taken into Israel's prayer book: Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts."

The Jackson's knew the L/N family well enough, but the Hanukkah dinner at their home felt different this year. Percy and Y/N had only recently started dating, and their relationship had added a certain amount of tension with Y/N's parents.

Percy's track record of getting in trouble and being on local news left Y/N's parents uncertain about their relationship. Not once had he been outwardly a threat, but that didn’t stop them from being cautious around the eighteen-year-old. They were especially protective of their children when he was around, and quite frankly weren't happy with their eldest's decision.

They walked out of the elevator that led up to the Penthouse, and followed the sound of latkes being fried, breathing in the delicious aroma. "Sally, how good to see you!"

Mrs L/N embraced her friend, as well as Paul, before giving Percy a tight-lipped smile. "It's good to see you, Mrs L/N."

"You too." she ushered them to the foyer, where Y/N was in a deep discussion with their little sister, Abby, about her most recent hyper fixation. Percy gravitated towards his partner, and gently placed a hand on their shoulder.

"Happy Hanukkah," they smiled up at him and stood up.

"Happy Hanukkah," he smiled back and kissed them. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you," they said, blushing. He took a seat next to them, and after greeting Abby and father, listened to the twelve-year-old continue rambling on. Watching how the siblings interacted caused Percy to feel even more excited about Estelle growing up. The nine-month-old baby could only say a few words, but she was already showing a very strong personality. Seemed as stubborn as her older brother, and he was looking forward to watching her grow up.

As expected the air was tense. Y/N's parents hardly paid attention to Percy, and mostly talked to Sally and Paul. After all, they had a problem with the kid and not the parents. Y/N wanted to protest, but Percy wouldn’t let them. He kept telling them that he can deal with it for an evening, and it was no big deal. Sally, however, noticed the lack of attention on her son and tried to bring up something positive going on in his life any time she saw an opening. "Percy joined the swim team at his school. He's become captain, actually."

"Oh, how nice," Y/N's father replied, glancing over at Percy with slight distaste. He moved on to talk about Y/N's extracurricular, not-so-subtly attempting to one-up their boyfriend. This turned into a 'who has the better kid' competition, making Y/N increasingly more annoyed.

After they had lit the candles and sat down for dinner, the conversation died down. Everyone ate in a tense silence, the latkes and brisket not tasting as good as usual. The bitterness in the air tainted the food, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste in their mouths. "Y/N, why don't you tell Sally and Paul about your most recent art project?"

"Alright, that's it," they sighed, and put their utensils down. "First of all, they already know about it and I told them before I told you. Second of all, I don't understand why you can't see that Percy is a genuinely good guy. Whatever the two of you are so worked up about happened in the past. It's one thing to make this another uncomfortable and passive-aggressive family dinner, but it’s another to try and downplay his accomplishments by bringing up my own. I'm sick of staying silent because Percy and his parents don't deserve it. Come get me when you've apologized. I can't be around you right now."

Y/N got up from the table and disappeared into their room. They flopped onto their bed, and closed their eyes, needing a moment to themself. Not long after, someone opened the door, and joined Y/N on the bed, causing the mortal to open their eyes. "If looks could kill, I would be dead."

"I'm sorry," they grumbled.

"Hey, don't apologize," Percy spoke gently, pushing a stray hair out of their face.

"Did they?"

"Only for your behaviour," he rolled his eyes. "Which started an argument between our parents because my Mom agreed with you."

"Glad to know that I'm still in Sally's good graces," they gave a faint smile. "Still, I wish I didn’t address the elephant in the room until after the dinner was over."

"Everything happens for a reason, right?" Percy smirked, using a phrase Y/N said frequently.

"Yeah, yeah," they sat up and gave their boyfriend a playful glare. Percy lifted his arm, inviting Y/N to cuddle with him, and they sat there in silence while they listened to the voices increasing in volume. As the argument turned into full-on shouting, Abby entered the bedroom.

"Can I join you?" she asked, her voice small. "I don’t want to be out there anymore."

"I have a better idea," Y/N got up and grabbed their wallet. "Why don’t we go out, and get some sufganiyot at the bakery down the street?"

"Yes!" her eyes lit up.

"Mom's terrifying when she's mad, so absolutely." Percy agreed. "If they don’t notice us leaving, I'll text my parents to let them know where we are and that your sister is with us."

The three of them managed to leave the penthouse without the parents noticing, the four of them too busy arguing to even realize Abby left the table. Hopefully, things would die down by the time they got back, but if not it didn't matter. Y/N didn't need their parent's approval to date Percy. They loved him no matter what.

[ladybugsfanfics]

Seven Days [1/7]

→ Pairing: prince!Loki Odinson x pirate!reader 

(eventually prince!Loki x pirate!Steve Rogers x pirate!reader)

→ WC:  3.1k

→ Warnings: Smut, some blood gore, idk, awkwardness, nightmares, (countless) sexual innuendos

→ Summary: Prince Loki has run sick of not feeling welcome at the palace and asks to join you and your life forever. You give him seven days to try the new life, seven days to realize how much he loves you. And in those seven days, he learns to know you, and himself (and the first mate) a little better… In the end, he only has one question left to answer. Will he stay?

A/N: I’m so excited for this, and it’s finally here. This was originally a part of @nastybuckybarnes​ writing challenge but that ended in september so I think that ship’s sailed (still tagging you tho, i’m sorry). anyways, i hope you like it as much as i do ^_^

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

PROLOGUE

His cloak flutters as the wind brushes past him. It nips at his exposed skin and nearly drags off the hood covering his face. He wraps the cloak tighter around him, tells his rapidly beating heart he’s making the right decision. 

The night life of Asgard is full, he notes, as he walks into the market square. Most of the booths have closed shop for the evening, yet people walk in hushed whispers and loud yells across the cobblestones. Heels clank against the rough surface, his own along with everyone else’s. The air smells of booze and saltwater, of sweat and perfume. 

He walks past an open inn. Loud noises of music, games, and drinks clattering against each other in celebration fills the open streets. He rushes past, the inn being too close for someone not to recognize him. 

Moments later, the port welcomes him. The booths and a few inns exchanged with taverns and ships lining the docks. Seawater fills his nose as he grows closer. The sounds of earlier fades into the background to leave space for the louder noise of drunk sailors and maids having their fun. A smile tugs at his lips at the sound of the ocean splashing against the stones of the dock. 

A deep breath gives him the courage to walk past the numerous amounts of people around him. He avoids eye contact, keeping his head low as he weaves through the crowd. The wind tugs at his hood again. Trembling fingers pulls it back over his head. His heart beats faster, making its presence in his rib cage known. 

Finally, he sees it. 

In the dark of the night, the ebony wood that lines the ship mixes into the dark blue of the water. The masts rise into the air, sails wrapped around them waiting to be let loose and feel the wind push against them. His eyes scan the people, seeing a few walking the gangplank onto it. 

One person catches his eyes, standing at the helm. The shadow moves along the railing, looking out at the sea. Hair blows in the wind, creating the image of a captain ready to get back on the water. 

His breath hitches at the sight, and he moves his feet faster. Boots clank against the stones, a rhythm he doesn’t mean to make. He stops by the gangplank, waiting for the acceptance to be let on. 

You smile as you catch his eyes in the dark. Not the typical teasing smirk that usually spreads across your features when you meet. Not the happy one you sport when you tell him you love him. Not the sad one you have when you let him know it’s time to leave. 

No. 

This one is special. This smile lights up in your eyes, tells him to take those few steps aboard. Your smile is one he hasn’t seen before. It covers all your emotions. The happiness of him coming. The disappointment of him coming. The excitement for the coming seven days. 

He takes the last step onto the ship. His boot connects with the ships wood, making that one sound he has been dying to hear. Your hands are clasped behind your back. You stand straight and, despite the smile on your face, the authority reeks of you. 

He likes this new image he can see. 

He doesn’t regret it one bit that he asked the question. Seven days is what he has to prove that he can survive on a pirate ship. Seven days to prove that he does love you. Seven days to prove that, even if it’s hell on Earth, it’s hell on Earth with you and he wants to spend every moment in your presence. 

Seven days to prove himself worthy.  

 DAY ONE

Compared to what Loki is used to, everything about the little food he got tastes stale. He drowns the bread down with a glass of wine, and it still leaves his tongue dry and itchy. He’d gotten an old apple at the side, too. ( “A little something on me since it’s your first day,” was what the first mate had added when the man placed the apple next to him. He’d given him a tight, fake smile and patted his back a little hard.)

The apple tastes nothing like apples are supposed to. The usual juicy and sweet bite he expects is bitter, dry and soft. His first reaction would be to spit it out and demand another, but he can’t do that now. He swallows the bite, pinching his eyes shut at the sour taste, and takes a sip of wine to drown out what lingers on his tongue. 

And then he repeats the process until the whole apple, save the core, is gone. His shoulders slump and he takes the last of the wine in one big gulp, in a desperate attempt to completely rid of the dry aftertaste of the apple and the bread that remains in his mouth. 

“Easy there, bud,” says a voice behind him, “wouldn’t want you to down everything on the first day.” 

Loki turns his head. Behind him stands a male clad in a loose shirt and a pair of pants―no shoes. The man has unusually well-groomed, brown hair and a goatee. He smiles at Loki, a lopsided smile that doesn’t really tell Loki anything other than let him know this man might not be of that much importance. 

“I’m Tony,” he says, “most people ‘round here call me Stark.” 

“I’m Loki Odinson, the―” He cuts himself off before he says his title. Not only did he get on this ship to escape that life, it also holds no authority. Maybe he should have dropped the Odinson? It would be an easy connection. 

Tony nods. “I know, everyone knows. Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, prince. Don’t expect special treatment.” He smiles, or smirks? “Or, maybe you should?” 

“Stop bothering him, Stark.” Your voice drags Loki’s attention away from the man in front of him. You stop at Loki’s side, a small smile on your lips as you divert your gaze to Tony. The man does a salute, which has you roll your eyes. The smile stays, though. “Go do something useful.” 

“Will do,” replies Tony. He smirks as he walks down to the other end of the ship. 

Loki looks to you. “What’s in that direction?” 

You widen your eyes, as if you realised something. “Oh, you don’t know where things are yet.” You shake your head. “Down that end you find our surgeon, Dr. Strange. Would recommend saying hi to him every once in a while, though the man doesn’t talk too much with anyone but Stark.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, he doesn’t really want to be here.” You shrug. “But, that’s not why I’m here now. You done eating?” 

Loki nods. 

“Good.” You nod. “Come with me. Gonna introduce you to some people, though I hear you’ve already met Rogers?”

Loki makes a grimace at the sound of the first mate’s name. “It is not something I would like to repeat.”

You chuckle. “I’m not even sorry when I say that that’s gonna be hard.” You take Loki’s hand in yours, dragging him up from where he sits and with you out into the sunshine that bathes the main deck. 

You walk over to the end (it’s the rear since it has the wheel, right?―Loki notes to learn more about what things are called). In a huddle stands five people, talking and laughing with each other. You cough to get their attention and they all stand up straight.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, a frown coating your face as your gaze drags over the five people saluting you. 

The first mate relaxes, shooting you a smile (and winks at Loki). “You said to have manners. Ain’t this manners?” 

“This,” ―you gesture at the other four who all relax back into normal postures― “is not what I talked about.”

Rogers smiles. “Sorry, I tried my best.”

You roll your eyes, but an amused smile plays on your lips. Loki finds he rather likes the look in your eyes, only he wishes it wasn’t directed at the first mate―he tries to drown the sting in his heart at your playfulness with him, but he can’t deny the jealousy that comes with you being close to someone as good looking as Rogers. 

“Anyways,” says one of the other men, “why’d you ask us to meet you here?” The male is bald, with a dark complexion Loki hasn’t seen with many other’s of the crew. He noticed a few, but for the most part, there are crew with the same pale, white skin as he himself has.

“Yeah, I want to introduce you.” You nudge Loki a little closer to you and the group, hand still holding onto his. He’s grateful to rely on some of your strength. Being in a different environment than he’s used to makes for interesting jabs at his pride and confidence, jabs he hadn’t thought would come when he’d asked to join you. 

“Loki, this is Wilson. He’s our pilot.” Loki hides his surprise as the man holds out a hand for him to shake―the first one to do so in the little time he’d been aboard the ship. He takes the man’s hand, giving a curt nod to the smile the male sends him. “Bet you’ll get along, at least a little.”

The next person is a male with longer, brown hair that flows around his head and lands past his shoulders. Loki notes that one of his arms is metal, but he decides not to comment and makes a mental note to ask you later. “Barnes.” He doesn’t hold out his hand, but gives a nod which Loki returns. 

“Welcome aboard Vicious Storm, my prince.” The red-headed woman makes a mock-curtsy, looking up at him through her lashes with a bright smirk. The men around her snicker. Loki makes no reaction. 

You roll your eyes. “Mature, Nat, mature.” 

Nat stands up. She gives Loki a more genuine smile, which he returns with a tight-lipped one (that gives away his ‘poker’ face). “Call me anything but Romanoff and I’ll make sure you regret it.” 

Based on her tone, Loki believes her. “Noted.”

“Clint,” says the male next to Romanoff and holds out a hand for Loki to shake. The man, though with a slightly lighter brown shade, has the same styled hair as Tony. Clint also has a goatee, though less prominent. Loki takes the man’s hand and shakes it. He returns the grin Clint gives him, though a little hesitantly. “We’ll be best friends, promise.”

Loki glances at you, and you roll your eyes with a small smile. Of the four he’s been properly introduced to, he has to admit he likes Clint the best. 

And then he turns to the first mate, who eagerly holds out his hand for Loki to shake. “Steve Rogers,” he says, a wicked grin coating his (stupidly handsome) face―jawline covered with a full beard that suits him very well, and longer, blonde hair slicked back (he looks too well-groomed for a pirate). 

Loki, who was raised with manners, takes Rogers’s hand and shakes it. The pressure is slightly harder than Wilson’s and Clint’s, but surprisingly lighter than Loki expected. Rogers leans in, the wicked grin still on his lips. His breath is hot on Loki’s ear. “Please, call me Steve,” he whispers and pulls back. 

You and the four other people raise your brows at the first mate’s behaviour. Loki tries to steady his beating heart (to be honest, Steve gives him a ...weird and almost frightening vibe). 

“Okay,” you say, “that was… I don’t know what that was but I ain’t gon’ ask either an’ now we’re gon’ go before more happens.” You tug on Loki’s hand―the one that has been holding onto his this whole time it’s weird you haven’t pulled away by how clammy it has gotten―and Loki swallows the lump in his throat as he pulls his gaze away from Steve. 

As the two of you walk, Loki takes a glance back at the group. Steve looks after you and Loki, and the other four whisper with each other whilst looking at Steve―had that behaviour been that odd? Loki vows not to be alone with the first mate.

Ever. 

 ---

He’d noticed the smell when he’d first stepped on board the ship. The mixed stench of human sweat and rotting fish, an odor that gets a little better at the main deck where the breeze filled with the smell of sea can take away some of the vile one that hurts his nose. 

It’s first now, bored to death as he leans against the railing trying to tame his queasy stomach that he really notices it. Loki can’t say it helps very much to how he’s feeling. 

He swallows the little that makes its way up his throat, though quickly regrets it as it only heightens the feeling and he leans over to rid himself off it. His throat hurts as he uses his sleeve to wipe away the excess. 

“We’ve all been there, buddy.” Clint pats his back and nods. “Heck, most o’ us are still there. Does get a lil’ better, but everyone’s emptyin’ their guts every now and then.”

Loki swallows―something he quickly regrets―and rubs his temples. “I have to admit, when I asked I thought the worst part would be the blood and gore, not… sea sickness.”

Clint nods. “Trust me, thought so, too.” He gives Loki a tiny smile. “But instead o’ this, what’cha say to a round? Got some mates up there, bettin’ some good money. And I’ll give you somethin’ to wash that taste down with.”

“A round of what?” 

A mischievous glint lights up in Clint’s eyes. “A round o’ whatever.” He winks. “Won’t give up an opportunity to beat Rogers, now would you?”

Loki nods. “He’s playing?” 

Clint nods. 

“Well, lead the way.”

They make their way to the helm (Loki asked you what the back with the wheel is called, the answer; the helm). Where he got introduced to some of the crew earlier in the day, is now a group―bigger than the five he was introduced to―sitting in a ring. In the middle he sees a pair of dice. 

“Ey, look who decided to join.” The first mate smirks in Loki’s direction and makes room for him to sit down next to him. “Time to place our bets, gentlemen.” Steve winks at Loki and looks onto the crowd around him as Loki sits down in the space made for him.

Everyone holler out a number between five and nine. Loki keeps his mouth shut, not sure what they’re playing. Steve picks up the dice and rolls them, creating a total of seven. A few men groan and move out of the circle to stand and watch. 

The remaining men holler out another set of numbers. Steve rolls the dice again. Five. Two of the men move out of the circle. There are five men left, each holler out a number. Steve rolls; eight. Two men remain in the circle. They give each other a wicked grin, and yell out a new number. 

Steve rolls the dice. As they spin around on the deck, the silence is deafening. The wind brushes past Loki, nipping at his cheeks. It makes his hair flap around him, annoyingly slap his face. He tucks it away, eyes still glued to the dice that come still on the ebony wood of the deck. 

Nine.

Both men groan and glare at Steve, who shrugs with a smirk. “Hand it over, boys.” His voice is cocky, too arrogant for someone surrounded by a gang of annoyed pirates. But, Steve himself is a pirate. And the men pay up, putting down different sets of things in front of Steve. 

The first mate picks some of the things, putting them in his pockets and then pushes the rest of the heap into the center. “Play me for it?” 

Loki is well aware of the little glance the male gives his way, as if the question is directly meant for him. He nods as the men come back to form a new circle. Everyone hollers out a number. 

Steve rolls the dice. Eight. Loki keeps his place, though he suppresses the smirk he wants―so he doesn’t have that good a poker face, this is rather a game of luck. 

They holler out a new number. Steve rolls. The dice spins on the deck. Stop. Six. Loki can feel the tug of his lips as he lets his shoulders fall down. 

They six men seated in the circle holler out a new number. Steve throws the dice; eight. Loki can feel the glares stare daggers in his back; already heated by the scorching sun the glares only add to the feeling of finally being somewhere else. 

They’re three men left now. All three yell different numbers. Steve rolls the dice. One lands quickly at a four. The other spins, and spins, and spins. It loses momentum and Loki can see the number it’s going to land on; one. Subtly, he flicks his wrist, giving the little extra it needs to fall on the two he needs. 

All eyes land on him as he lets the smirk color his face. Steve shakes his head, though if Loki doesn’t see hallucinations he believes he saw the hint of an amused smile before the man went back to his rather teasing look. 

“Who won?” 

Loki perks up at the sound of your voice. 

“Your toy,” replies Steve, though nothing layers his voice as Loki would have thought. 

As he sorts through the pile of garbage they played about, Loki can feel you roll your eyes behind him. He smiles and, finding something of value, he leaves the heap and stands up. He turns to you raising a brow in his direction. 

“Having fun?” you ask.

Loki smiles. “I will be in a moment.” A little ‘ooooh’ goes through the crowd of men as he takes your hand and tugs you with him. Newfound energy can do a lot. 

Also, he would rather have you in his arms where he can trade the rotting stench he’d forgotten a little with your smell. He wishes to trade the sound of grown men groaning at losing a game designed for them to lose, to the sound of your voice hoarsely and breathlessly whispering his name. 

So far, he’d made the right decision. 

[sondepoch]

III: Neutral Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST 

Day 1

The walls of the room were white, weren't they? You stumbled forward, walking straight into a wall that was apparently closer than you had thought. Landing ungraciously on the ground, you brought a shaky hand to the wall to touch it, and the wall seemed to curve inward as your finger neared the white paint that now appeared to be spotted with black.

"(Y-Y/N)!" You heard a voice call from behind you. "Are you okay?"

You were guided off the floor and back toward the mattress on the ground by a pair of mystery hands. You recognized the voice vaguely, but your mind was too much of a jumble for you to form any coherent thoughts.

"Are you okay?" You replied, giggling as you repeated the question the voice just asked you. Your giggle quickly turned into a full laugh, something about the situation incredibly funny to you. Within seconds, though, your laughter had morphed into a wail as you felt your thoughts clear for a brief moment, followed by excruciating pain.

You clutched your head, then your stomach, then your leg, unsure of where the pain was coming and reached the realization, for perhaps the tenth time in the hour, that the pain had enveloped your body whole, making everything feel like literal hell.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, and that only made you cry harder, the usually delicate drops of water now seeming to dig trenches of torment into your skin, into your head, into you.

Day 4

"I can't, Saeran, I can't do it anymore." You pushed Saeran away from you and retreated further into the corner of the room.

This was the clearest your mind had been in the past month you'd been here. I have been here a month, right? You thought and then nodded your head to yourself. Of course you'd been in the commitment room a month. Your brain may have been a fog at that moment, but it felt like an eternity had passed between that precise moment and when you were fed your first Elixir in the commitment room.

"(Y/N), please, you've been so good, just take a sip, and it'll all be over," Saeran tried pleading with you. "Please, don't make me force you."

You shrieked, looking around for something to throw at the white-haired male, something that would scare him off. You weren't drinking any more of the elixir. The pain wasn't worth it. "I'm not going to do it!"

Saeran ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and you couldn't tell what was going through his mind.

He turned around, and you sighed in relief when you noted his form moving toward the door. He was moving toward the door, right? You couldn't be sure anymore. The Elixir was messing with your mind.

Wait, no.

He wasn't moving toward the door.

He was moving toward you.

"(Y/N), please," he whispered, now standing directly in front of you (or so you thought, who could be sure?).

You pressed your back into the corner, ignoring the shot of pain that exploded as you applied pressure to agitated skin, and forced your mouth shut. Saeran pushed the glass containing the Elixir to your lips, trying to shove the liquid through the closed opening, but you were stubborn.

Seeming to give up, Saeran sat down next to the bed on you, moving quickly enough that your head spun for a moment, your brain temporarily lagging behind reality. "You know I love you, right, (Y/N)?" He murmured, and you smiled.

You did know that much, at the very least. 

You still didn't open your lips, but nodded your head. "Please forgive me," Saeran whispered, his face getting closer and closer, until you two were kissing.

For the first time since you entered the Commitment Room, external touch didn't bring a wave of pain. Instead, Saeran's lips seemed to be cleansing your body of the Elixir, like he was the antidote your body had been craving this whole time.

Saeran pulled back for a moment, but you didn't open your eyes, wanting to savor the moment, and then his lips were on yours again. You leaned into the kiss, not embracing him with your arms but with your lips, and when he slid his tongue along your lip, you readily opened your mouth for him.

Then, betrayal.

Saeran released a mouthful of liquid into your mouth and leaned back, holding your mouth shut with his hand. You tried to spit it out, the bitterness all too familiar on your tongue, but Saeran's hand was unyielding.

"Swallow, (Y/N)," Saeran said, his voice devoid of emotion as you stared at him with eyes filled with anger, hate, and resentment.

With no other choice, you swallowed the elixir, and then it was like the liquid had become a sea of pain that you were drowning in. Saeran and his unforgivable acts were forgotten, and all that was left in your world was pain.

Day 12

You weren't sure when was the last time you had spoken. Or moved. Or did anything other than swallow the Elixir and lie on your mattress in pain.

You no longer had the mental capacity to think. Your mind was blank, the only verification of your presence in the world being the tic-tock of some clock outside your room. Earlier, what felt like a year ago, you had tried counting the tic's, but the opening of a door had broken you from your thoughts.

A door would open.

Someone would walk in.

"Swallow," A voice would say.

Pain.

Then, repeat.

You were pretty sure you had heard the voice apologize a couple times, but in your delirium, you couldn't be sure of anything anymore. 

You strained your ears, hearing the familiar sound of a door opening.

Is it time already? You wondered, no longer hesitating to swallow the bitter liquid that trickled into your mouth.

You opened an eye for the first time in days, and a familiar face gazed at you with concern. So familiar. Who... You tried to recall the handsome man who stood before you, but the Elixir drowned your thoughts in pain, and before you ever authorized the closing of your eyes, they were scrunched shut, and everything was forgotten once more.

Day 21

"This is the last one, (Y/N)."

Those words repeated in your mind like a mantra, the weight of them bringing you to sit upright. Your head ached, but it wasn't the same harrowing sting that you had grown used to. It was more like the aftertaste of the pain, nauseating and unpleasant, but quite manageable.

The last one...am I done? Have I lasted a month? Has my secondary commitment ended? Thoughts raced through your mind like a swarm of insects, quick to come and quicker to go.

You forced yourself to stand on the mattress, and a subconscious grin spread across your face. It was over. It had to be.

The door opened, and for the first time since your arrival in this room, your vision was clear. No curved walls, no black spots on the white paint, no random dips in the flat floor. It looked normal. It was normal.

"Saeran!" You cried out, practically leaping into the male's arms. "Is it over? Am I committed?"

Your grin was contagious, bringing a soft smile to Saeran's usually stoic face as he saw you greet him for the first time too long. "(Y/N), my princess," He whispered, burying his face in your hair, holding you impossibly tight, "I've missed you so much."

You only smiled in return.

"But..."

You felt a frown tug at your lips. "But what?" You said, your voice flat, the question not really a question but more of a command.

"You're not done."

Saeran felt your spirits drop from cloud nine all the way down to the cold hard earth, and he was quick to try to salvage the situation, "But you won't need any more Elixirs! The worst of the pain is over, (Y/N), really."

You looked up at Saeran and let out a mirthless chuckle. You weren't sure how much more of this you could handle.

Your mouth set itself into a thin line, neither smiling nor frowning, and Saeran continued, "You have five days of rest. As the elixir leaves your system, the Savior will visit you...but you probably won't recall her visit. At least, I don't remember her visits with me from my secondary commitment. Soon, we'll bleach your hair and tattoo you. And then..."

"The eyes?" You asked bluntly, already aware that the final step in your commitment would likely be as painful as the elixirs.

Saeran nodded.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, but after enough time had passed, Saeran sat next to you on the bed.

"Lie down, princess," he said, patting his lap, and for the first time, you didn't think of the impending pain you'd be faced with in the next few days. You simply allowed yourself to forget everything else in the world once more until all that was left was you and Saeran, and the braid he was pulling your hair into.

Day 30

Nearly thirty full days, you laid on your mattress and shut your eyes. At least, that's what Saeran said.

But, oh, what a blessing that was.

It didn't matter that at the time that your stomach was pumped full of the Elixir, that your saliva tasted bitter, and you couldn't move without pain shooting through your body like rockets.

You could still close your eyes.

The ability to blink is greatly underappreciated. Something you resigned yourself to never forget as Saeran tightened the eye brace that was keeping your eyelids from blinking down. There were about ten seconds of nonchalance before the pain set in, and it was one of the worst pains you've ever felt.

Back when you were just taking the Elixir, your mind was numbed as your body succumbed to the torture. You weren't aware of what was happening, and you sure as hell didn't remember a thing from any of it.

Now though? All you could think about were your corneas, astutely aware of the appalling level of pain your eyes would be subject to for the next twenty hours.

"Just bear with it, (Y/N), this is going to be over so soon," Saeran said, holding your hand tightly. Your entire body was strapped to a chair, all your limbs tied down so that you wouldn't be able to remove the brace, "I'm sorry," He said for the thousandth time, "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge Saeran, though. You could barely think.

It was like someone had taken a picture of a person right before they died, in that moment where the body is fighting desperately for its life and every single sense is on fire, the brain haphazardly sending a million waves of pain and ache and agony to the location in question in hopes that something will save it, and had frozen you in time so that you were feeling like that every goddamn second.

"H..." You started, trying to focus on your words to lessen the effect of the pain.

"Help me, Saeran."

The boy's eyes filled with sympathy at your words, desperately wanting to do something to alleviate your pain but not knowing what. "The pain will ease out when the color gets injected, it's just a few more hours, and I'll be here the whole time, (Y/N), I promi-"

"No," You interrupted him, unable to bear it any longer. "No."

Saeran opened his mouth and closed it, at a loss for words.

"Knock me out, Saeran," You whispered, keeping your voice low as if the Savior were listening at the door. "The eye brace will keep my eyes open, and I won't have to deal with the pain. Please."

Saeran hesitated, unsure. "(Y/N), if the Savior finds out, we'll both..."

"Do it, Saeran!" You shouted, the pain unbearable as tears rolled down your cheeks, "Please!"

Your vision turned blurry, and you couldn't see straight anymore, your eyes crying out in pain and the unfairness of it all. This wasn't just. It wasn't right. And it was so close to being over. You looked upward and murmured a prayer the orphanage had taught you, desperately asking to be saved from the world of pain you were in; for Saeran to knock you out and give you a break from misery.

Then, redemption.

You felt Saeran strike your head, allowing darkness had set in despite your eyes staying open, the pain distant once more.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: Welp that's another chapter. Lmao sorry for posting it so late, I had this done a while back but I wound up being busy so I pulled my first all-nighter of 2020 working on all the history homework I'd procrastinated on. EW HISTORY. I'm team physics ;) Ngl I'm still in school and I have an actually amazing history teacher but he makes us work so hard and it's ROUGH but probably because whenever I should be doing homework I'm messing around on Tumblr so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Comment & Like

Next Update: 01/09/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[sengenweek]

SenGen Week: Day 07

Day 07: January 04

Senkuu's birthday / free choice (Nightshade)

-'-

Title: Murky Bedsheets.

-'-

A/N: Chronologically speaking you can place this before 'In Sickness And Health'.

-'-

The second time Gen celebrated Senkuu's birthday, his gift wasn't so flamboyant. This time around, the magician had surprised the scientist caught up in his little lab doing whatever science related stuff he was busy with this time around. Gen surrounded the scientist's neck and shoulders with his arms and blew into his ear. Earning him a jump from Senkuu.

"Dammit mentalist, you startled me" he complained.

"Hehe. Sorry. But it is pretty late, Senkuu-chan you should go to bed"

"Can't. I wanna finish this before tomorrow" Senkuu argues.

"It will still be here tomorrow, I assure you no one will touch it"

"Yes. And it will still be incomplete tomorrow"

Gen sighed, the scientist could be so stubborn some times. Yet he smiled to himself, he was good at getting Senkuu to do what he wanted.

"Fine. If you wanna have it that way. And here I wanted to relieve you from your stress~" he says, putting a hand to his chest, as if he'd been wounded.

The scientist turns to look at him –hand still on chest, and pouting lips– with escepticism, he knew the mentalist wanted to get something from him, he just didn't know what. But then again, Gen did help him relax in past occasions, so he supposed that adding one more wouldn't hurt much.

"Okay. I'll stop for tonight" he sighs.

"Good~!" the other beamed.

Gen pulled him up and took him to their shared hut –the observatory–. The first thing the scientist noticed were the many flowers laying around in the floor, in their bed. He turns to look at Gen, the smile on his face is mischievous and he can already imagine what will come next –what the blue eyed man wanted–. Gen's fingers trace the scars on his face –slow, gentle–, he pulls him for a kiss, one and then many, many kisses that steal his breath away –gloss his eyes–, and then Gen pulls him down into their bed. The mentalist's back hits the mattress first, then the scientist's palms feel the rough fabric beneath them, crushing some of the scattered nightshades –their murky perfume staining the sheets–.

"You need to relax more, Senkuu-chan"

"And would you help me out with that?" he teases.

"Happily~!"

The white-green haired man smiles, his nimble fingers working to get Gen's clothes off of him, taking his time undoing every layer, nibbling on the now exposed skin, marking with purple-red drawings the ivory canvas presented to him. The monocromatic bangs stick to Gen's forehead. The mentalist flips them over, so he contemplates Senkuu from above. With a swift motion of his hand, the belt on Senkuu's robe comes undone, the teen exposed.

"Soo~ convenient"

"More than the nine infernal layers you wear" he recriminates.

Gen laughs, a clear cristaline sound echoing on his ears. They kiss, they touch, Gen's fingers go south, where Senkuu's blood is pilling up, and he strokes, gentle, slow. Senkuu moans to the ministrations given to him, and decides not to get behind, his own fingers grapping around Gen's length teasing and pumping until the grasp the mentalist has on him falters. He pulls him for another kiss, sloppier than before –hungrier–. They're nearing their end, quick shallow breaths escape their mouths, their tongues mumble each other's names. And it hits them, Senkuu first, followed by Gen who trembles as if an earthquake took place inside of him, a silent gasp trying to form on his throat.

When Senkuu stops seeing white spots of light in his retine he flips them over once more, spreading open Gen's legs, he positions himself, and thrusts in. Gen moans pained and aroused, he's used to the scientist's antics, one orgasm before trying to ride him into a second. Which he promptly does, going in, and out at a steady pace, hitting his prostate on occasion, making his already weak legs tremble. It feels like paradise. And then they come undone in gasping breaths and skin pearled with beads of sweat, one more time. They relieve on their post-orgasm high before accommodating properly in bed. Gen's head resting over Senkuu's beating heart.

"Happy birthday, Senkuu-chan~!" the mentalist sings.

"You know mentalist, I owe you two birthday gifts already. You're gonna leave me indebted for life if you keep this up" he jokes.

"Sounds nice, don't you think?"

"It does. Thank you, for your help relaxing me. I appreciate it"

Gen hums in response, sleep tugging at his eyelids. Senkuu fixes the stray bicolored bangs, putting the larger portion –the white one– behind Gen's ear.

"Hey, mentalist" he calls. "Marry me".

"Yes~!" he purrs content.

The perfumed air is stagnant in Senkuu's lungs, the many black nightshades surrounding them only bring back to his brain the image of the man in his arms. He loves it.

-'-

A/N: Finishing notes for this small series of works. They aren't that important, you can skip this ridiculous long foot note if you want –boy, I could just turn it into an epilogue chapter–.

01. Festivals and Foxes: If we talk cotton candy, man, ya gotta think in a festival, a carnival, whatever, but you think of orange and red, the noise, the people, and the greasy food being sold out. Even the manga made that connection, so I used that idea and added some supernatural stuff because of the kemonomimi bit. Gen being a fox deity is inspired from 'ZenTan Week' by hana-kitzu, which is a 'Kimetsu no Yaiba' fic. I took notice, especifically of chapter six, where the author depicts Aganuma Zen'itsu as a nine tailed fox. It seemed funny to me how something written for the week dedicated to another ship made it's way into this one.

02. Unfulfilled Reality: Since I already made notes on that chapter, I will only say the following: This was actually, the chapter I dreaded most to write, since the beginning I had no idea where to go from the prompt given, but once I remembered Farscape, everything started to fall into place, and I think this became my favorite contribution for the SenGen Week.

03. Aftertaste: When I read the word 'Cola', all that came to my head was my dad's voice saying: "It's not the original flavor". For you to understand this, I will elaborate, you see my father is a Coca-Cola fan, and I once bought a bottle that didn't taste the same as usual –it was likely a very old batch–, and he nags me to this day about it, so every time I give him a bottle of Cola he sighes after tasting it and says: "THIS, is the original flavor". So I thought, 'Senkuu Cola' is a very rough version of nowadays 'Cola', there is bound to be a difference in the flavor, so I came up with the idea of the 'aftertaste' that might be left in the mouth, and then I used the same idea for the lasting flavor of Gen and Senkuu's first kiss. Oh, and let us not forget the fight between Pepsi and Coca-Cola back in the 80's.

04. Colorfools: This title, and the overall idea, is really inspired by a fanfic called 'Colorfool' by PoetDameron. It's a 'That 70's Show' fic, that pairs up Eric Forman and Buddy Morgan as soulmates.

05. Grin and Kiss and Fangs and Blood: This was meant to be a separated multi-chapter fic all on it's own, but in the end I realized I could just fit the general idea in the prompt given, so I made it work, somehow. The idea itself came from a set of images, which depicted Senkuu as a vampire who had bitten Gen. Now, I didn't make Senkuu the vampire because the magician aesthetic seemed to work better for that trope, rather than the mad scientist one I associate with Senkuu.

06. In Sickness And Health: I wanted to make a sappier version of a chapter I wrote for my series of 'Gintama' drabbles –While We Are Together–, the chapter in question is called 'Rainy Days Are Meant To Be Spent Outside Getting Soaked To The Bone', and it ends with comedy, for this SenGen work in particular I wanted the ending to be more tender, but I couldn't grasp the ability to make it happen, so I left a sloppy end.

07. Murky Bedsheets: I have never, not once in my whole life, come across a Black Nightshade (Solanum nigrum), much less smelt one. I had to investigate about it's scent, a difficult feat since many confuse it with Deadly Nightshade (Atropa belladonna) known also as just Belladonna, and this plant seems to have a bitter smell. It was finally on a botanical book –Natural Arrangemeng Of British Plants– I found that the smell of Solanum Nigrum was mentioned, and I quote textually, what it said especifically about this kind of Solaneae:

'Solanum nigrum. Black nightshade. Stem angular; leaves ovate, toothed, angular, bald; berries black.

Solanum vulgare, Raii Syn. 265,4; Park. 346.

Solanum hortense, Ger. em. 339, l.

Solanum nigrum, Lin. S. P. 266.

Solanum humile, Salisb. Prod. 134.

Garden nightshade. Morell. Petty morell.

Dunghills and gardens; annual; June to September. Root much branched; stem spreading; leaves petioled; flowers smell like musk.—Leaves applied externally abate inflammation; internally, 1 or 2 grs. infused in boiling water, and taken at bedtime, occasions a copious per spiration, are diuretic, and generally purge the next day'.

Flowers smell like musk. There you have it. I just went with this bit of information and took it from there.

Thanks for reading this small series. And the foot note, if you got this far, writing is tough folks, it requires lots of investigation for just one tiny little detail that gets forgotten in the midst of the story. Oh, and inspiration likes to leave you stranded on the middle of the road and you have to walk all the way to the end. It's a miracle I finished something with such a defined time frame.

Anyways, thank you, good bye, and farewell.

-'-

A/N: Also on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13464121/7/SenGen-Week-2019-2020

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part 3

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 5,050

Summary: As the school year begins and tensions mount, Jaime and Arden start to wonder if they might be out of their depth.

Note: This chapter has been fighting me for the past two weeks, probably because it represents the true low point of the story and I hate making these characters suffer. While it’s not going to be completely smooth sailing from here on out, I can assure you that things will be better in Part 4. 

Warning: This section contains references to childhood depression and self-harm. There’s nothing graphic or gratuitous, but the mentions may still be upsetting. Please read at your own discretion.

August, 2027

“You keep spacing out over there. Should I be concerned?”

Smiling coyly, Arden glanced up from her carton of stir fry. Jaime sat across their dining room table, a half-eaten spring roll held between his fingers. It was the first time in days that she’d actually taken a proper look at him, and she was a little disappointed that she couldn’t do more than just look.

In seven years of marriage, his appearance had remained relatively unchanged. His eyes were still thoughtful and kind, his hair thick and just unruly enough to be perfect without him having to try. Maybe it was just his glorious golden tan skewing her perceptions, but she could swear that becoming a father had made him infinitely more attractive.  

Probably just wishful thinking since I don’t have him to myself anymore, she mused, meeting his inquiring eyes with decision. “Can’t I enjoy having a lunch date with my husband?”

His demeanor warmed. “I’ve kind of missed having time for just the two of us.”

“Me too. If these monthly meetings mean getting some of that time back, I’m all for them.”

She knew neither one of them would choose to change their circumstances. Having time together with the kids meant the world to both of them, but it also meant that things were different.

“These days, I feel like I’m lucky to get ten minutes alone with you before we go to bed.” Jaime chewed his last bite of spring roll contemplatively. “And even then, we’re usually talking about the kids.”  

“I know. By the time we make it to our room, we’re so exhausted that there’s usually just enough time to exchange a few sentences before we pass out. It’s not like we have time for a lot of conversation…or anything else.” Arden stretched a leg toward him, gently toeing his bare shin.

His eyebrows raised at the contact, but there was a sparkle of humor in his deep brown eyes. “Maybe we should start having these meetings more often?”

“I’d love to, but with all the projects you have slated for the rest of the year, I don’t think it’s very feasible. But we’ll keep finding ways to spend time together, I’m sure.” With a wink, she straightened back into her seat. “Besides, that’s not what we’re here for now anyway. We’re supposed to be comparing notes and making sure we’re still on the same page about parenting.”

“So we are.” In spite of his jocular tone, she knew he hadn’t forgotten. “All right, getting down to business.” He pulled a notecard from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it between them on the wooden surface. “Question 1: What are your highs and lows of the first full week of school?”

Arden took a long sip from her glass of water. They’d prepared the questions beforehand, so she’d known exactly what was coming, but it was still difficult to separate the events of the past five days into those two extremes.

The week had been filled with so many little triumphs, from Sophia making band to Alex finally waking up on his own without needing a full half-hour of reminders. But in the end, one stood out.

“I think my high was getting that email from Will’s teacher. He’s a social guy at home, but I was afraid that he might struggle to connect with with kids in class. Hearing that he’s been making friends was really heartening.” Jaime’s lips parted, and she paused to let him speak.

“I especially liked what she said about him seeking out the shy kids during recess. He reminds me a lot of someone I knew when I was about his age…” Jaime’s voice trailed, but he ended the sentiment with a meaningful nod. 

Arden smirked at his suggestion. “Maybe we should pack some ice-cream bars in his lunch?”

“That might not be such a bad idea,” he said with a low laugh. 

Eyes crinkling affectionately, she shook her head and fished out another bite of vegetables. Despite the momentary diversion, she knew they needed to get back to the other half of his question. “Now for the hard part. My low was…Alex’s attitude about school and his refusal to talk about it. I keep hearing his thoughts about how stupid it is, but I can’t ask him anything pointed unless he actually tells me out loud.”

Jaime pinched his entree open with a sigh. “I think that’s probably mine too. He keeps shutting down whenever I try to talk to him about it. I keep hoping it’s just the adjustment period and he’ll find a new routine, but…”

But they both knew his history was discouraging. Though they’d decided long before the kids ever came to live with them that their case files weren’t going to define their expectations, it was impossible not to see the similarities between their own experience and what had come before. 

All three of Alex’s previous foster families had reported problems with managing anger, along with some variety of troubles in school – missing assignments, incomplete tests, refusing to speak in class. Though this year was off to a rough start, they still hoped to finally break the mold. 

“So what do we do moving forward?”

It was hardly the first time they’d posed the question to one another, but brilliant solutions were few and far between. For several seconds, Jaime stared at the wall behind her head, his thoughts indiscernible. “I think we just keep doing what we’ve been doing -- we deescalate when he’s upset and encourage him to talk about what’s bothering him. We have to get through to him eventually.” 

“I just wonder if there’s more going on,” Arden ventured. The half-formed thought had been stewing in her mind for a while. “I think he’s more scared than he is angry.”

“I’ve been getting that sense too. Starting in a new school is tough -- I remember. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him about it soon.”

“It might help,” Arden encouraged. “He might share more if he knew what you’ve been through.”

"I hope so.” His smile returned, clearing the worries from his face. “Anyway, my high was Sophia asking me to help with that question on her homework last night. You were right there, so it’s not like we were alone or anything, but it’s one of the only times she’s initiated conversation with me.”

Arden still remembered the sound of Jaime’s jubilant thoughts as he’d read the problem over Sophia’s shoulder. Even just recalling it to memory sent a fresh wave of shivers over her shoulders. “You’re bonding with our daughter over math homework, Jaime. Who would have thought we’d be saying that a year ago?”

He shook his head with a half smile. “It’s finally starting to feel kind of normal. Not quite there yet, but I feel like we’re really close in a lot of ways.”

“I think so too.”

“And I have to say, I think we’ve been doing a pretty amazing job with them so far.” 

So far. Behind her smile, those two words lingered like a bitter aftertaste. As much as he’d intended them as an encouragement, Arden longed for the day when such compliments no longer came with conditions. 

_____

September, 2027

Arden tossed in a dishwasher tablet, sealed the door, and pressed start. For a moment, she stood in front of the noisy appliance, giving her mind a rest before she could start questioning why the other end of the house was so quiet.

Twenty minutes ago, all three kids had assured her that they were working hard at their studies. For her oldest and youngest, it wasn’t difficult to believe that they were still on task. For Alex, it was a completely different story.

Much as he hated being told what to do, he needed frequent reminders to continue working. The number of times she’d walked in to find him doodling in the margins when he was supposed to be reading was alarming. Thankfully, between the thoughts she overheard and her ability to read his body language, she could typically walk the fine line between motivation and bringing him to the point of anger. 

She’d never seen a child so hostile to any kind of instruction. They were only a month into the school year, but she was already convinced that the child’s teacher must be a literal angel to put up with his stubbornness for so much of the day.

He’s probably drawing again, she determined as her husband’s sure step broke through the after-dinner lull. Coming from the garage, Jaime met her in the hallway, a pair of lightbulbs in his hand.

“Are those for the upstairs bathroom?”

“They are.” He kissed her cheek before poking his head into the empty dining room. “The kids?”

“Alex is in his room. Will’s upstairs with Sophia, working on some vocab. She finished her homework before we ate.”

“Even exponents?”

“She’s got the hang of them now.”

Their daughter’s light tread came tripping down the stairs at that moment, her body a blur as she flew through the hall.

“Looks like she’s keeping both of them on top of their work,” Jaime commented when Sophia disappeared into the boys’ room.

“I should probably check in,” Arden suggested. “Make sure she’s not bossing him around too much.” She caught her husband’s attention once more before he mounted the stairs. “While you’re up there, could you tell Will that I’m ready to work on social studies whenever he is?”

With a nod, he continued his climb. As the sound of his steps faded, her ears detected a far different noise coming from Alex’s room -- a noise that sounded very much like ripping paper. 

That can’t be good.

Picking up speed, she crossed the threshold just a few seconds later. A pile of roughly torn half-sheets from a notebook lay on the floor before her. Examining the scene, Arden was vaguely conscious of Sophia’s feeble attempts to retrieve them, but what stood out to her more than anything was the florid coloring of her son’s face.

“I told you to leave me alone!” he shouted, pushing a stack of school books from his desk to the floor.

Sophia sidestepped in time to avoid the collision, but Arden still winced when they hit the floor. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s take a deep breath and calm things down in here,” she began, determining that it was probably best to insert herself into the confrontation before the things went any further.

“He needs to finish his homework so he can pass and not get held back another grade,” Sophia summarized. “He can’t keep doing this!” 

The hint of piety in her tone grated the entire length of Arden’s spine. Even though she found herself agreeing with her daughter’s assessment, it was all-too evident that the accusation wasn’t going to do Alex any good.

That child was still seated, his heaving chest and white knuckles providing a glimpse of just how much frustration he’d been bottling up. If the objects on the floor were any indication, his anger had started to spill over. 

“You’re not my boss!”

Arden swallowed hard. She knew these moments were important – that she needed to make it clear that she was the parent and that they couldn’t just make rules for themselves. But the emotional tension was almost paralyzing. She could hardly think, much less find a solution to the conflict brewing in front of her. 

Still, she had to do something.

“Okay,” she started, still trying to gauge the situation. “It’s obvious that you’re both upset right now. I think it’s best for us to all take a few minutes to calm down before we try to work through this. Sophia, you can come with me to the living room. Alex, we’ll let you have some space and be back in a little bit to sort things out.”

…to the docks…

Arden raised a quizzical brow at her son’s arbitrary thought, but pressed on. “We’ll come back in a few minutes,” she reiterated, hoping that the reminder would get him help to calm him. 

Passing through the hallway, she checked the lock on the front door. As far as she knew, he had no history of running away, but his thought about the docks had left her unsettled. She wasn’t taking any chances.

_____

Jaime sauntered down to the main level of the house a few minutes later, expired lightbulbs in hand. By the time he located the proper recycling box and returned from the garage, his wife was waiting in the doorway.

In hushed tones, she filled him in on what had passed while he’d been upstairs. Feeling almost guilty for the time he’d spent joking around with Will, he was determined to pick up the slack in handling the aftermath.

“I’ll go and talk to Alex,” he volunteered, rubbing his palm over the line of his jaw. “I’d like to figure things out with him before we bring Sophia back into it.”

“Thanks. Good luck.” 

Making his way to the open bedroom door, he rapped a finger on the wood before pushing it the rest of the way. As the door swung wide, the first thing he noticed was that the room was empty. The second was that the window was wide open.  

"Alex?” His heart sank even before the word had left his mouth. This can’t be happening. 

Both girls came running at his elevated voice, quickly coming to the same conclusion that he had on seeing the scene.

Jaime didn’t waste time searching the room, instinct telling him that the boy had run from the house. All that mattered was finding him as soon as possible.

Arden’s small wave attracted his attention. When he looked to her, she mouthed a single word: docks.

“I’ll help!” Sophia offered, voice cracking under the pressure of tears. “He gets this way when he’s really upset, but I can usually calm him down.”

With a hand to his daughter’s trembling shoulder, Jaime inclined his head to look her in the eyes. The glistening pools flicked up to his for less than a second before falling back to the papers on the floor.

“Sophia, I know where to find him, and I’ll do everything I can to calm him down myself. For now, I think it’s best for you to stay here with Arden and Will,” he proposed, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Okay,” she relented, though he could tell from her sigh that she was skeptical about his plan.

Can you explain it to her? he asked his wife as he slipped through the door.

At her nod, he started for the lake.

It seemed unlikely that the boy was in any real danger, but that didn’t stop Jaime’s heart from hammering harder with every step he took through the deepening twilight. Threat or no threat, he needed Alex to know that he wasn’t going to face anything alone.

He relaxed his pace on seeing the small figure at the end of the dock, but he was still breathing hard by the time he made it to the boy’s side.

His son was seated at the corner of the deck, eyes shining with a defiance that Jaime had seen more times than he could count. This particular display of anger would have worried him far more if his son wasn’t sitting with his chin tucked into his knees, curled smaller than he’d ever seen him.

Every part of his consciousness was screaming for him to bundle the boy up in his arms, hold him tightly, and promise that he was never going to let him go. Better judgement was all that held him back.  

“Hey,” he started simply, making sure the child was aware of his presence.

Alex ignored him, teeth ground in frustration.

With a deep breath, Jaime lowered himself beside the boy, careful to maintain several inches of distance between them. He looked him over again, catching a glimpse of the sunset on a series of haphazard lines along his forearm. 

Leaning closer, he could see that they were scratches. No blood had been drawn, but there was no mistaking that they’d been made by a set of fingernails.

Instinctively, his eyes jumped to the boy’s hands. Jaime’s stomach churned. No explanation was good, and he knew with absolute certainty that the marks hadn’t been there during dinner. 

He found himself wishing for Arden’s abilities -- for any advantage that could help him in the conversation that lay ahead. 

“Alex, we need to talk, bud,” he started gently, almost relieved that his son still hadn’t worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Staring out at the water was easier for both of them. 

The boy’s only reply was a noncommittal, “Hmph.”

When Jaime looked at his face again, he couldn’t help noting the deep set of his brow. Arden was right. There was something more to this than just being angry. 

Whatever it was that plagued his son, this was probably the best opportunity he’d get to help sort it out. Adrenaline pumping, he launched in. “Alex, I know that sometimes running away from problems seems like the best way to solve them, but it usually just makes things worse.”

The child’s hands shifted, the fingers of one hand trailing up and down the series of angry red lines on his arm.

Jaime counted through several long breaths, hoping that Alex would take initiative to break the awkward silence. “Could you tell me what upset you tonight? If I have to try to guess, we’re going to be out here a long time.” 

“I hate school.”

“Did something happen today?” he pressed further. They’d known that the transition to a new school would be challenging, but nothing they’d seen in the first three-and-a-half weeks had given any particular cause for alarm.

“It’s just stupid and I hate it.”

Trying another tactic, Jaime delved into his own past. “I hated school too when I first moved in with Paula. I came to live with her toward the end of the school year, so I didn’t know a single person in my class. I spent the whole first month arguing with her every morning before I got on the bus.”

Alex didn’t say anything, though his grip on his knees loosened almost imperceptibly.  

“She always made me go, so one morning, I hid under the bed so she couldn’t find me.”

“Did she?” His voice was soft, but curious.

“She did.” Jaime shifted to straighten his legs, propping both arms behind him. His stomach was almost sick with the desire to keep his son talking. “And you know what she said?”

“Huh?”

“She told me that I was a superhero.”

Confused, Alex lowered his knees and crossed them, head inclining away from the water for the first time since Jaime had arrived. 

From the corner of his eye, He could see that the boy’s eyes were on him. “She told me that feeling upset could be a superpower, but that I wasted all of its potential when I let it control me instead of being the one to take control. Then she drove me to school and told me to try using my frustration to be the best second-grader I could be.”

Jaime monitored his response, catching the sneer that came over Alex’s features. He didn’t need Arden’s powers to know that the boy was unimpressed.

“I know, I know. It was cheesy. I realized that at the time too, but I wanted to prove to her that I was stronger than those angry feelings. In the end, her advice actually helped.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

“Look, I don’t want to make assumptions, but it seems like some of your feelings have been getting control of you too. Can you tell me what’s been happening?”

“I got angry. Couldn’t help it.”

“What couldn’t you help?”

“I don’t know.”

“You mean throwing your books and running away?” He didn’t even want to give voice to his other suspicion. “Hurting yourself?”

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t help it.”

“Can you tell me what upset you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure? Did something happen at school? Was it something Sophia said?” He asked the questions at measured intervals, allowing the boy ample time to respond. When his answer finally, came, the harsh edge in his voice left no doubt in his mind that the conversation was over. 

“I said I don’t know.”

Drawing a ragged breath through his nose, Jaime stared out across the water. There was only so much he could do. It was eminently clear that his son wasn’t interested in sharing any more with him at this point, and pushing him further wouldn’t end well for either one of them.  

Conscious that the rest of his family had been left in a state of upheaval, Jaime determined that it was in everyone’s best interest for them to return home. The matter hadn’t been resolved, but there was still one final reminder he could offer the boy.

“Alex, I’m not sure how to help you right now, but I want you to know that you’re not going to have to deal with this on your own. We’re going to figure this out together, okay?”

The child gave no verbal response, but he joined Jaime in standing and returning to the house.

_____

Two hours later, Arden opened their bedroom door to find Jaime sitting motionless on the bed. They’d parted ways shortly after saying their goodnights to all three kids in the boys’ room.  

With the teary reunion that had occurred when Jaime returned with their runaway, it was little wonder that Sophia had insisted on sleeping on the floor between her brothers. The three of them shared a bond that was unlike anything Arden had ever known as an only child. For her own selfish reasons, she was grateful for the arrangement. Knowing Sophia would keep an eye on things made it all the more likely that she and Jaime could find some rest during the night. 

“I just got off the phone with the caseworker again.” She joined him at the end of the bed, legs close enough feel his presence even without actually touching. “She said we did everything we could.” The words felt as hollow as the sentiment behind them. 

Jaime’s hand slipped into hers, and she gave the clammy fingers a reassuring squeeze. 

“Anyway, I was hoping we could talk for a minute. I wrote up most of the incident report while I was talking with her, but there’s still time to add more details before I send it until tomorrow. Is there anything I should put in based on what happened at the docks? Did he tell you anything?”

“No, I just made things worse.” 

Unaccustomed to the defeat in her husband’s tone, Arden pulled up a leg to angle toward him. His face was a mask, though his thoughts were easy to read. 

I can’t believe I let this happen. 

“Jaime, this isn’t just you,” she implored, “I’m the one who left him alone in there. It never occurred to me that he would climb through the window.” Her strength waning, she dropped fully to the mattress. 

They’d known that parenting would come with its share of struggles, but she hadn’t anticipated that it would leave them feeling so helpless. She was used to problems that could be solved with the right combination of research and discussion. Their children’s hardships were far too ambiguous for such treatment -- especially when it came to their middle child. 

She’d thought that they could head off all of his anger and frustration – prevent it from factoring into this school year to any large degree. But instead, it seemed that he’d been bottling everything up and making it worse. Whatever it was that had set him off this evening was just the indication of a larger worry bubbling below the surface.

“What did we do wrong?”

Arden regarded him solemnly, forehead leaning against her palm as she propped an elbow on the bed. She allowed his question to soak over her mind, flirting with the temptation to take blame for something that she knew had been beyond their control. “I don’t know what else we could have done, honestly. Short of nailing his window shut, I’m not sure how we could have made things any better.”

Jaime fell to his back, emitting a long sigh before he attempted an answer. “I failed, Arden. I went out there thinking I’d be able to talk him through this and we’d be okay. I always figured that my past would give me an edge in dealing with these kinds of things, but I’m at a loss. I don’t know what else to do for him.”

Arden scooted next to him, her ankle hooking his as she drew close enough for contact. “Maybe there isn’t anything else we can do. Especially if there’s more to this than anger.”

“I know he’s been upset before, but this was a new low. If what the caseworker’s told us is right, he’s never run away or hurt himself like this. Why now?”

Shaking her head, she considered the flurry of thoughts that had been in the boy’s mind after they’d returned inside. “I think resentment and fear have been building for a long time. I don’t know who’s responsible for putting them there, but it breaks my heart.” Her throat clogged as she fought over her next words. “I hate that I’m even having to say this, but I think there’s something else going on too. He’s internalizing everything except his anger, and that really worries me.”

Jaime tensed. “I thought he was just having trouble adjusting. New house, new family, new school – I get how difficult that is. But I never wanted to hurt myself because of it.”

“I know.” She buried her face in the mattress as she gathered her thoughts. When she surfaced, it was with a question. “Do you remember that new mental-health initiative Ellen and I covered a couple of years ago? I remember thinking at the time that rates of childhood depression were way higher than I would have expected. I don’t think it’s totally off base to find a therapist for Alex to talk to. Even if that’s not what it is, he clearly needs someone more qualified to help him work through this.”

The more she thought about it, the more determined she was to pursue that course of action. She began drafting a conversation in her head, already making plans to call a therapist the next morning. It wasn’t until some minutes later that she realized Jaime still hadn’t spoken.

When she turned back to him, his face was furrowed with an agonizing thought.

Why am I not enough?

Arden’s blood ran cold. It had been so long since he’d doubted himself like this that she’d vainly hoped they’d moved beyond it. Her husband’s sensitivity was one of the things she loved about him most, but it had a tendency to make him vulnerable at the worst moments.

“Jaime, whatever’s going on with him has nothing to do with you.”

“But I’m his dad. Fixing things is part of my job.” He rubbed his temple, expression still strained.

Rolling closer to him, she splayed a hand over his chest. The hard muscles eased under her touch. “It’s impossible to fix everything,” she murmured, needing to hear the words every bit as much as he did. “And don’t you dare sell yourself short. As far as I’m concerned, all three of them are the luckiest kids in the world because they get to have you as their dad.” 

“You’d never know it from what happened tonight.” 

She hushed him with a tap of her finger. “Humor me for a second.” When he remained silent, she continued. “What were you doing outside with Will yesterday after they got home from school?”

His face softened, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Kicking around a soccer ball.”

“Exactly. Babe, you’ve seen me play soccer. I fell over once because I wasn’t coordinated enough to kick with one foot at a time. Do you think Will would have had nearly as much fun if I’d been out there instead?”

“No,” he agreed grudgingly.

“And do you realize that you might be the first man in Sophia’s life that actually deserves to earn her trust? You can’t put a value on how important that is.”

“Then why can’t I get my own son to talk to me?”

Arden stopped short at the pitiful question. “It’s not just you. Sometimes I feel like ninety percent of what I know about that child comes from Sophia. He still isn’t ready to come out of his shell around the two of us, and I guess we’re going to have to be okay with that for now. It’s easier with the other two, sure. We keep seeing progress with them. Sooner or later, we’ll see it with Alex too.”

He turned toward her, capturing her in his embrace. She held fast, sighing with relief at the security in his arms. “I can probably count on one hand the number of times you’ve been the one telling me to be patient.”  

Arden’s laugh came out in hot breaths against his shoulder. “See? That’s just another reason why I need you in my life. Can you imagine all of the trouble I’d get into without you?” For long moments, he held her tight, strength coursing through every inch of skin that touched. “We’re going to make it through this.”

“We’re not quitters,” he added, combing a hand through her hair. 

“Especially not when the prize is worth it in the end. Those kids downstairs are so worth it. Our family is worth it.” 

I love you. 

The corners of her mouth tipped up at his thought. “I love you too, babe. So, so much.” 

Three months into parenting, they felt so far from where they wanted to be. Yet, as they clung to one another that night, both dared to believe that it was still within their reach.